The Full Playbook

We don’t need therapy. We need halftime.

I only control the things I can control. Like every single thing on the court. We were five minutes into the session when she paused and asked:“Do you feel like you need to be in control all the time?” I said no.Because I don’t feel like I need to be.I know I need to be.…

Ref range: Infinite Don’t question my calls.I made two of them before I even walked inside. Reflexes like a hawk.Judgment like a petty ex.Eyes locked in from half a zip code away. They say “you had to be there.”I wasn’t.Still got it right. Distance only makes me more accurate.

Because regular season refs have whistles. Summer league refs have trauma.

Yes, this is a hostile work environment. No, I’m not the problem. I clock in with a whistle.Y’all clock in with complaints. My coworkers don’t type.They flop.They scream.They throw sweat-soaked towels across the break room. I show up in uniform,follow the handbook,and try to maintain order in a workplace full of chaos goblins on Gatorade.…

Great cardio. Terrible for relationships. I told my trainer I wanted to “maintain lateral quickness.” What I really meant was:I need to sidestep every question that starts with“Why did you call that?” Summer’s for healing.And for hitting the elliptical until I’m fast enoughto outrun your film breakdowns. Off-season goals:

They watched it in slow motion. I called it in real time.

Because I wasn’t about to lose two games in one night. We were mid-argument.She was cooking with emotion.I was listening… but also tallying fouls in my head. That’s when I called it:Timeout. She froze.The room got quiet.Even the fridge paused its hum like, “Damn, he really did that.” Look, I wasn’t trying to win.But I…

You yell. I aim. I’ve never had to guess who to tee up. The louder they coach,the clearer the target. You start the game yelling at refs,and by the third quarter,I’ve got your seat pre-warmed and waiting. Don’t take it personal.I just whistle what I hear.