Legendary PBSL Hall of Fame superstar Kevin Love continues to be committed to the game. Although it's been 30 years since he's last stepped onto a professional basketball court, he still feels fit enough to play a few more seasons—even at the humble age of 69-years old. But to spare his body the aches and pains of growing old, Kevin has retired and became an ambassador of the game, a scholar who has nearly every statistic memorized. But admittedly, a hole remains in his heart—an inescapable void; a gaping hole that desperately needs to be filled. Only Kevin could control his destiny.
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Unlike most days at the Love Household, Tuesday morning was different: As he rose from bed, Kevin realized he had a morning hard-on. Not only was it thick, but it was throbbing as well—so intensely you'd think the veins were about to burst. As a 69-year old man, this was damn near impossible; surely somebody had poisoned him. Could it have been the maid? How about my disgusting wife? he pondered to himself as he played with his python-like penis.
As he stood upright, he felt a sudden "weight" being lifted off his shoulders, almost as if he had been struck with a bolt of relief. Wow, that was easy, he thought to himself. It wasn't usual that Kevin had this much strength and energy—surely it was the undisclosed pills he was taking. With each step, Kevin felt better and better. In fact, it felt as if he was getting younger with each step. Memories of the past flooded his mind, blinding him from the outside world. In a trance, Kevin pursued the shining light that stood before him, resonating with beauty. Kevin raced toward the light, only to slam into the hallway wall with enough force to topple an elephant. Hearing the explosive impact, his butler Victor came running to the scene.
"Wow, that didn't hurt much at all," Kevin uttered to himself as Victor stared at him with a glassy-eyed gaze. "I don't know what's going on, but I haven't felt this good in 30 years," he stammered in disbelief.
"What the f*ck are you talking about?" Victor asked him, completely oblivious to the Bigfoot-sized hole in the hallway wall.
"Victor, I need you to fetch me my ballsack—you know, that big bag of balls that I keep in the garage. Today, we're hitting the gym," proclaimed the 69-year old geriatric as he pointed toward the heavens à la the statue of Augustus of Prima Porta.
With his heart racing and his boner pulsating, Kevin hurried to the locker room to get dressed. Taking off his shirt, he was shocked to see that he somehow regained his six-pack, albeit wrinkly and saggy. This can't be real, can it? he attempted to reason with whatever sanity he had left. Feeling he was about to break, he closed his eyes and took a few deep breaths before going limp, only to collapse onto the locker room bench.
Moments later, his eyes were open and Victor was slapping his face. Everything started coming back. "Hey dude, are you okay? I found you nodded out in here. You take any narcotics earlier? And if so do you have any more?" Victor inquired.
"W-what happened? All I remember was the room started spinning and I fell asleep, but... I feel great. I feel like I've shed 35 years off my life, Victor!" Kevin joyously proclaimed as he stood up and started doing arm stretches.
"This may not be safe... You might want to reconsider this, Kevin," Victor urged him.
"Victor, for years you've served as my butler, waiting on my every need. Since you're able to do everything at home, I trust that you're able to get me back into basketball shape at the age of 69-years old," Kevin replied as he locked eyes with Victor.
"You know what? You're right. As maids & butlers, we're trained in a variety of tasks, some of which include fitness, namely rejuvenating a senior citizen's vitality," Victor informed him. "I think you'll be pleased with your results in less than a month. Under my wing, you'll be back on the court in no time."
A tear dripped down Kevin's cheek and he extended his hand. With a smile on his face, Victor shook his hand. "You're gonna have to pay me for all this though," Victor exclaimed.
"Oh that won't be a problem, Victor. You're not only my butler, my dentist, my chiropractor, my babysitter, and primary physician; but more importantly, you're my friend. So I'll definitely give you a $2.50 raise," Kevin proposed.
"Deal." And so it was.
As soon as his sneakers hit the court, Kevin's heart started racing. Out of all his accomplishments, this was easily his greatest—and he hadn't even accomplished anything yet. Nevertheless, he persevered. Victor bounced a ball to him as he approached the 3pt range. He was ready.
