Requiem for a Broken Dream.

[Captain Canada]

Kyrie gotta be sick to his stomach with that statline. 4 picks from the QB gotta be painful to play through

[The JZA]

Ayo..

Talk to your mans Kyrie with that weak shit

[Soapy]

Kyrie gotta be sick to his stomach with that statline. 4 picks from the QB gotta be painful to play through

Ayo..

Talk to your mans Kyrie with that weak shit

that ain't my man

[djp73]

That's that weird episode of a show where they focus on some secondary character the whole episode and we're like at the end.

[Soapy]

That's that weird episode of a show where they focus on some secondary character the whole episode and we're like at the end.

[Soapy]

TAMU (4-2, 1-1) | 7 | 9 | 6 | 21 | 43
UK (2-4, 1-2) | 3 | 7 | 0 | 0 | 10

TAMU QB Connor Weigman: 9-14, 133 yds, 2 TD
TAMU HB Andrew Paul: 22 att, 170 yds, 4 TD
UK QB Cole Pennington: 17-21, 163 yds, TD, INT, 2 fumbles
UK HB Kamaldeen Seidu-Harris: 25 att, 104 yds, 4 rec, 32 yds, TD
UK HB Kyrie Patterson: 1 att, 4 yds, 3 rec, 40 yds

Season Stats 138 att, 645 yds, 2 TD, 32 rec, 277 yds, 3 TD

[Caesar]

Two touchdowns through six games. No wonder that boy being faithful to Yassy again.

[Soapy]

OU (6-2, 3-2) | 0 | 7 | 3 | 10 | 13 | 33
UK (2-5, 1-3) | 3 | 14 | 0 | 3 | 10 | 30

OU QB Jackson Arnold: 10-15, 217 yds, 3 TD, 9 att, 36 yds
OU HB Taylor Tatum: 28 att, 140 yds, TD
UK QB Cole Pennington: 18-29, 244 yds, 3 TD
UK HB Kamaldeen Seidu-Harris: 30 att, 150 yds, fumble (lost), 5 rec, 58 yds
UK HB Kyrie Patterson: 2 att, 7 yds, 2 rec, 16 yds

Season Stats 168 att, 795 yds, 2 TD, 37 rec, 355 yds, 3 TD

[Soapy]

Two touchdowns through six games. No wonder that boy being faithful to Yassy again.

YA GOT HIM!

[Soapy]

Season 6, Episode 15
“You’re going to have to let that shit go, bro!”

Marlon’s aggressive tap on the shoulder snapped Kam out of it, replaying the fumble and the drops over and over again in his head. The coaching staff had laxed his curfew as a way of getting his mind off the game but it still remained firmly there.

He had tore apart the locker room, this time angry at himself for his costly fumble and subsequent drops in the fourth quarter of their last game.

“You sure you don’t want a drink?” Marlon offered once more, Kam shaking his head. The days had turned into weeks and he didn’t want to end his streak, at least not until the season was over.

The sober mind led to an aggravating experience at the popular spot for students, student-athletes and local residents alike. The music was thumping and the air was filled with smoke, a nausea inducing combination of cigarette, weed and hookah.

Amidst the smoky haze, Kam hadn’t noticed that Kyrie and his entourage had made their way to their section. With a cocky grin, one of them reached for one of the bottles on the table – the expensive vodka Kam had bought for the section.

"Mind if I borrow this?" Darius asked, his tone dripping with sarcasm. "Wouldn’t want you to fumble that bitch and break it.”

The tension in the air was palpable, cutting through the pulsing bass and drunken laughter surrounding them. For a moment, it seemed like the entire club was holding its breath, waiting to see what would happen next.

Kam forced a smile, shaking his head as he stared into the nothingness that was the club.

Leaning in close, his breath hot on Kam's ear, Darius whispered, "I’m just fucking with you, bruh. I would be careful about who you put your hands on, though, you know how I’m coming behind my bro.”

“I don’t know shit,” Kam looked into Darius’ eyes and then darted them towards Kyrie, “I don’t even know who the fuck you are and I’m allowing you to drink all my liquor that I bought like a little bitch.”

Marlon took a step forward, his chest rising with anticipation.

“I’m just fucking with you,” Kam smiled, “You having a good time, right?”

Darius forced a smile, nodding his head as he grabbed the bottle and they retreated back to their own section. Kyrie made brief eye contact before returning his attention to the lady that was on his arm.

“Just close it out when you’re done,” Kam slid Marlon his credit card, “I’m going home.”

