Do me a favor: take a good long look at this photo and ignore the conflicting thoughts about your sexuality for a second and just study this majestic specimen. The curves, the crevices, the pink parachute around his waist.
That certainly doesn’t look like the physique of a man who averaged 2.2 points per game in college. Sure as hell doesn’t look like the chiseled pecks of a man who played the same amount of snaps in an NFL game as you and I. No. Not it doesn’t. That, my friends, is the peak of human evolution.
Say what you will about LaVar Ball, but don’t you dare say that if we hopped in a time machine back to 1987, we all wouldn’t have Ball half-brothers. Translation: LaVar Ball would have boned all of our mothers. Just to nail that point home, I texted my mother, who has no preconceived notions about Mr. Ball, if she’d risk it all for the man who could allegedly probably reportedly beat Michael Jordan in a game of one-on-one.
Her response was frightening:
Dear Dad,
If you’ve suddenly gained the ability to turn on a computer, type a website into an internet search bar, and have stumbled across this blog post, I hope this finds you well.
By now, you’ve heard the news. Mom wants a big baller in and around her face. I’m sorry. Sometimes marriages just don’t work out. Hey, look on the bright side, now you can get that motorcycle you wanted and can finally pursue that MILF on Juniper Lane I always see you drooling over at church. As the guy mom’s boning taught me, ‘no shot is a bad shot.’ This separation could open up new doors for you, pops: a fresh start. A brand new leather jacket.
I know it’s tough, dad, and I definitely wouldn’t want to be in your shoes. Because I’d much rather be in a pair of BBB ZO2 Prime’s. You must know, however, that I’ve appreciate all you’ve done for me over the past 30 years. But, LaVar can take it from here.
All the Best,
LaMatthew