Today’s athletes are soft. If I knew I had to guard LeBron, I’d key his car; carve a big fat B right into his driver’s door. Then during the game after he made a few shots I’d yell, “Hey Lebron! It was me! I keyed your car!”

If they had pepper spray, I’d be drenched in it. If we had a panic room, they’d be locking themselves inside it.

“Are you officially turning your key on getting the cats?” — a text from my wife.