“Hold my nuts.”
— the prophet Uncle Drew
“HEY!! YOU!! COME OVER HERE,” he yells at us. I’m thinking we’re going to die.
He’s large and muscular. It’s dark and scary. I keep Mo in front of me, just in case.
“Y’all, I’m 48 and my brother’s 46, and we just schooled these kids!” he says, pointing to the young guys scowling at him from under the hoop.
We had been hearing their late-night basketball game as we strolled the big bird loop listening to the frogs, who were totally drowned out by the trash talk coming from the court.
It’s genius. Basking in his win, he has waved down two strangers to further embarrass the losers.
He seems like a nice guy, and we are old, so cheering the win feels like the right thing to do, once it appears the young guys are unlikely to shoot us all.
“I’m going to be sore tomorrow, but I’m victorious today,” he exclaims, while his brother taunts the other team. I get him to flex his biceps and Mo gives him a high-five. We hang out for a few minutes, and then we move along.
By the time we finish our next lap, they have all vanished. May or may not have been there.
Some kids got schooled, and we got a lesson: You’re never too old to be young.
Today was my first two-a-day. I’m going to be sore tomorrow.
But I’m victorious today.