Most people assume the story starts in Paris. It doesn’t. Whenever someone finds out I own part of a professional basketball team there, the first question is always the same.
“Why in the world did you buy a professional basketball team in Paris?”
It’s a fair question. A guy from South Carolina who spent most of his career building digital companies, studying consumer behavior, and helping brands grow doesn’t exactly fit the profile of someone investing in a professional basketball club halfway around the world. I’ve answered that question dozens of times, and the answer usually depends on how much time we have. This is probably the first time I’ve had the chance to explain the real answer.
The short answer is basketball. The real answer has very little to do with basketball.
When Sumair first called me about the opportunity, I reacted exactly the way you’d expect. I was excited. I’ve loved basketball my entire life, and owning part of a professional basketball team wasn’t something I ever imagined would become a real conversation. For about five minutes, I let myself enjoy the idea.
Then the operator in me showed up.
The people closest to me know exactly what I mean when I say that. The excitement gives way to curiosity, and curiosity immediately turns into questions. It’s the part of me that has probably frustrated more than a few people over the years because I instinctively start looking for what’s wrong instead of what’s right. Not in a bad or negative way but it is my protective instinct. I’ve learned that excitement is a terrible decision maker. It has a habit of seeing only what it wants to see.
So I didn’t start looking for reasons to invest. I started looking for reasons not to.
That surprises people, but it’s the process I’ve followed through most of my career. I’ve never believed the purpose of due diligence was to convince yourself to say yes. I think its purpose is to give yourself every opportunity to say no. If an opportunity can survive that process, then you’ve earned the confidence to move forward.
Most people assume due diligence is primarily about spreadsheets, financial projections, and valuation models. Those things matter, but they’re not where I start. My background is in market research, and one of the most valuable lessons that career taught me is how dangerous confirmation bias can be. Once we want something to be true, we unconsciously start collecting evidence that supports our conclusion while ignoring evidence that challenges it.
I’ve always tried to fight that instinct. I don’t spend my time trying to prove an investment is a good idea. I spend my time trying to prove it’s a bad one. I ask uncomfortable questions. I challenge assumptions. I look for weaknesses. If I can break the opportunity, I want to do it before reality does. And before I open my wallet to the idea. If I can’t break it, then I know we’re probably looking at something worth pursuing.
That’s exactly how I approached the Metros. The first thing I evaluated wasn’t the basketball. It was the people. Over time, conversations became relationships, and relationships became trust. I wasn’t looking for perfect partners. I was looking for people whose values aligned with my company’s, people who cared more about building something meaningful than simply closing a deal. I listened a lot and spoke very little. Every conversation answered one question while creating another, and that’s exactly what you want. Confidence should be earned, not assumed.
Once I became confident in the people, I turned my attention to the opportunity itself. This is where I think most people and I started looking at the investment differently.
Most people saw a basketball team. I saw media. I saw youth development. I saw international growth. I saw sponsorship opportunities. I saw storytelling. I saw relationships. I saw a platform that could become far more valuable than the games themselves.
When I looked at Paris, I wasn’t simply looking at one of the great cities in the world. I was looking at a global intersection of sports, media, fashion, luxury, tourism, technology, and culture. Basketball was the foundation, but it wasn’t the ceiling. If the game continues becoming more global, and I believe it will, cities like Paris become increasingly important. Suddenly we weren’t talking about forty minutes on a basketball court. We were talking about everything that could be built around it.
That’s when something clicked for me. I wasn’t evaluating a basketball team anymore. I was evaluating a platform.
I think that’s where sports ownership is often misunderstood. Fans naturally evaluate a franchise by wins, losses, and championships. Owners have to think much more broadly than that. They think about media rights, sponsorships, community impact, digital strategy, partnerships, intellectual property, and long-term enterprise value. The basketball team is incredibly important, but it’s also the beginning of the story, not the end of it.
Looking back, one of the things I’m most grateful for is that we never rushed the process. There wasn’t one magical meeting that convinced me or one spreadsheet that suddenly made everything make sense. Every conversation added another piece to the puzzle. Every difficult question either strengthened the opportunity or exposed something I needed to understand better. My job is to protect my business partners first. Eventually, there came a point where my confidence caught up with my curiosity. That’s when I said yes.
People who come into my office usually notice the framed Letter of Intent hanging on the wall. Most assume it’s there because I’m proud of owning part of a professional basketball team, and there’s certainly some truth to that. It’s a reminder that a goal I’ve chased for years, one that never seemed possible became reality.
But that’s not why I framed it.
The Letter of Intent reminds me of the responsibility that came before the signature.
Throughout my career, I’ve been fortunate that people I respect have asked me to evaluate opportunities, solve difficult problems, or help make important decisions. Whether it’s family, close friends, business partners, or colleagues, they’ve trusted my judgment enough to put their name beside mine. I’ve never taken that lightly. In fact, when I think about the things I’m most proud of, that trust ranks higher than almost any deal I’ve ever been part of.
That’s why I approach every opportunity the way I do. Not because I’m afraid of making a mistake, but because my decisions rarely affect only me. They affect people who believed in my judgment before the outcome was ever known. That’s a responsibility I feel every time I agree to evaluate an investment, enter a partnership, or say yes to something that carries someone else’s trust with it.
Every opportunity eventually fades into the background. The headlines move on. The excitement wears off. But trust doesn’t work that way. It’s earned over years and is a blessing that I cherish and protect.
That’s what hangs on my wall.
Not a basketball team.
A reminder that every signature should honor the people who trusted me before I ever picked up the pen.
So when people ask me why we bought a basketball team in Paris, my answer really isn’t about basketball at all. It’s about having a process that allows you to get excited without letting the excitement make the decision. If you can do that consistently, you’ll still make mistakes because that’s part of business. But you’ll make far fewer of the ones that keep you awake at night. The Metros just happen to be one of the times the process led us to a yes.
