Today marks the start of the NBA Finals.
But before the ball tips, I want to acknowledge two people you don’t care about unless they make a call that affects your team.
Most people know as much about officiating as they do about open-heart surgery, yet they’ve still got opinions.
Two of my friends have been selected to officiate their first NBA Finals, the absolute pinnacle of their profession.
Fans think officiating is just about getting calls right.
But that’s table stakes.
Plenty of officials can get plays right.
But can they be great partners?
Can they lead through chaos?
Can they walk into a roaring arena of 20,000 idiots, stand in the eye of the storm, and remain calm?
(My bad, you call them fans)
This level doesn’t just require precision…it demands presence.
A spine made of steel and a heart that never forgets the humanity in the whistle.
And the part no fan sees:
Missed birthdays.
Flights that blur together.
Game tape at 1:00 a.m. when your kids are asleep and your hotel room feels like a time zone no one visits.
It’s years of sacrifice that starts in forgotten middle school gyms, with 23 people in the stands and a dream that refuses to die.
I know that dream.
I chased it too.
Nearly 20 years as a college basketball official.
I never reached the NBA Finals, and I’m good with that now.
Because one of the most evident signs of growth?
Feeling genuinely happier for your friends’ success than your own.
And it reminded me of a truth I’ve lived over and over:
No points have ever been scored from the sideline.
As an official, I knew that by heart.
That white line didn’t just mark the court; it marked the difference between noise and purpose.
The sideline is where the critics sit.
Where it’s loud but it’s safe.
Where the risk is zero, but the judgment is endless.
Because you don’t shape games or lives from the cheap seats.
When I blew the whistle, it wasn’t just about a call.
It was about integrity.
And when that ball crossed the line, play stopped.
Because once you’re out of bounds, you’re no longer part of what matters.
And if I’ve learned anything through officiating, through writing, through life, it’s this:
You don’t get to grow, lead, or transform from the sidelines.
Writing my book taught me that in the most raw, beautiful way.
I used to wait.
I called it “planning,” but really, I was afraid.
Afraid to be seen.
Afraid to fail.
Afraid to start.
I was efficient.
I was productive.
But I wasn’t in the game.
Then I decided: no more distractions.
365 days without a cell phone.
Full presence.
Full commitment.
I said I was going to write the book, and I meant it.
And that’s when everything shifted.
Writing wasn’t glamorous.
It wasn’t romantic.
Most days, it felt like bleeding onto a blank page.
It was uncomfortable.
It was lonely.
It was sacred.
But I showed up.
Not because it was easy…
Because it was mine.
And that’s why I’ve already won.
Not because of what’s ahead, speaking gigs, book tours, TV interviews, but because I crossed the damn line.
I stopped waiting for permission.
I stepped in.
I became a player in my own life.
And in a world obsessed with optics…
Follow-through is a revolution.
So here’s what I know:
The sidelines are safe.
But they’re also where dreams go to die quietly.
The court?
That’s where you risk.
Where you stretch.
Where you bleed for something real.
If you’ve been waiting, hesitating, and planning, consider this your nudge.
It’s time to check-in.
Because no one remembers who sat in the stands.
They remember who showed up.
And showed up again.
And didn’t stop.
Because the game doesn’t wait for anyone.
And you?
You were born to play.
I’ve never been more proud to call you both friends.
Congrats, Ben & Tyler.
You earned this.
Every second.
Every step.
Every sacrifice.
And just so we’re clear:
In the history of sports…
No points were ever scored from the sidelines.