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Something to declare: Stepping toward pro sports stardom

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Every life features moments that can change everything. There are some choices whose effects will reverberate throughout the rest of our lifetimes, coloring every subsequent experience and largely defining the kind of person that history will judge us to be.

And so it is that with great humility and great hope, I, Allen Adams, must once again declare myself eligible for the draft. Sorry – drafts.

That’s right – just like last time, I refuse to have my tremendous gifts taken for granted and pigeonholed.

It has been three years since my last universal declaration for the assorted drafts. If anything, I’m even more prepared, having added that much more experiential seasoning to my already-considerable abilities.

I’m ready.

Such expansive natural athleticism as what I possess can't be expected to thrive in just one elite professional sporting environment. My talents have been held in check for far too long; try as I might, I simply cannot continue to avoid my destiny as the greatest athlete of the 21st century.

My friends in the NFL, whose draft is mere days away - you should know that I can instantly make your team into a contender. Despite my 7.3 time in the 40 and my utter inability to manage even one bench press repetition (even when it's just the bar), my natural instincts are such that I will be able to thrive on either side of the ball. My clumsy feet and fear of physical contact might seem like negatives at first glance, but I assure you, they are vital components of my high level of gridiron acumen.

Come June, there will be three more leagues able to vie for my services.

First up are the general managers of Major League Baseball, with the chance to procure a hardball prodigy of Hobbsian (Roy Hobbs, that is - Thomas Hobbes is a whole different story) potential. Both on the mound and at the plate, I offer you a rendezvous with destiny. Do not let the speed-limit fastball or glacial swing fool you - both tools are ones with which I shall carve my name upon the game. Throw wide the gates of Cooperstown so that I might enter. I promise you that you have never seen a specimen like me take to a big-league field. Don't you want to be the first?

Just two weeks later, the NBA will hold its own player draft. The other big-time sports have recognized this vision of the future, my dear cagers will you be left behind? Yes, my height of 6' 1' might seem on the small side, particularly since I am possessed of both a long torso and short limbs. Yes, my vertical jump is limited and my endurance nonexistent. Yes, my hands are tiny and my shots are unerringly errant. And yet … you cannot deny that I represent the ultimate evolution of your league.

And finally, the NHL. It might seem counterintuitive to select a player with an utter inability to even stand up on ice skates, but I assure you my raw and instinctive physical abilities will prove able to overcome even this minor obstacle. Despite my total ignorance of the game's basic rules or structure, there is no doubt that my presence can and will restore hockey to its former cultural prominence. Such is the talent that I bring to the table.

Please know that the decision to declare for all the drafts was not one I took lightly. Not before and certainly not now. It was only after lengthy and heartfelt talks with my family and friends that I was convinced that my Jim Thorpe-like light could no longer be hidden under a bushel.

I have been selfish for too long; I needed reminding that this is my gift to the world. But now I remember: you deserve to experience my greatness. It is not your privilege - it is your right.

Thank you. I look forward to meeting my many, many future teammates.

(Editor’s note: This is the annual April Fool’s edition of The Maine Edge. As such, most – if not all – of this story is completely and utterly made up.)

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