If you're going to do something, you're going to do it to be the

Host: The locker room was quiet — the kind of silence that hums with the ghosts of noise. The scent of sweat, grass, and determination clung to the air. The metal lockers stood like sentinels, dented and scarred, holding the echoes of every game, every loss, every vow.

Outside, under the floodlights, the empty field stretched into the night — a vast green stage where dreams collided with discipline.

Jack sat on the wooden bench, lacing his boots, his expression a study in focus and fatigue. Across from him, Jeeny leaned against the locker door, a clipboard in one hand, a quiet fire in her eyes.

Jeeny: “Colin Kaepernick once said, ‘If you’re going to do something, you’re going to do it to be the best.’”

Jack: [snorts softly] “Yeah. Easy to say until you find out what ‘the best’ costs.”

Jeeny: “It’s not about easy. It’s about intent. He didn’t say you’ll be the best. He said you’ll do it to be the best. There’s a difference.”

Host: A fluorescent bulb above them flickered, buzzing like an impatient thought. The echo of distant thunder murmured through the rafters.

Jack: “You think intent’s enough? You can train, bleed, lose sleep — and still fall short. Does effort make it noble, or just naïve?”

Jeeny: “Effort makes it human. The pursuit of excellence isn’t about guarantee — it’s about refusal. The refusal to coast. To settle. To be average.”

Jack: “Average isn’t evil. It’s survival.”

Jeeny: “No. It’s surrender disguised as reason.”

Host: The words landed between them like weights. Jack’s hands stilled on his laces, his eyes lifting — not angry, just tired of pretending ambition didn’t burn him from the inside out.

Jack: “You talk like being the best is a moral duty.”

Jeeny: “It is — if you believe your gift is sacred. Kaepernick didn’t just talk about football. He meant everything — purpose, protest, principle. If you’re going to stand, stand tall. If you’re going to kneel, kneel for truth. Do it to be the best version of yourself, not the safest.”

Jack: [quietly] “The best version doesn’t always survive the spotlight.”

Jeeny: “Then it wasn’t the best. It was the bravest.”

Host: The rain started outside, soft but deliberate, drumming against the roof like a heartbeat. The sound filled the pauses between their breaths.

Jack: “You know, people talk about greatness like it’s glory. They forget it’s mostly pain. The early mornings, the isolation, the failures no one sees.”

Jeeny: “That’s the price of being the best — not applause, but sacrifice. The world only remembers the finish line. It never asks what it cost to reach it.”

Jack: “And sometimes you reach it only to realize the world’s moved the line.”

Jeeny: “Then you chase it again. Because greatness isn’t an achievement. It’s a discipline.”

Host: She crossed her arms, her gaze steady, sharp. There was admiration in her tone, but also challenge — the kind that dared him to remember who he was.

Jack: “You think Kaepernick knew what his words would cost him?”

Jeeny: “Of course. And that’s what made him the best. Not the stats, not the plays — the courage to stake his talent against his conscience.”

Jack: “And lose everything for it.”

Jeeny: “No. He didn’t lose — he transformed. That’s the mark of true excellence — to turn success into significance.”

Host: The thunder grew closer now, rumbling like applause from unseen gods. The room seemed to tighten around their words — every metal surface catching fragments of reflection, fragments of truth.

Jack: “So being the best isn’t about winning.”

Jeeny: “It’s about meaning.”

Jack: “And if meaning costs you victory?”

Jeeny: “Then victory wasn’t worth having.”

Host: Jack stood now, pacing slowly, his boots thudding against the concrete. His shoulders carried both strength and weariness — the tension of someone who’d fought too long between potential and peace.

Jack: “You ever think some people chase ‘best’ because they’re afraid of being forgotten?”

Jeeny: “Maybe. But the best aren’t remembered because they win — they’re remembered because they stand for something when the world shakes.”

Jack: “You make it sound like greatness is rebellion.”

Jeeny: “It always is. Because mediocrity is comfort, and comfort is obedience.”

Host: The rain outside turned harder, sheets of water blurring the view of the field. The lights from the stadium bled into the mist — a halo for ghosts of effort.

Jack: “You know what scares me most about chasing the best? It never ends. You reach the summit, and the horizon just moves farther away.”

Jeeny: “That’s the beauty of it. Excellence isn’t a destination — it’s a mirror. Every time you touch it, it asks, ‘Who are you becoming?’”

Jack: “And what if you don’t like the answer?”

Jeeny: “Then you train harder.”

Host: Jack laughed softly — not out of humor, but recognition. He sat again, the bench creaking beneath him, and leaned forward, elbows on his knees.

Jack: “You know, when I was younger, I thought being the best meant beating everyone else. Now I think it means beating the version of yourself that keeps making excuses.”

Jeeny: “That’s growth. The best isn’t a trophy — it’s self-mastery.”

Jack: “And maybe that’s what Kaepernick meant. Not arrogance. Accountability.”

Jeeny: “Exactly. If you’re going to do something, do it with all you have. Otherwise, you’re just passing time.”

Host: The storm outside softened, its anger spent. The smell of rain crept in through a cracked window — clean, alive, forgiving.

Jack looked up at Jeeny, something steady returning to his expression — the quiet clarity of someone who’d remembered his own reason.

Jack: “You think it’s still worth it — trying to be the best, even when the world applauds the loudest instead of the truest?”

Jeeny: “Especially then.”

Jack: [nodding slowly] “Then I guess I’m not done yet.”

Jeeny: “Good. The best never are.”

Host: The camera would pull back now — two figures in a dim locker room, framed by shadows and the faint hum of rain, surrounded by the echoes of those who chased perfection and paid in pain.

The field outside gleamed faintly under the lights, waiting — patient, eternal.

And as the scene faded into darkness, Colin Kaepernick’s words would rise like a vow — stripped of ego, full of fire:

If you’re going to do something,
do it to be the best.
Not for applause,
not for comfort —
but because excellence,
like conscience,
demands everything
or nothing at all.