…

The neon lights flickered to life as Sandra pulled into the parking lot, her beat-up Honda sputtering to a stop. Ravie fidgeted nervously in the passenger seat, tugging at the hem of her too-short skirt.

"You sure about this?" Ravie asked, her voice barely audible over the muffled bass thumping from inside the club.

Sandra nodded, squeezing her friend's hand. "Trust me, girl. He’ll act tough but he’s a softie, just bat your eyes at that nigga.”

The two women made their way through the back entrance, the smell of stale cigarettes and cheap perfume assaulting their senses. Sandra nodded to a few of the other dancers as they passed the dressing room, their faces caked with glittery makeup under the harsh fluorescent lights.

The office door was cracked open, a sliver of warm light spilling into the dim hallway. Felix sat behind his cluttered desk, his burly frame dwarfing the creaky office chair. His eyes narrowed as he took in Ravie's nervous form.

"Who's this?" he grunted, gesturing with his ever-present cigar.

"This is Ravie," Sandra said, her voice steady despite the butterflies in her stomach. "She's looking for work, and I thought she'd be perfect for that bartending position you've been trying to fill."

Felix raised an eyebrow, looking Ravie up and down. "You worked any clubs before?”

Ravie swallowed hard. "Not exactly, but I'm a quick learner. I've worked in customer service before, and I'm great with people."

Felix snorted, leaning back in his chair. "This ain't your average customer service gig, honey. These motherfuckers can get handsy, even if you aren’t on the stage. You think you can handle that?"

Sandra stepped forward, her eyes pleading. “She ain’t no weak bitch, Felix. This is my homegirl, come on."

Felix was quiet for a long moment, puffing on his cigar as he considered the proposition. The silence stretched on, broken only by the muffled music from the main floor.

Finally, he sighed, stubbing out his cigar in the overflowing ashtray. "Alright, fine. We’ll give it a few shifts, see how it works, starting tomorrow night. But I'm warning you," he pointed at Ravie with a meaty finger, "one complaint from a customer, one spilled drink, and you're out. Got it?"

Ravie nodded eagerly, relief washing over her face. "Yes, sir. Thank you, I won't let you down."

As they left Felix's office, Sandra threw an arm around Ravie's shoulders. "See? Told you it would work.”

…



Kam trudged into the team meeting room, both the physical and mental toll of their last game still weighing on him. He could still feel the sting of the ball slipping through his fingers, could hear the collective groan of disappointment from the stands. The memory of his fumble played on a loop, each replay more excruciating than the last.

He slid into a seat near the back, avoiding eye contact with his teammates. The room filled with the usual pre-meeting chatter, but Kam felt disconnected from it all, as if he were underwater, the sounds muffled and distant. His stomach churned at the thought of watching the game film, of reliving every mistake in high definition.

Coach Stoops strode in, his presence immediately commanding attention. The room fell silent, all eyes fixed on the grizzled man at the front. Kam braced himself, expecting to dive straight into the painful dissection of their loss.

But Coach Stoops' expression was grim, his usual game-day intensity replaced by something more somber. "Before we get into the film," he began, his voice low and serious, "there's something we need to discuss."

Kam felt a flicker of confusion, momentarily distracted from his self-loathing.

"On Saturday night," Coach continued, "two of our players were robbed outside of a club."

A collective murmur rippled through the room. Kam's head snapped up, his heart racing. He looked toward Marlon who simply shrugged, the news landing on him for the first time as well.

"Thankfully, they weren't seriously hurt," Coach Stoops went on, "but this is a wake-up call. We need to be more aware of our surroundings, more careful about where we go and who we associate with. I’m not your parent so I’m not going to tell you what to wear, where to wear it but be smart, alright?”

As they broke out into their positional groups, Kam took the opportunity to catch up with Marlon.

“Was it at our spot?” Kam asked, similar chatter going on around them as they walked the halls.

“Khamari said it was,” Marlon nodded, “A couple redshirts I guess couldn’t get in so they were just hanging around outside when them folks ran up on them, probably thought they had bread or something on them.”

Kam shook his head, feeling a bit of guilt for leaving Marlon, what happened with Marcus replaying in his mind, “You don’t have nothing on you, do you?”

“What you mean?”

“Like when you’re out and shit,” Kam continued, “You don’t carry?”

“Only when I’m back home,” Marlon scoffed, “That’s a ESPN headline waiting to happen, bro. Lexington PD don’t give two shits about the Second Amendment when it comes to us.”