Quinn, who was naturally good at basketball

Quinn was casually shooting hoops in his school gym, swishing every basket but never paying heed to his continous successes. Nor did he think anyone else was paying heed to his continuous successes, quite convinced that he was all alone in the gym be himself. After a particularly tricky shot which, amazingly, hit the target, despite the some 275 feet that rested between Quinn and the basket, Quinn heard a mysterious coughing noise.

He whirled around but saw no one. He whirled around again and saw a tall, handsomely featured man with a business suit and tie and bow tie and ribbon and tux and authentic hawaiin sandals leaning against a wall and watching his every move. Quinn was surprised when he realized that what he had heard was not a cough, but merely the clearing of the man's throat, which was hoarse and phlegmy.

The man approaced Quinn. "You've got a talent, son," he said, grabbing Quinn's poochy cheeks and wringing them awkwardly. "You've made every basket."

Quinn did not aknowledge this compliment, in an effort to maintain modesty. However, it was actually just sort of rude and weird.

The man continued. "I've only watched you for one half of one hour, but I've got a keen eye that can spot talent in a heartbeat. I think you could go national, and then bigger than national."

Quinn raised his eyebrows and feigned surprise- he'd always suspected he could go bigger than national.

"What's more, I don't think you'd even have to practice. You're already so good."

Quinn thought, heck, if I wouldn't have to practice, I should just go for it. So he went for it, and he never ever practiced. Ever. And on the day of the competition, it was just a normal day during which Quinn was a naturally good basketball player. He won the competition against a bunch of people who'd spent forever practicing and was a victorious celebritiy for 4 and one half of one hour.