You Can’t Pull a Hamstring If You Never Got Off the Bench

I remember the exact moment I stopped trusting potential.

It was 2003. Joey "Light Knees" Laramie was standing in left field during intramurals, chewing a Fruit by the Foot, and letting a pop fly drop ten feet away from him because he “thought someone else would get it.” That day, I stopped believing in youth. And started believing in legacy.

You see, potential is for people who still think they're owed something.
Legacy? That’s for the ones who already spent it all—and still show up.

So what if your jersey doesn’t fit anymore.
So what if your highlight reel is just a grainy VHS clip your mom taped over with Extreme Makeover: Home Edition.
So what if every time you stretch, your groin files a noise complaint.

You were somebody.
And being somebody once is still more than most people ever do.

A Few Hard-Won Truths from Coach Gary:

• You can’t relive the glory days, but you can monetize the trauma.

• No one remembers your dodgeball stats, but they remember how loud you yelled.

• Crying in the locker room builds character. Crying in a Honda Odyssey builds… memories.

Look, I’m not here to make you feel good. I’m here to make you feel seen.
If you peaked in 2001, we still count it.
If you peaked during field day, we especially count it.
If your own kid doesn’t believe you used to be fast?
We believe you.
(We also believe your knees are lying.)

This isn’t just nostalgia.
It’s rehab for the soul.
And you’re overdue for your first session.

Now lace up those beat-up New Balances.
Tell your kid to hold your Gatorade.
And walk—no, limp—into your destiny.

This is your Burnt Legacy.
And we are not stretching beforehand.

- Coach Gary
Still benched. Still yelling. Still watching.