Eyeing up his shot, Kevin attempted a jumper and made it with ease. As another ball bounced his way, his body locked into position as the muscle memory flooded back to him. Instead of a jump shot, this time Kevin opted to drive to the basket; his eyes locked on the the prize. He rose to the occasion, leaping high into the air, his dunk hand cocked back like a slingshot, then slammed it through the rim. Victor couldn't believe what he was seeing. Kevin grabbed his own rebound and took it back to the perimeter. He "sized up" his invisible opponent and then backed down into the post. With speed and grace, Kevin Love pulled off a smooth fadeaway: All net. Victor stood there in awe.
"Vic, I think I'm ready to re-enter the league," Kevin informed him.
Despite his high hopes, it became quickly apparent that few teams were interested in signing a 69-year old man who struggled with incontinence to a contract. Every general manager he called ended up hanging up on him, as if this was some sort of sick joke. But, it wasn't. Kevin thought long and hard; he considered giving up—but then the Charlotte Bobcats called.
Ring. Ring. Ring.
"Hey, Kevin," drkavarga of the Charlotte Bobcats opened up with. "I heard you were interested in playing for a team and decided to check up on you. Right now I have a player named Claude Erickson who doesn't even know how to read yet he's being paid $14.5m per season. If my assassination—I mean negotiation—plot succeeds, the role is all yours," he proposed.
Kevin's eyes lit up like a Zippo.
"Wow, really? Who is this Claude Erickson guy and how can I reach him?" Kevin asked.
"Well, it won't be you who'll be doing all the leg-work. My plan is to have my forward Tony Tindall, a man with an extensive criminal record, jump him outside the local Applebee's and 'talk' him into an early retirement. But I don't have much faith in him, let alone the rest of my team," drkavarga sulked.
"No. It's okay, drkavarga, I have this covered. I don't know what happened, but one day I woke up feeling really good, and I just started playing basketball. The next thing you know, here I am on the phone with you, telling you that I'm going to help you assassinate a fake online basketball player because I'm 69 years old yet have the athletic prowess of a 20-year old," Kevin replied. "I'll 'talk' to him on Monday. Talk to your people and call it off. I have this."
Monday arrived and Kevin Love was anxious. He squirmed in his chair the entire ride to Applebee's, his leg constantly bouncing with energy. Kevin accomplished so much in his career but one thing he's never done is threaten a basketball player into retiring under penalty of death. It was finally 10:00pm, and the back door of Applebee's flew open. Claude exited the restaurant, albeit from the back—obviously in fear of his life—in his attempt to flee a future crime scene that Kevin was about to be responsible for. Kevin exited his vehicle and raced over to Claude, who stood on the other side of the street.
"Claude!" Kevin called out as he approached the street.
"Yeah?" Claude Erickson called out in confusion, mistaking Kevin for a fan.
"Hey man, I just wanted to talk to you real quick," Kevin replied as he started jogging across the street. "I have this problem, you see, an—"
Suddenly, an eighteen-wheeler appeared out of nowhere. Its horn blaring, it failed to stop before destroying Kevin's body, running it over with each of the 18 tires, cementing his legacy into the ground. When the truck finally came to a stop, the driver ran over to Kevin, who laid there, shaped like a saltine cracker.
"All I wanted ... All I ever wanted was to play basketball," Kevin uttered as he coughed up blood.
"Looks like the dream is dead—just like you," the driver informed him.
"Guhhhhh" Kevin replied as his eyes rolled in the back of his head.
Claude called 911 and an ambulance appeared within minutes, quickly gathering Kevin so they could rush him to the hospital—but it was too late, for Kevin was dead—his body flattened by the gigantic vehicle of a man 10 years younger than him.
"Damn, I feel so bad," the driver stated as police cruisers arrived to the scene.
"I don't. He was jaywalking," Claude replied.
Turning his back, Claude calmly walked to his 2010 Ford Explorer. He revved the engine and raced off, disappearing into the night. Kevin Love was dead and Claude Erickson could care less.
Rest in pieces, Kevin Love.
In Memory of Kevin Love,
1988—2057
1988—2057
