Back in 2007, I was living in Detroit where Chauncey Billups was a star player for the Pistons. On one cold, brisk evening, my good friend Ben Konstantin and I went out for dinner at a bar and grill near my house when we saw none other than Chauncey eating alone in a corner booth. Thrilled and a little starstruck, we had our waiter go ask him if we could buy him a drink. Our waiter came back and told us Chauncey politely declined because it was playoff time and he doesn't drink in the postseason. Jokingly, we replied to our waiter with, "Then ask him if he'd like a soup." We laughed and didn't think much more of it as our waiter smiled and walked away. But then seconds later he came back and said, "Chauncey wants to know if he can get the soup in a bread bowl." Ben and I looked at each other in disbelief and both quickly shouted, "Yes!" in unison. As the waiter brought out Chauncey's soup to him, we tried to be cool and not glare at him eat it. But in the corner of our eyes we could see him tearing that bread bowl apart and enjoying every last drop of the soup until there was nothing left but a morsel of crumbs. We turned away to give him a morsel of privacy, just as satisfied, feeling as we may have given the star guard some extra umphhh going into the postseason. If the Pistons would've won the championship that year, Motor City would've had us to thank. As we were finishing up our meals, we felt someone come up behind us. It was Chauncey. He said to us, "Thanks for the soup, fellas." And he then put on his stocking cap and walked out into the cold night.