gm. first coffee, so here's the exact moment I knew the rec league days were over. Fourth game of the season, I pulled a hamstring jogging to the sideline to ask the ref about a spot. Not a play. A jog. Went home and pulled up my own stats. Eleven seasons, a completion rate that fell every single year, and a knee that was a 3-point-something on a scale nobody uses. Down every year. Not a slump. A trend line with a slope and a p-value. I'd spent two decades telling people everything reverts, and my own body was the cleanest dataset I ever owned. No variance in it. No hot start to wait out. Just a straight line pointed at a recliner. Hung up the cleats that night. Enjoy your Sunday, everybody. Stretch.