When I was younger I shared a hotel minivan with Evander Holyfield down somewhere in the Caribbean. Me my sister and brother were about to get in and my dad told me it was him. I guess it was around the time of the Olympics and before he really turned pro, otherwise I don’t know why he would have been. Anyway we sat in the back row, and Holyfield and his lady friend were in front of us, along with this other couple who must have been from Nebraska or something. The whole ride into town, this guy was peppering Holyfield with these inane questions, like “Does it hurt when you get hit? Does it? Does it?” and his wife was staring at him like he gave milk. Holyfield was just grunting responses looking more and more pissed, and his lady looked about ready to s#$t. The three of us sat there cracking up in the back seat, I guess really noticeably because Holyfield eventually looked back at us and gave us a good dirty look. We didn’t laugh so much after that 
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