The Problem with Sports - M.E. Clayton Page 0,18

replied, this time, sounding like he was eighteen instead of eight.

“Apples and oranges?”

The goddamn kid rolled his eyes at me. Currently, we were sitting in his living room while Andrea was making us lunch. It was Monday, and after allowing enough time to deem appropriate, I had been knocking on their door, ready to start my mentoring. Grant was lost, and I needed to fix this.

“Only season records are accurate, Nathan,” he said. He had started off our visit with some Mr. Hayes nonsense that I quickly squashed. Friends didn’t need to be so formal with each other.

“How so?” I asked because the kid’s logic was like a bad car wreck. I couldn’t help but be fascinated.

“If I play football for only ten seasons, but you play for thirteen, well, of course, you’re going to exceed my pass record, or touchdown record, or whatever. You played longer than I did,” he replied without the ‘duh’, even though that was clearly implied in his tone. “The real measure is when you compare what you did within those ten years to what I did in those ten years.”

Fuck, the kid had a point.

“But if we’re talking stats or records within just the season and not a player’s career length, well, those are more accurate because the time frame is the same. Apples, apples,” he went on. “Specific timelines are the only real comparison. If I compare your rookie season with Hal Roberts’ rookie season, then that’s a fair comparison. But Hal has more seasons under his belt than you do.”

“Okay, so then, what happens to your theory if I’ve played fewer seasons than Hal, but break all his records?”

The little shit rolled his eyes at me again. “Nothing happens to my theory,” he returned. “It’s still the same concept. We’d be comparing your ten years to Hal’s first ten years. And if you broke all his records, then you’d be better than him, clearly.” Before I could comment he continued with his lopsided logic. “If a player plays five years longer than you did, and didn’t break any of your records, he sucks.”

I stared at this kid who had more knowledge of sports than anyone I’ve ever met and was just blow the hell away. He was only eight, for fuck’s sake.

“Why do you love sports so much?”

Grant scrunched of his face, and he looked to be giving it some real thought. Finally, he said, “I like that they’re the best. Even if you’re third-string, or whatever, you were still good enough to get there.”

“Your mom doesn’t like sports much, does she?” After the night she explained all about Grant’s health issues, it had been hard to get up and walk out as if we were just casual friends. Hell, we weren’t even really friends, at this point. We were friendly neighbors because I liked her son. But I couldn’t deny my dick got hard at the thought of the woman, and she seemed just so refreshingly different from the women who’ve chased my pro-ball status.

Grant shrugged a shoulder. “She’s a book editor,” he said. “I think she likes books more.” That would explain why she could work from home.

“What’s your dad do?”

“He sells houses and buildings and things,” he said, explaining what must be a real estate agent.

I nodded, letting him know I understood. “Your mom seems nice,” I hedged. “But I still haven’t met your dad.”

“Dad stayed after on Sunday when he dropped me off,” he casually mentioned, not realizing he’d just kicked my chest in. “If he stays next time, I can go get you.”

“Does your dad stay the night a lot?” I was officially pumping an eight-year-old for information about his parents, and I’d have to say, this was a super new low in my life. But he mentioned it first, right?

Grant shook his head. “He doesn’t stay the night,” he clarified. “He just stays and hangs out with me a little more sometimes.” Grant smiled big. “He says he misses me when I’m not with him.”

“What’s not to miss, bud?” I mean, seriously? This kid was awesome.

“Well, Mom misses me, too, when I’m not here, so they’re just going to have to get used to sharing me,” he stated, and I marveled at how much older this kid sounded when he spoke sometimes.

“Have they been sharing you long?” I inwardly cringed because this really was a new low, but I was interested in Andrea, so any little bit of information helped.

“Since I was six, I think,” he