Posted on July 28, 2026

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Reflections on returning to Damascus High School with former player Folarin Campbell, reconnecting with mentors, and discovering that the greatest victories in coaching are measured in lives, not wins.

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There are moments in life that seem ordinary on the surface, but when you take the time to reflect, you realize they represent something much bigger.

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As Folarin Campbell and I made the drive to Damascus High School in my Hyundai—a car that has become part of so many of our stories over the years—I couldn't help but smile. We had made countless drives together during his recruiting process, traveling to college campuses, talking about basketball, academics, life, and the future.

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This drive felt different.

We weren't heading to a college visit or a basketball game.

We were returning to a place that represented an important chapter in both of our lives.

I had been invited by my longtime friend and CKA SAVE Project Board Member, James Schneider, to speak at the Damascus High School Basketball Camp. Folarin agreed to join me, and neither of us realized how symbolic the day would become.

As I walked into the gym, I realized I wasn't simply entering another basketball facility.

I was walking back into three different chapters of my life—all connected by one powerful word:

Mentorship.

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The invitation itself came from James Schneider.

That meant more to me than most people will ever know.

James was the very first assistant coach I hired when I became the head basketball coach at Thomas S. Wootton High School more than twenty-five years ago. At the time, James didn't have the best reputation. Some questioned whether he deserved the opportunity.

I understood their concerns.

But I also remembered something from my own life.

Someone once gave me a chance.

Someone looked beyond mistakes and saw potential.

I simply tried to do the same for James.

Watching him grow into an outstanding coach, a successful business owner, a devoted husband, and a father reminds me that sometimes the greatest investment we make isn't in a game plan—it's in a person. Today, James serves as the Broker/Owner of Magruder Branch Mortgage, helping families build wealth through strategic mortgage planning. Seeing him introduce me to his son reminded me that opportunities don't simply change one life—they impact generations.

Standing beside me that day was Folarin Campbell.

Folarin wasn't a former Damascus player—he was one of the greatest players ever to wear a Springbrook High School uniform. He finished his remarkable high school career with more than 1,700 career points and became one of the most highly recruited players in the country. As his head coach, I had the privilege of watching him develop into an exceptional basketball player, but more importantly, into an exceptional young man.

When I think about Folarin, I don't first think about points.

I think about trust.

Many people know the story about the 51-point game.

Few know the story that made it possible.

During his senior season at Springbrook High School, Folarin scored 46 points against Damascus High School. Late in the game he realized how close he was to the 50-point mark and asked if he could go back into the game.

I told him no.

Winning the game always mattered more than individual accomplishments.

Before we walked away, however, I made him a promise.

"If you ever get that close again, I'll let you go for it."

Honestly, I never thought I'd have to keep that promise.

Roughly two months later, against Richard Montgomery High School, history repeated itself.

Once again, Folarin had scored 46 points before I substituted him because the game was well in hand.

Then he smiled.

He knew.

I looked toward the scorer's table where my longtime manager, Adwoa Blankson-Wood, simply nodded.

A promise is a promise.

I leaned over and whispered, "You better not miss."

He knocked down a three.

Then another basket.

Fifty-one points.

People remember the 51 points.

I remember keeping my word.

That moment wasn't about a scoring record.

It was about trust.

Long before the scholarship offers, the Final Four, or a decade-long professional career in Europe, Folarin and I sat together with his family in their home to answer one simple question:

"What do you want your life to look like after basketball?"

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By the time he graduated from Springbrook, Folarin had scored more than 1,700 career points, earned scholarship offers from colleges and universities across the country, and established himself as one of the premier players in the Washington metropolitan area.

Yet I knew basketball alone would never define his future.

Together, we developed a plan that balanced academics and athletics.

We reviewed his transcript.

We committed to earning no lower than a B in every class.

I encouraged him to retake a math class during the summer—not because he had to, but because I believed it would improve both his core GPA and prepare him for the academic rigor of college. He embraced the challenge, earned an A, raised his standardized test scores, and became academically eligible early in his senior year.

Athletically, we built a year-round strength and conditioning program while embracing a philosophy that many people questioned.

Less is more.

