There once was a man who was gifted by God as one of the greatest basketball players on the planet. Only a few in the world had the ability to handle the ball like he did: the ball seemed more a part of his body than an external object. His crossover, hesitation move, and step back ought to be put on a loop and played in the basketball hall of fame. At 6’2” he was far from tall by basketball standards, and yet his body glided through the air so effortlessly and he could use either hand from any angle so perfectly, that he could finish at the hoop like almost no other player.
But Kyrie prided himself on his intellect. He went to fine schools including Duke, he loved studying, and he got a thrill from defending unpopular perspectives. He chafed whenever he was lumped into the category of just being just an athlete.
His aspirations were higher. He wanted to leave his mark on the world, he wanted to make a difference. He wanted to be a thought leader, a culture-changer, a philosopher. What difference could he make with a leather sphere in his hands?
So, he accepted the praise, money, and fame that his skills on the basketball court afforded him, but he did so with a condescending sneer. The world didn’t understand what he really had to offer.
