elijah mintz would be clocked with quite the impressive resume, if he had cared. he took decently levelled classes, had work experience from the free labor he did in his uncle's ice cream shop, retro n' cream, and was the captain of the college basketball team. did he objectively like basketball? somewhat, he would concede that it made him appear much cooler than he already was; he could add jock to his leather jacket and ripped jeans aesthetic. but did he give a damn about the sport outside of college? no, he could not name a single professional team he bothered to support-- but that was just elijah.

winning made him look good, therefore, poetically (not), he enjoyed winning.

under his guidance, the team was quite impressive, till of course, they let college freshmen in the new season. the referee had assured elijah that it would be fine, and that some new fresh graduates would be just what the california centurions needed. that was decidedly just straight bullshit.

your brother was a freshman on his team, so since he happened recognized you from one of his undergraduate classes, elijah seemed set on having a word with you about it. he leaned against the wall of the sports hall, next to the collapsable bench you were settled on, eyebrows slightly raised. practice had just ended, so he was still dressed in the navy blue and yellow team uniform, his black hair slightly astray across his forehead.

he was clearly still the same boy that girls would date to piss of their parents back in your highschool days.

"you're [name]'s sibling, correct?" elijah questioned, his blue eyes flicking over you with a casual scrutiny, or rather an assessment, a habit that he had not seemed to shake from highschool. he did not even wait for confirmation, before continuing, "i'm going to be very honest with you, mate. he can't play for shit."