If I ever have kids, and I ever tell them about what it felt like to watch Caitlin Clark, I wonder if, instead of being all like, “OK, Grandma, let’s get you to bed,” they’ll gather around the proverbial campfire and listen with bated breath. I wonder if they’ll know the stories already, like they know the creases in their palm, but if they’ll listen anyway because each retelling of the legend brings up fresh insights.
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