He Made Millions But Still Codes His Resume at 3 AM: A Streetball Poet’s Confession

The Court Was My Classroom

I didn’t learn finance in a boardroom—I learned it at 4 a.m., when the streetlights flickered over cracked asphalt and the only sound was the squeak of worn sneakers on concrete. My dad drove a taxi; my mom taught third grade. Neither had a sponsor. But we had each other—and the ball.

Data Doesn’t Sleep

I don’t just crunch numbers. I translate them: minutes played per dollar, assist rate as grace under pressure, turnover as redemption. The stats don’t lie—but people do. That kid who shot 200 hoops after curfew? He wasn’t on any roster. But he was the reason I started coding.

Why Jordan Still Whispered to Me

They call it ‘analytics.’ I call it prayer. Michael Jordan didn’t just score—he carried his people home through every missed shot. Kobe didn’t just train—he bled purple on his jersey before dawn. Same energy. Same silence.

This is why I code at 3 AM. Not for clicks. Not for sponsors. But because someone out there—maybe you—is still shooting alone, and if you ask me… Is your basketball dream still alive? Yeah. It is.