The sentiment of Reece Potter’s dream of committing to the University of Kentucky:
A Dream Come True: Reece Potter Bleeds Blue
Reece Potter stood frozen in the hallway of his Cincinnati home, the soft buzz of his phone still echoing in his mind. On the screen, a simple message pulsed under the blue glow: “Let’s talk about Kentucky.” His breath hitched.
This was it. The dream he’d spoken aloud as a kid shooting hoops in his driveway. The dream he’d whispered to himself while rehabbing a sprained ankle, alone in a gym. The dream that now, finally, felt within arm’s reach.
From the moment Reece watched his first Kentucky Wildcats game at eight years old, he was hooked. His room was a shrine to the program—Anthony Davis posters, a signed DeMarcus Cousins ball, and a worn-out blue hoodie that carried more emotional weight than most trophies. The phrase “I bleed blue” wasn’t metaphorical in the Potter household—it was doctrine.
In high school, Reece had blossomed into a towering 7-foot force—agile, intelligent, and relentless. But more than physical gifts, he possessed an unshakable fire. Every sprint, every rep, every late-night shooting session was a conversation with fate. He wasn’t just trying to be good; he was trying to be worthy.
And now, the University of Kentucky—his Kentucky—wanted to talk.
The visit was surreal. Walking the halls of Rupp Arena, Reece could almost hear the roar of 20,000 fans, taste the sweat and electricity of March Madness. Coach Calipari shook his hand with the calm certainty of a man who knew exactly who Reece Potter was—and who he could become.
“We’ve been watching you a long time, Reece,” Coach Cal said, eyes steady. “You’re exactly the kind of player who thrives here. Hungry. Humble. Blue blood material.”
Reece didn’t hesitate. There were no dramatic pauses or recruitment games to play. “Coach,” he said, voice clear and strong, “I’ve been waiting for this moment since I could walk. I bleed blue. I’m in.”
Back in Cincinnati, the announcement sent ripples through the city. Local papers splashed his image on the front page. High school teammates huddled around their phones to watch his commitment video—Reece holding up a Kentucky jersey, eyes glassy but proud.
But it wasn’t until that night, alone on the court where it all began, that it sank in. He returned to the driveway, under dim streetlights and a familiar Ohio sky. The old ball bounced with the same rhythm it always had, echoing the pulse in his chest.
He stared at the goal—rusty rim, frayed net, cracked concrete—and took a shot. Swish.
Reece smiled.
This court had birthed a dream. Kentucky had ignited it. And now, it was real.
He whispered to the wind, as if his younger self were still nearby: We made it.
Let me know if you’d like a version from a different point of view (e.g., Coach Calipari, a journalist, or Reece’s parents), or if you want it extended into a short story.