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Rather than chasing every summer tournament, we invested time in individual skill development, weight training, conditioning, and recovery. When Folarin did compete, he often had fresher legs than everyone else, allowing his preparation to separate him from the competition.

Looking back today, it is remarkable how intentional goal setting shaped his future.

Every objective we discussed around his family's dining room table became reality.

He earned a scholarship to George Mason University.

He started as a freshman.

He played regularly on national television.

His family watched him play throughout his collegiate career.

He helped lead George Mason on its historic run to the NCAA Final Four.

He graduated with his college degree in four years.

He enjoyed a professional basketball career in Europe that lasted more than a decade.

Today, he is a husband and father who is investing in his own children with many of the same values we discussed years ago.

Ironically, the most difficult challenge was never basketball.

As Folarin has often reflected, sacrificing part of his summer to attend summer school instead of spending every day playing basketball was incredibly difficult. Yet those academic sacrifices became some of the most important decisions of his life.

Years later, Folarin wrote the foreword to my book, Finding the Balance: My Personal Journey to Academic and Athletic Success. Reading his words still humbles me because he doesn't remember championships nearly as much as he remembers the daily conversations about responsibility, academics, and becoming a complete person—not simply a great player.

Then something happened that I never expected.

As I spoke to the campers about the importance of mentors, I looked into the audience and saw one of mine.

Steve Pisarski.

Steve and I taught together during my first years as an educator at Benjamin Banneker Middle School in Burtonsville, MD. Like every new teacher, I had countless questions. Steve always had time for me. Whether discussing teaching strategies, coaching, or simply how to build relationships with students, he quietly modeled excellence every day.

He also taught me one lesson that has stayed with me throughout my career:

Take care of people.

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That lesson has become one of the guiding principles of my life.

Standing in that gym, speaking about mentorship while one of my own mentors listened from the audience, felt almost poetic.

It reminded me that no matter how successful we become, every one of us is standing on someone else's shoulders.

As I reflected on the day, I realized something.

James represents giving someone an opportunity before everyone else believes in them.

Folarin represents intentional mentorship, keeping promises, and helping someone build a vision for life—not just for basketball.

Steve represents the mentors who quietly shape us long before we recognize their influence.

And perhaps I represent something else.

I represent what happens when someone chooses to pay mentorship forward.

That is exactly why the CKA SAVE Project exists.

Every student-athlete we mentor...

Every grant we award...

Every coach we support...

Every research study we conduct...

Every internship we create...

Every Odd Coaches Podcast conversation we host...

Every presentation we deliver...

...is rooted in one simple belief:

People change lives.

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The older I get, the less I measure success by championships, trophies, or awards.

I measure success by relationships that still exist decades later.

Former players who become husbands and fathers.

Former assistant coaches who become successful business leaders.

Former mentors who become lifelong friends.

Former students who someday become mentors themselves.

My late mentor, Hank Galotta, often reminded me that coaching was never simply about X's and O's.

It was about helping young people become successful adults.

That lesson has shaped every chapter of my life.

As Folarin and I drove home from Damascus that afternoon, once again in the Hyundai that has somehow become part of so many meaningful moments in our journey, I couldn't help but think about what had just happened.

Years earlier, we had come to Damascus to compete.

This time, we came to serve.

Years earlier, I was helping him prepare for his future.

Now, together, we were helping inspire someone else's.

That is what mentorship is all about.

The game eventually ends.

The scoreboard eventually goes dark.

The trophies eventually collect dust.

But the relationships endure.

The lessons endure.

The promises endure.

And if we're fortunate, those we once mentored will someday stand beside us as we mentor the next generation.

The Damascus Basketball Camp wasn't simply another speaking engagement.

It was a living reminder that mentorship creates a ripple effect that extends far beyond the gymnasium.

One coach gives another coach an opportunity.

One teacher shapes a young educator.

One player becomes a mentor to his own children.

One generation invests in the next.

That is how legacies are built.

That is how communities become stronger.

That is how lives are changed.

And that is why I will always believe that the greatest victories in coaching are never measured by the scoreboard.

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They are measured by the people who are still walking beside you decades later.