Black boy helped Patrick Mahomes patch his car tire, his life changed from here
Sometimes, the biggest moments in life come from the smallest choices. On a rainy Chicago evening, 12-year-old Marcus Thompson faced such a choice. Walking home from basketball practice, he spotted a stranded luxury car with a flat tire. Most kids would have hurried past, eager to escape the storm. But Marcus was not most kids.
His uncle had taught him about cars, about responsibility, about helping others in need. He had no way of knowing that the tall man standing beside that car was Patrick Mahomes himself, or that this simple act of kindness would open doors he never knew existed—not just for him, but for many others.
The basketball thudded against the cracked concrete of the empty court. Marcus had been there since school let out, just like every other day. The metal chain nets clinked as another shot sailed through—his fifteenth in a row. “That’s what I’m talking about,” he whispered, wiping sweat from his forehead with the sleeve of his worn Chiefs t-shirt—a hand-me-down from his cousin Jerome.
The sky above was turning the color of bruised plums, dark clouds rolling in from Lake Michigan. Marcus knew he should head home, but he couldn’t resist one more shot. His mother always said he was stubborn that way, just like his father had been. The 12-year-old dribbled three times, took two steps back, and launched the ball. It hung in the air for what felt like forever before dropping straight through the net. “Swish,” he grinned.
But the victory was short-lived as the first fat raindrop landed on his nose. Marcus grabbed his backpack and tucked the basketball under his arm. The walk home wasn’t long—maybe twenty minutes if he hurried—but the weather made it feel twice as far. The streets were quieter than usual, most people already inside.
As the rain started falling harder, Marcus pulled his cap lower over his eyes. It was the real deal, not a knockoff. He’d saved up for three months doing chores for neighbors. Thunder rumbled overhead as he passed Pete’s Corner Store, where the neon sign flickered. Mr. Pete waved, and Marcus waved back. He’d been coming to this store since he was little, back when his dad would buy him Skittles after Saturday basketball practice. The memory made his chest tight.
A gust of wind sent newspaper pages tumbling. Marcus pulled his thin jacket tighter, wishing he’d listened to his mom about bringing the heavier one. As he turned onto Oakwood Boulevard, the rain really started coming down. Marcus picked up his pace, sneakers splashing through puddles. The basketball was getting slippery, so he stuffed it into his backpack, not caring that it would crush his homework.
Lightning flashed, illuminating the row of brick buildings. Marcus knew every building, every crack in the sidewalk. This was his neighborhood, for better or worse. He was thinking about the leftover spaghetti his mom had promised when he heard it—a loud pop, followed by a hissing sound. The noise came from around the corner where Oakwood met Martin Luther King Drive.
Marcus slowed. His mother always told him to mind his own business, especially after dark, but something about that sound was familiar. Another flash of lightning revealed a sleek black car pulled over to the curb, its right rear tire flat. Someone was standing next to it—a tall figure under an expensive-looking umbrella, looking down at his phone.
The smart thing would be to keep walking, but Uncle James’s voice echoed in Marcus’s head: “Sometimes the right thing and the smart thing ain’t the same, nephew.” Besides, this wasn’t some sketchy alley; there were people around, neon signs glowing. Marcus took a deep breath and walked closer.
As he approached, he saw the car was the kind he’d only seen in magazines. The rain ran in streams over its glossy paint. The man was still focused on his phone, not noticing Marcus yet. Marcus cleared his throat. “Excuse me, sir, do you need some help with that tire?”
The man turned, and Marcus felt his heart skip. There was something familiar about him, though it was hard to see in the rain. “You know something about changing tires, young man?” the stranger asked, his voice deep but friendly.
Marcus nodded, rain dripping from his cap. “Yes, sir. My uncle taught me. He was a mechanic before he passed away last year.”
The man studied Marcus for a moment, then gestured to the flat tire. “I could use a hand if you’re offering. I’ve got a spare, but to be honest, I’m better with a football than a lug wrench.”
Something about the way he said “football” made Marcus look more closely, but another crack of thunder made him jump. “I can help,” Marcus said, setting his backpack under an awning. “Uncle James taught me everything about cars.”
The man pressed a button and the trunk opened. Everything was spotless, the tools arranged perfectly. Marcus grabbed the lug wrench, feeling its weight in his palm. “First thing we need to do is make sure the car won’t roll while we’re working,” he said, growing more confident as he recalled his uncle’s lessons.
