Act like you’ve been there before, pal. Find your man in transition and get back on defense. Oh what’s that, you’re only six years old and you were just having a little playful fun? That’s cute but does it look like I give a shit. Look me in the face when I talk to you. When I was your age, my dad had me running suicides until I wanted to commit suicide. There were no celebrations, no ‘good jobs!,’ and many times no dinner. And look how I turned out: gasping for air in my men’s league games. If you keep punching your chest after every bucket, you’re going to be under the bleachers dealing meth by the time you’re 12. Hit me up then, though, my dude is so fucking unreliable.