For my part, I am all set. Back in college, we had a member of the basketball team who saw less of the court during game-time than the kid who wipes up the floor under the basket after someone hits the deck. Late one night I found myself on the dorm elevator with this fellow and a few of his non-basketball playing associates. As I looked at the morose, yet expressionless faces, I could see the headline in next week's edition of my small home-town's newspaper: "Local Boy Who Went Off to Big College Succumbs to Knife Wounds." As the elevator came to a stop, our student-athlete pointed a finger at me and said, "When the revolution comes, you gets to drive the truck." With my future secured, we all parted ways.