The tall man nodded approvingly. “Smart thinking. Sounds like your uncle taught you well.”
As Marcus worked, the man held the umbrella over both of them, asking questions about cars and about Marcus’s uncle. The conversation felt easy and real. Marcus talked about his uncle’s garage, about learning to listen to the story every car told. The man listened intently, nodding as if he understood.
When Marcus removed the flat tire and rolled it to the trunk, he noticed a small decal in the window—a football, with a number 15. The man smiled. “The spare is brand new. Never thought I’d need it, but my mother always said better safe than sorry.”
Marcus smiled back. “My mom says the same thing. She makes me carry an umbrella even when it’s sunny.”
The man laughed—a warm, genuine sound. “Mothers usually know best.”
Marcus lined up the spare, tightening the lug nuts in a star pattern, just as he’d been taught. The man watched closely. “That’s the kind of detail that separates the pros from the amateurs,” he said.
As Marcus finished, another car’s headlights swept across them, illuminating the man’s face. Suddenly, Marcus realized who he was helping. The height, the voice, the custom plates, the football decal. “You’re… you’re Patrick Mahomes,” Marcus whispered.
Mahomes grinned. “And you’re a young man who knows his way around a car better than I did at your age.”
He extended his hand. Marcus shook it, his own hand still greasy. “Thank you for your help, Marcus.”
Marcus blurted, “I watch all your games! The Super Bowl, the comeback against Houston—”
Mahomes chuckled. “Sounds like you know your football history. But right now, I’m more impressed with your mechanical skills. Where did you say your uncle’s garage was?”
“On 47th Street. J&T Auto Repair. The T was for Thompson. Uncle James always said he’d teach me everything so I could take over someday.”
Mahomes looked up at the sky, then back at Marcus. “It’s getting worse out here. Let me give you a ride home. It’s the least I can do.”
Marcus’s heart skipped a beat. “I’ve got my stuff—” he started, but Mahomes was already grabbing his backpack. “You play ball?” Mahomes asked, noting the basketball. Marcus nodded. “Every day after school. I’m trying out for the school team next week.”
As they drove, Mahomes asked Marcus about his game, his family, his dreams. He offered advice about practice, about repetition and muscle memory. “Your body needs to know what to do before your mind has time to think about it,” he said.
When they reached Marcus’s building, Mahomes handed him a business card with a handwritten number. “Call me tomorrow afternoon. I might have an opportunity for you.”
Marcus stared at the card in awe. “Thank you, Mr. Mahomes. For everything.”
“No, thank you for reminding me that sometimes the biggest moments come from the smallest acts of kindness,” Mahomes replied.
That night, Marcus lay in bed, the card on his nightstand, wondering what opportunity Mahomes had in mind. He didn’t know yet that his life—and the lives of many others—were about to change forever. But he knew one thing for certain: sometimes, helping someone in need is the start of something truly extraordinary.
Patrick Mahomes rides a lap at Grand Prix, Chiefs fans freak out: ‘Don’t do that again’
Kansas City Chiefs quarterback Patrick Mahomes rode a “hot lap” in a Formula 1 car at the British Grand Prix on Sunday. He called the ride “insane.” Chiefs fans begged him not to do it again. Alpine F1 video/Instagram
Patrick Mahomes didn’t just attend the British Grand Prix on Sunday. He got to enjoy a perk of being a co-owner of BWT Alpine F1, one of the teams competing.
The team strapped Mahomes into a car and drove him around the track at speeds that made the three-time Super Bowl winner declare to the driver: “That is freakin’ insane man!”
Patrick Mahomes livin’ large at the British Grand Prix. Instagram/Alpine F1 Mahomes posted a video of the ride to his Instagram account, where Kansas City Chiefs fans made it clear they thought the moment was insane, too.
“I am having a heart attack,” one fan wrote, echoing many.
“Be careful!!! We want you in one piece!!”
“Don’t do that again. … you are a national treasure!!”
“Excuse me, shouldn’t you be wrapped in bubble wrap??”
“Be Safe!!! Precious Cargo to the Chiefs & Kansas City.”
“Don’t do that; we need you at Arrowhead safe and sound!”
