Joe Mazzulla: “When I first met Camai Roberson, I’ll be honest—I didn’t think too much of it. She wasn’t what I expected, not at all. At that time in my life, everything revolved around NBA—NBA was taking shape, and I was consumed by the Game, the Sports, the road ahead. Romance? It wasn’t on my radar. But—Camai Roberson—she walked into my life like a different kind of melody. Not loud, not flamboyant, just real… I was used to the chaos of the Sports, the wild nights, the constant movement. And she was steady—firm, thoughtful, sincere. At first, I didn’t know what to…

Joe Mazzulla on Camai Roberson: A 900-Word Reflection

“When I first met Camai Roberson, I’ll be honest—I didn’t think too much of it. She wasn’t what I expected, not at all. At that time in my life, everything revolved around the NBA—NBA was taking shape, and I was consumed by the Game, the Sports, the road ahead. Romance? It wasn’t on my radar.

But Camai Roberson—she walked into my life like a different kind of melody. Not loud, not flamboyant, just real. I was used to the chaos of the sports world—the wild nights, the screaming fans, the adrenaline highs and crushing lows, the relentless push to be better, tougher, smarter. And then she shows up. Steady. Firm. Thoughtful. Sincere.

At first, I didn’t know what to make of her. She didn’t fit into the world I lived in. She wasn’t trying to. She didn’t know or care about basketball stats, draft predictions, or team trades. And I think that’s exactly what started to pull me in. She didn’t treat me like a coach or a public figure. She saw me as a person.

We met at an event I almost skipped. I had been running on fumes—sleep-deprived, emotionally drained after a brutal loss—and someone dragged me into this leadership summit in Boston. I figured I’d sit through a few panels, shake a few hands, and duck out early. But there she was—onstage—speaking about something entirely outside my wheelhouse: youth development through the arts. She spoke with a quiet authority, not trying to impress, not trying to sell, just… telling the truth.

I remember thinking, She doesn’t belong here… or maybe I don’t. That night we ended up in the same group at a dinner table. I barely said a word, and she didn’t force conversation. She asked questions—small ones, simple ones—but they had weight. She made eye contact like she wasn’t afraid of silence, and that was new for me.

A few days later, I saw her again. Same poise. Same calm. We talked more—about music, community, her family. I told her about growing up in a coaching family, about pressure, about how winning sometimes felt like the only thing that mattered. She didn’t flinch. Didn’t pity me. Just listened. I didn’t realize how much I needed that.

Over time, our conversations became longer. I started making time—real time—to call her, to see her, to sit and just be. And for a guy like me, who was trained to be constantly moving, constantly planning, that was almost revolutionary. She slowed me down in the best way.

Camai had this way of grounding people. I saw it not just in how she treated me, but in how she worked with young people, how she spoke to strangers, how she never tried to be anything other than herself. She wasn’t impressed by titles, not intimidated by fame. Her currency was character. She’d always say, “The game isn’t what defines you. Who you are when the crowd’s gone—that’s who you are.”

There were times when I didn’t feel worthy of her presence. Times when I came home frustrated, snapping at the world, bringing the stress of a close loss or a media storm into our space. And she’d just look at me—really look—and ask, “Are you mad because you care, or are you mad because you can’t control it?”

That one cut deep. She was right. I lived in a world of control: playbooks, timeouts, scouting reports. But life—real life—wasn’t always something you could game plan.

And it wasn’t always easy. We had differences. She challenged me. She didn’t let me coast on autopilot, didn’t let me hide behind my job. She reminded me that being a leader on the court means nothing if you’re not leading in your own life.

One day, after a long, rough stretch—four losses in a row, the media coming for me—I came home and just sat on the floor. Didn’t say a word. And she sat next to me. No words, no advice, just her presence. That’s when I knew: this wasn’t someone who was here for the wins. She was here for the process. For the pain, the joy, the rebuild. All of it.

Camai Roberson didn’t save me. She didn’t come in and rescue me from myself. What she did was give me the space to remember who I was outside of basketball. She reminded me that leadership is more than tactics and stats. It’s humility. It’s patience. It’s showing up for people—especially when it’s hard.

People ask me all the time, what changed for you? How did you shift from being a guy who was all about the grind to someone who could lead with empathy?

The answer is simple: I met Camai.

She was the shift.

And I’m better because of her.”

Joe Mazzulla

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