Editor’s note: Minnesota Vikings punter, Tripping Icarus bass guitarist, video game aficionado and Twitter icon (@ChrisWarcraft) Chris Kluwe offers his take on the NFL draft for the Pioneer Press. Kluwe went undrafted out of UCLA in 2005, signed with the Seattle Seahawks, was claimed off waivers by the Vikings right before the season and has been with Minnesota ever since.

April 23, 2005. The first day of that year’s NFL draft. All across the country, hundreds of young men sit anxiously in front of their television screens, eyes locked onto the ticker tape scroll feverishly racing across the bottom of the screen, ears straining to make out the next name announced, hearts pounding as time drips by, molasses syrupy slow.

Some of these eyes light up with excitement and glee as the commissioner declares, “And with the (fill in the blank) pick, the (one of 32 NFL teams) select …” Screams fill the air, backs are slapped, kisses are bestowed upon teary-eyed mothers; all is right in the world, and we’re movin’ on up to the east side.

Others, well, others aren’t so lucky. Slowly the once-ebullient party balloons droop down from their perches against the top of the ceiling as the guacamole grows warm and rancid. Guests and family members exchange awkward glances and mouth empty platitudes: “They’ll definitely call your name tomorrow,” or “I’m sure it’s just a matter of time,” until suddenly there is no more time and you’re not even Mr. Irrelevant.

If you’re lucky, then you survive the lonely road of the undrafted free agent, of hoping a team will call you up and at least give you a chance in training camp, at least give you one step upon that green field that now seems so far away with all its pageantry and flash. Signing bonus? Here’s two grand, son – and, oh, aren’t you glad to see it because hopefully it’ll pay the rent for a month or two while you desperately try to prove your worth to unsmiling men in mirrored glasses, busy hands constantly timing, testing, summing up your entirety on a brown clipboard filled with neat rows of numbers, and here comes the Grim Reaper to collect your playbook.

Some don’t even get that option. The phone never rings, the channel switches over to the evening news (filled with the grinning faces of fresh new millionaires), and the dream is over, stillborn upon the vine. Oh, you’ll keep working hard at it, maybe even get a lucky break if someone goes down to an injury early on and they need a body and somehow you can make the most of that tiniest of opportunities, but don’t kid yourself, Kid, it’s the longest of long shots.

Hey there, put the pills down, it’s not all doom and gloom. Most of the people getting drafted are in the same boat as you. All the preparation leading up to the draft, all the pro days and game video and endless interviews, only for a lucky few is it the Golden Ticket into the factory. Unless you get stuck in the chocolate pipe like JaMarcus Russell or fall down the squirrel hole like Ryan Leaf, a first- or second-round pick guarantees you at least three years in the league. You see, you’re someone’s investment, you’re someone’s job, and if you flame out, then it’s their livelihood on the line and no one likes looking like a fool. And if one team gets rid of you, well, you were a first-round pick so you must have some sort of potential. Hey, boys, let’s kick the tires on this one and see if he can work in our system.

Third round? You’ll get two years to prove your case. They’ve put some money into you, but if you don’t pan out, then they’ll cut their losses and move on to the next guy (who just might be an undrafted free agent who’s working his ass off to make the team, and he knows this is his only chance). You’ve got a little leeway as a third-rounder, but it’s just enough rope to hang yourself. Use it wisely.

Fourth round or later? They like your potential, but you’re going to have to earn your spot. You’ll have an advantage over the undrafted guys, but it’s not much; the depth chart will have your name higher than theirs for a day or two, but if you don’t bust your butt, it’s not going to stay that way. Save that signing bonus for a rainy day, and don’t get sucked into the veterans’ lifestyle; they’ve got cash to burn because they’ve collected those game checks. Until you suit up on Sunday, you’ve got nothing but hollow promises.

You see, what no one will tell you, what no one can tell you, is that the draft is a total crapshoot. You may run 40 yards in a straight line like Usain Bolt, you may jump higher than Superman and knock college linemen around like bowling pins, you may have the world’s most impressive highlight reel that gets 2 million hits on YouTube a week. Conversely, you may have bombed your pro day, thrown the ball backwards during the Senior Bowl or even spelled your own name wrong on the Wonderlic test.

It doesn’t matter. Sure, you might jump up to the first round, or slide all the way out of the draft, but that isn’t what earns you your money. What earns you your money, the only thing that earns you your money, is suiting up on Sunday and showing you can play out on that field. That you have what it takes to be among the best of the best, day in and day out, year after year, and NO ONE knows who’s going to flash that talent. Oh, they can make a guess at it, but that’s all it is – a guess.

Me?

I am playing video games during that draft. I have a very zenlike approach to things. If I can affect it, I’ll do everything in my power to make sure the outcome is one I desire (i.e. all the stuff leading up to the draft), but if I have no control, then why worry about what’s going to happen? What will be, will be. My agent calls about halfway through the second day and says Seattle is going to either take me late in the seventh round or as an undrafted free agent right after the draft, and Seattle calls right after the draft.

The rest is hard work, perseverance and, yes, a little luck.