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So former Kentucky basketball player Rex Chapman has a Kentucky basketball fan stalker.
You absolutely have to read this story.
Over twenty years ago Rex Chapman’s mom ended up becoming pen pals with three of the biggest Rex Chapman fans alive. They were 15 years old at the time and the three boys called themselves “The ‘Nators,” as in the dominators. Yes, this is the perfect 15 year old boy self-group nickname. Well, Rex ended stopping by the Nators’ house to meet with them when he was 21, after his second year in the NBA. Why did he do this? Because his mom promised the Nators he’d stop by. (If this isn’t the most mom thing ever). While there Rex and his two friends ended up playing a three-on-three basketball game against the trio of 15 year olds on the appropriately named “Nator Court.”
Which is where the story would end for most of us.
Except that a few years ago Rex ran into one of the ‘Nators and, in a moment of weakness, gave him his cell number and told him to call if he was ever in Phoenix.
That was a big mistake.
Because the Nator is now stalking Rex Chapman.
You must read this story.
And if you’ve ever felt bad about the texts you’ve sent anyone, these texts will make you feel better about yourself. Even Richie Incognito is like, “Bro, you need to chill out.” This is a spectacular entry into the mind of a crazed Kentucky basketball fan.
Here are the Nator’s texts:
8:57 pm – I’ll never forget it. Thanks for the inspiration.
9:11 pm Watch the film, Dawger vs. Keith
9:11 pm – Mismatch
9:13 pm – You want to respond but you can’t. And that’s sad.
9:17 pm – How much better were t
9:18 pm – Seriously. How much better were you than (removed current UK players names) ?
9:20 pm Not even close 3
9:29 pm – Love you boy!
9:30 pm – Not even close
9:30 pm I think we all need to get together and talk
(AT THIS POINT my phone is BEEPING NONSTOP while trying to finish-up homework with my teenage girls. Against my better judgement, I respond to him for the first time in probably some NINE-MONTHS. I say:)
9:31 pm – Goddammit, Tom. I’ve asked ten different ways. Lose my f*cking number. I promise, one more text and I’m putting you on blast. By name. Don’t respond.
(He can’t help it and responds right back:)
9:32 pm – There he is!
9:32 pm – Let’s talk
9:34 pm – What a blast!
9:39 pm – This thing has gotten out of control. Can’t help cutting a crown prep without “lovin every minute of it” ringing through my ears.
9:40 – Let’s settle this thing at Nator Arena
9:41 pm – Spin move!
9:42 pm – Call me
9:42 pm – Let’s talk
9:45 pm – Loved your story about Dean Smith. Awesome
9:46 pm – Thinking bout your Pops asking Dean Smith to come outside and have a smoke.
9:48 pm – I’ll never forget your Dad walking out for warm ups at NKU
9:49 pm – It was the night you were in the dunk contest.
9:49 pm – Same night that Tyson got his ass whipped by Buster Douglass.
9:51 pm – Do I still have to “lose the number”?
9:52 pm – We need to talk. You and me.
9:53 pm – Let’s arm wrestle or something to get this out of the way.
9:54 pm – Let it go 3
9:56 pm – My children can’t wait to hear anything from you.
9:57 pm – I’ve showed them all the highlights.
10:01 pm – You still there 3? I’m calling you
10:02 pm – No FaceTime?
10:04 pm – I thought you were good on CBS.
10:04 pm – How bad is this UK team?
10:05 pm – No movement. No work off the ball. No sense of urgency.
10:06 pm – When do you and Greg and Keith want to mix it up for a few hours?
10:07 pm – I was a young kid. So was Dawg. Scared to hurt you.
10:08 pm – You were awesome. Very understanding but yet you didn’t hold back.
10:14 pm – Okay. I’m gonna go balls outs. I am so sorry for all the bullshit. Just would do anything to F*cking talk to you.
10:16 pm – Man to man.
10:16 pm – I am 40-years old for Gods sake.
10:17 pm – Let’s talk please.
10:18 pm – C’mon 3, call me right now.
10:19 pm – Nators!
(Now, the phone has been sitting – on “silent” since I responded to him at 9:31 pm. Since then I sent out a few tweets about him – true to my word. At this point I’d just gotten the girls to bed and have picked-up my phone to see that he’s been messaging me nonstop since I sent that text. I flipped thru the messages and decide to send the following:)
10:23 pm – I told you (name removed), that I’d had it. I meant it. I’ve put you on Twitter for the past 45-minutes. Now I’m going to blog every last one of the 45 or so texts you’ve sent me over the past hour and twenty minutes. Because changing my f*cking number would be the biggest hassle ever. …I f*cking HATE that it’s come to this. You’ve pushed and pushed and pushed and pushed – and left me no other options. It’s not even as if I’ve just HINTED about it all. I’ve ASKED you to stop calling and texting me. I asked YOUR FRIENDS to ask you to stop. You have no f*cking shame. Asshole. But – I warned you.
(I then go to take a shower. My phone sits on the couch on “silent”. I return about 20-minutes later to find:)
10:30 pm – What are (you) talking about? 45-texts? Really? #loser
10:33 pm – Let’s get it on at Nator Arena.
10:33 pm – This time I won’t take it easy on you.
10:36 pm – Hah. Who do you think you are? Last time I checked, I had about 6 years of college on you.
10:37 pm – Unless you snuck into dental school and took classes.
10:37 pm – Don’t f*ck with me. I’m tired of your act.
10:37 pm – Nice T-Shirts
10:46 pm – Yo 3. Still there? C’mon put up a fight at least.
10:47 pm – That’s it. I’m calling you.
10:49 pm – Where you be?
I can’t stop laughing.
“Let’s get it on at Nator Arena,” is my new life motto.