Jamie Foxx tells Jason and Travis Kelce how Ray Lewis told him to check a man’s rear end to see if his 4.2 speed was real

Jamie Foxx turned an old beach argument into the week’s most-shared football story. Appearing on the latest episode of New Heights, the actor described a stranger claiming a 4.2-second 40-yard dash. Foxx did not believe him. So, he called Ray Lewis, then an active Baltimore Ravens linebacker, for a ruling. Lewis, in Foxx’s telling, asked only one thing: what the man’s backside looked like.

Travis and Jason Kelce were in TEARS listening to Jamie Foxx tell the story of meeting a guy on the beach who claimed he ran a 4.2 40-YARD DASH, so Jamie called Ray Lewis to fact-check him and Ray told him to LOOK AT HIS ASS 😭💀“I said, ‘This dude on the beach say he run a… pic.twitter.com/abIIS8uIJf

Hosts Jason and Travis Kelce laughed until they cried. A two-minute excerpt has since drawn about 2.6 million views on X, shared by @killakreww. The claim itself sits at the edge of recorded speed. The fastest official combine time is 4.21 seconds. Nothing in the story has been confirmed by Lewis or the unnamed man. It remains Foxx’s account, delivered as comedy.

Still, the punchline rests on a principle sprint coaches recognize.

Jamie Foxx opened by staking out his credentials. “I play sports, so I understand numbers, right?” he said. He then set the scene on a beach, where a group was casually throwing a football. Nearby, a man was talking to a woman. She asked whether he used to play. He said he did. She told him he was fast. He answered that he ran a 4.2.

Foxx said the number grew as the man kept talking. In the retelling, 4.2 became 4.15. The actor, lying back nearby, finally cut in. “My dude, you did not run a 4.2,” he recalled saying. He described the group as a Hollywood crowd where people fake their numbers. He added that 4.2 is “world class speed.” The man insisted the time was real.

So Foxx dialed Lewis. He performed the call for the hosts, phone hand at his ear. Lewis, he said, has a country drawl and pronounces his name “Foss.” Foxx told him a man on the beach claimed “a four deuce.” Lewis repeated the figure. Then, by Foxx’s account, he asked, “Foss, what his ass look like?”

Foxx said the question stopped him cold. “How do we get to there?” he recalled asking. Lewis pressed the point. “Foss, if he run a four deuce, we can use him,” Foxx quoted him saying. “Look at his […].” Foxx said he asked the man to turn around. He reported back that there was nothing to see. The verdict he attributed to Lewis was blunt: “He lying.”

The number at the center of the joke is extraordinarily rare. Since electronic timing became standard, no combine prospect has officially broken 4.2 seconds. Xavier Worthy holds the record at 4.21, set in 2024. John Ross ran 4.22 in 2017. The next tier falls between 4.23 and 4.26. A 4.15 would beat every official combine time on record.

Faster figures do circulate, which helps explain the boast. Bo Jackson has been credited with times between roughly 4.12 and 4.16 in 1986. Jackson has said he remembers an electronically timed 4.13. Those sessions predate the modern record book and remain disputed. Deion Sanders is commonly cited in the low 4.2s. Beach and backyard times carry no such record at all.

Lewis’s reported test swaps the stopwatch for anatomy. Sprint speed depends heavily on hip extension, which is powered by the gluteal muscles. Elite sprinters tend to carry visible mass there. In Foxx’s telling, Lewis treated that build as a quick field check. He also treated the time as roster-relevant. A true 4.2 was talent a team could use.

The clip offers no measurements, photographs or timed run. Foxx did not name the beach, the man or the woman. He dated the day only to a season when Lewis was still playing. Lewis spent his career with Baltimore from 1996 through 2012 and entered the Hall of Fame in 2018. He has not publicly addressed the story.

The anecdote did not arrive from nowhere. Foxx and the Kelces had been discussing Daejon Love, a man facing federal charges. Prosecutors allege he posed as a San Francisco 49ers player to defraud women. They say he met victims on dating apps and worked with an alleged co-conspirator. Charging documents describe a scheme running since 2022 and involving more than $1 million.

The case widened in mid-September. The FBI said dozens of additional women might be victims, beyond an earlier group. The allegations include an invented football career and invented wealth. Those claims are allegations set out by prosecutors. On the show, the case was discussed under the nickname “Wide Deceiver.”

Jamie Foxx’s beach story works as the harmless version of the same habit. No money changed hands. A man told a woman he used to play and quoted an impossible time. The cost of being caught was embarrassment, not a criminal complaint. Yet the sequencing made a point: football résumés get inflated, and insiders know how to check.

The excerpt spread fast and had gathered roughly 32,900 likes and 2,075 reposts. Another 7,300 users bookmarked it. The show’s own account posted a separate cut a day later. Its caption supplied a rhyme: “If he’s got no […], you know he ain’t fast.”

Most responses were simply amused. A notable share went further and defended the logic. One user wrote that a real sprinter would show muscle built up in the glutes. Another wrote, “He’s right though,” adding that all sprinters carry enormous glutes. A third called 4.2 “almost Bo Jackson speed” and pronounced the beachgoer a liar.

None of those replies adds evidence about what happened on the beach. They endorse the premise, not the event. That distinction matters for a story resting on one man’s memory. No visible thread argued that the stranger’s claim was credible. The audience accepted Foxx’s version and moved straight to debating anatomy.

Not everyone enjoyed the telling. Jason Kelce spent much of the clip with his eyes shut, laughing open-mouthed. Travis Kelce smiled throughout and broke harder near the end. Some viewers complained the noise crowded Jamie Foxx’s delivery. A few were harsh about it. Their objection concerned podcast etiquette and audio, not the plausibility of a 4.2.

The episode itself ran nearly two hours. It covered Kansas City’s win over Miami, Kyle Juszczyk’s beer fine and pass interference. Foxx appeared after the football recap. He also spoke about his children during his medical emergency. Yet a single two-minute story carried the episode to millions of screens.

That pattern shows how the show now travels. Long conversations are mined for short, quotable moments built around one line. Foxx suits the format. He won an Academy Award and a Grammy. He played quarterback Willie Beamen in Any Given Sunday. His ties to football circles give his locker-room stories a ring of access.

The story endures because it compresses a real scouting instinct into one profane question. Speed leaves physical evidence, and veterans know where to look. Whether Lewis said those exact words is unproven. Foxx is a performer, and the call may be heightened for the room. Either way, listeners recognized the heuristic instantly.

Lewis has yet to respond, and a reply from him would reignite the clip overnight. Foxx has reason to keep talking. His special, Take Care of Yourself, premieres Oct. 7 on Hulu. More promotional stops may follow before then. The man from the beach remains unnamed. Should he surface, he will face a simple request: line up and run it.