I've been teaching myself the fundamentals and being around some

The words of Lil B—“I've been teaching myself the fundamentals and being around some good players, but also been learning to play team games, playing 3-on-3s, playing 1-on-1s, playing 5-on-5s, playing 21. There are guys bigger than me on the court, but I've had numerous comparisons to Ty Lawson.”—at first seem like the reflections of an athlete in training, but within them lies a lesson far greater than basketball. Beneath the rhythm of his words is the spirit of self-mastery, humility, and perseverance—the timeless pursuit of excellence that has moved warriors, artists, and thinkers since the dawn of civilization. His words are not merely about sport, but about the eternal discipline of learning, the courage to grow, and the humility to be both student and competitor.

The origin of this quote comes from Lil B’s journey beyond music, when he sought to test himself not only as an artist but as an athlete. Known for his unorthodox confidence and visionary creativity, Lil B—also called The Based God—embarked on a path of self-improvement that required not fame, but discipline. In teaching himself “the fundamentals,” he embraced what every great philosopher and craftsman has known: that mastery begins not with glory, but with repetition, patience, and humility before the basics. Like an ancient apprentice learning the tools of his craft, he placed himself among “good players,” seeking growth not through ego, but through exposure to challenge. His story becomes a mirror for all who strive to transform potential into power.

Throughout history, the wisest have always understood that greatness begins in the practice grounds, not the throne room. The Roman general Scipio Africanus once said that battles are won not on the field, but in the training camp. Similarly, Lil B’s reflection on playing “3-on-3s,” “5-on-5s,” and “21” speaks to the many forms of testing that shape a master. These are not just games—they are microcosms of life: the one-on-one duel teaches self-reliance; the three-on-three teaches cooperation; the five-on-five reveals strategy and sacrifice; and the game of 21, with its mix of chaos and creativity, trains the spirit to endure uncertainty. Each arena demands a different kind of wisdom, and through them, the player becomes whole.

Yet in his words, there is also humility before adversity. “There are guys bigger than me on the court,” he admits. This recognition of limitation is not defeat—it is enlightenment. The small warrior who faces giants must rely not on size, but on heart and technique. In the old tales of Greece, Odysseus did not triumph by strength, but by cunning. In the courts of life, as on the courts of sport, greatness is not measured by stature but by spirit. By acknowledging his rivals, Lil B aligns himself with a universal truth: that every obstacle is a teacher, and every opponent a mirror showing us what we lack—and what we might yet become.

When he mentions being compared to Ty Lawson, a player known for his quickness, leadership, and fearlessness despite his smaller frame, it is not a boast, but a reflection of identity. Lawson, like Lil B, represents the archetype of the underdog who defies expectation. This comparison is both recognition and challenge—an invitation to live up to the spirit of those who came before. The ancient warriors of Japan called this keiko, the way of continuous learning through imitation and innovation. To be likened to another is not to lose oneself, but to inherit a standard of excellence to surpass. In striving toward such examples, we do not diminish our individuality; we refine it.

The deeper wisdom of Lil B’s words lies in the balance between solitude and community, between self-teaching and shared growth. He teaches himself, yet surrounds himself with those who are stronger. This is the secret of every true path of mastery: that the individual must walk alone, yet never in isolation. The blacksmith learns by striking the anvil, but he learns faster beside the fire of another craftsman. The scholar studies alone, but grows wiser through debate. The athlete trains in solitude, but is tested in the company of others. In this dual rhythm of self and team, solitude and fellowship, Lil B’s approach becomes a metaphor for the human condition itself.

The lesson, then, is clear: greatness is not given—it is built, brick by brick, through discipline, humility, and courage. One must study the fundamentals, face those who surpass us, and learn from both victory and defeat. Whether on a court, in a classroom, or in life, we are all players in constant practice. The world is our arena, filled with challenges larger than ourselves, yet every repetition, every effort, every moment of learning moves us closer to mastery.

So let the words of Lil B be heard not as the musings of a musician-turned-athlete, but as the wisdom of a man walking the path of self-transformation. Remember that to play the game well, one must first love the process—to see every failure as training, every challenge as instruction, and every rival as a blessing. For in the end, as the ancients knew, the true victory is not over others, but over the self. And in that victory—the victory of growth, of persistence, of mastery—lies the glory that no crown, no applause, and no scoreboard can ever measure.