#cyancollectivegoingdown

Friday mornings hit different when you're Golden Wells 58. The sun barely rises over the court, but he's already there—sweat beading on golden skin, laces tight, eyes sharper than ever. For tomorrow's, game against the Cyan Collective, and he’s leaving nothing to chance.

Today isn’t about showing off. It’s about focus. Precision. Ritual. Three hours on the court running solo drills, hooks, pivots, dunks, mid-range jumpers. Again and again. Muscle memory. That calm, fire-eyed look like he’s visualizing every moment of the game before it even happens.

Then comes recovery. Ice bath. Gatorade. Foam roll. Quiet time with music in his headphones and that look, the one that says I’m coming for war, but I’m bringing grace with me.

Later, he walks the court alone as the sun sets, hands in his pockets, golden kit still on. Just him and the echo of the game he’s about to play. He stands center court for a minute, palms open, soaking it all in. Manifesting.

He’s not just playing center tomorrow. He’s anchoring the team. He’s the heartbeat. He’s the gold standard.

And when tip-off comes, Wells 58 will rise like he always does—strong, sure, and unshakable.