In a summer sweltering Houston gym, this dot was helped by a foolish slip of my tongue followed by a few months of business courting. What slip? At about the 10-minute mark of our first meeting, after listening to Evander talk about his training routine, some happy-go-lucky cherub whispered in my ear and told me to interject by saying, “Well, you’re just a big pussy cat aren’t you?” I remember the long pause Evander took before responding to my gamey blurt. Perhaps it wasn’t so long; it just felt that way. In any case, I sure would have if I could have strung the words back into my mouth. With bated breath, I and the four gentlemen who accompanied me waited for his comeback. He giggled and said frankly, “Well, yeah, that’s right.”
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