A Prank Call

"Yo, man, this is LeBron."

A friendly voice greeted Lance from the other end of the line. Lance froze for a moment: LeBron who?

Forgive Lance for being clueless. He wasn't great with names. Even his phone contacts were full of nicknames that had left Patrick Mahomes in stitches when he'd scrolled through it once, joking that it was like reading a comedy routine.

Now, out of nowhere, an unfamiliar number appeared, claiming to be someone named LeBron.

Was this how modern scam calls worked?

The voice on the other end didn't seem to notice Lance's skeptical silence. It carried on enthusiastically.

"Congrats!"

"Congratulations, man. You were absolutely incredible out there today."

"That second touchdown? Wow! My God, you tore through that defense like they weren't even there. Boom! Anyone doubting you has gotta be wetting their pants right now."

"Seriously, man. That was some beast mode stuff."

"How about this—next week in L.A.?"

"I'll be in L.A. for a while, and I heard your next game's there. Let's grab dinner, yeah?"

"Actually, I'd love to catch a game in person. It's been way too long since I've been at a live football game. Basketball's my thing, sure, but football—man, it's electric, right?"

The words poured out like a waterfall, unchecked and unstoppable, filling the silence that Lance left in its wake.

Truth be told, it didn't sound like a scam.

It sounded more like a prank call.

Lance raised an eyebrow. "Sorry, I didn't catch that. Who did you say you were again?"

"Oh, haha, my bad. This is LeBron James. I just watched the Chiefs game live."

"Man, you killed it out there. Seriously."

"I thought, hey, that kid reminds me of me—why not give him a call? So, I asked a few people, got in touch with your team manager, and voilà—here we are."

"Maybe we can—"

This time, Lance cut him off. "Dinner? A game? Yeah, I got it."

"LeBron James?"

"Hah. Hilarious. If this is a prank, you should at least do your homework first. Honestly, I'm more of a Curry fan, so next time, don't mess that up."

And with that, Lance hung up.

He casually tossed his phone into his locker, shut the door, and locked it.

Turning around, he noticed Mahomes looking his way, raising a questioning brow.

"What's up?"

Lance chuckled. "Some guy pretending to be LeBron James called and invited me to dinner in L.A. next week."

"LeBron James?"

"Yo, yo! Lance is big time now!"

"If it's a prank, at least make it interesting. A Sharapova impersonator would've caught Lance's attention way more than a fake LeBron James."

"What, you're into Sharapova? I thought you were all about Rihanna."

Laughter erupted as the locker room pounced on the conversation, teasing Lance relentlessly.

Meanwhile, on the other end of the line...

LeBron James stared at his phone in disbelief, his cheerful grin freezing in place. Did he just... get hung up on?

No, no. That couldn't be right. Maybe it was a bad connection?

He hit redial, but no one answered.

Eventually, the line went to voicemail: "The number you have dialed is currently unavailable. Please leave a message after the tone."

LeBron was dumbfounded.

"Huh. He... hung up on me?"

"No way. No, no, no. It has to be a mistake."

Then, like a light bulb flickering on, LeBron recalled Lance's parting words: Curry?

That little comment felt like a deliberate jab. Was Lance really a Curry fan? Or was he just messing with him?

Lance swore he wasn't.

He didn't know LeBron James personally, nor did he know Steph Curry.

The only reason Curry stuck in his memory was because his last name sounded like "curry," as in the dish. Lance found it amusing that there was an NBA player with a name like that.

If Lance had known about the years-long rivalry between Curry's Golden State Warriors and LeBron's Cleveland Cavaliers, he might have crafted a sharper response.

But back in the locker room, Lance was blissfully unaware of the drama brewing on the other end of the line.

For now, he followed the usual post-game routine: recovery.

First stop: an ice bath.

An ice bath involves sitting in a tub filled with ice and water or alternating between warm and cold water pools.

While the medical science behind it can get technical, the basic idea is simple: it's the cool-down counterpart to pre-game warm-ups.

Where warm-ups prepare the body for exertion, ice baths help the muscles recover afterward by reducing inflammation and clearing out lactic acid and other waste products.

Just as Lance was settling into the icy water, there was a knock on the door.

Looking up, he saw Barry Rubin, the team's strength and conditioning coach.

As wide receiver Tyreek Hill passed by, ready for his own ice bath, he spotted Rubin and couldn't resist teasing him. Draping a towel over his shoulders, Hill called out in a mock scream: "Ah! We've got a peeping Tom!"

The room burst into laughter.

Rubin, unfazed, glanced at Hill with a deadpan expression. "Relax. I'm here for Travis and Lance."

Roar!

The locker room exploded in whistles and whoops.

Hill played along, throwing an arm around Lance and Kelce, hamming it up for laughs.

Rubin shook his head, amused. "When you're done here, both of you need to stop by the medical room. They've got some tests lined up."

"Tests? What for?" Lance asked, puzzled.

"I don't know," Rubin replied with a shrug. "I'm just the messenger."

Hill grinned mischievously. "Oh, I know what this is—Doctor Rosen's looking for a prince charming. Looks like she's narrowing it down to you two."

Then, with a mock sigh of defeat:

"Man, I'm losing faith in this shallow world. A solid guy like me gets overlooked, while pretty boys like Lance and Travis get all the attention."

Lance quipped, "Tyreek, what were those 'three great qualities' you said you had?"

"Huh?" Hill blinked, caught off guard.

Shaking his head, Lance smirked. "Never mind. It's definitely not your looks or your brain."

With that, Lance stepped out of the ice bath, patting Hill on the shoulder in mock sympathy. "Don't worry. You might not win an Oscar, but there's always the Razzie Awards."

Laughter erupted as Hill dramatically bemoaned his fate.

Once Lance finished his shower and got dressed, he made his way to the medical room.

Outside, he spotted safety Eric Berry talking with Dr. Lilith Rosen.

Rosen, with her sleek blonde ponytail and crisp white coat, radiated a cool, unapproachable aura. Her demeanor practically screamed "keep your distance," but it only seemed to draw more attention.

As Lance approached, he couldn't help but think: "Guess I'll find out what this is all about."

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Powerstones?

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