angel zuniga martinez An excerpt from A Creative’s Insights into Sales, Marketing, and PR by Angel Zuniga Martinez
Every creative, marketer, or leader faces a moment when the game speeds up — and hesitation costs you. This story from early in my career taught me a lesson that has guided every decision since: make the call.
The year was 1995. Selena was murdered, O.J. Simpson was being tried for murder, the Sony PlayStation launched, and Coolio’s “Gangsta’s Paradise” was at the top of the music charts.
I’d just taken an entry-level credit manager job off West Wheatland Drive in South Dallas with Norwest Financial (now Wells Fargo). It was that or move back home with my parents.
I had my Texas A&M University student loan payments coming out of deferral. My payment on my black GMC short-bed pickup truck was due in days. My first efficiency apartment payment and all the utilities were also due soon. In my free time, I hooped. But I had a problem to fix. I didn’t make enough money.
At a pickup basketball game at a local church, I met a guy I called “Dee”. We ran a few games together and connected. But I never caught his name or spoke with him much. Maybe I called him Dee short for defense, or because he was direct. But I do remember he was a pretty good all-around player, with a high IQ for the game.
Anytime there was a dispute on the court, he’d be the first one to help settle it. After one game where I threw my agreement with one of his calls, he hit me up with our first real conversation.
“Hey, brother, you ain’t bad at understanding the game,” expressed Dee as we packed up our belongings into our respective gym bags. “If you’re interested in making some extra money, I’m a ref and call games in and around Dallas, and I could use someone like you,” he continued.
Within a few weeks of coursework, training, and registering with the local referee association, I was on the court making money. Dee was my handler and booked me gigs at middle school and high school games in the area.
Everything was settling into a rhythm. I worked my day job at Norwest. Then, on evenings and weekends, I made much-needed extra money as a basketball ref.
One day, I got the call. “Hey, brother, you wanna make better money?” asked Dee. He went on to explain that the ref scheduled to call a game with him that night was calling in sick. It was a non-conference basketball game between two Christian-affiliated colleges.
It was last-minute, but he explained that it paid double. I said yes. All I had was the address. The host team might have been Dallas Christian College. When I arrived, Dee could sense the fear in my eyes as I stepped onto the court.
“I know what you’re thinking,” expressed Dee. “Both teams have got legit seven-foot centers, and this ain’t gonna run like one of those high school games you’ve ref’d.”
He was right. My mind raced through the Texas referee rulebook on the things I’ve not dealt with yet, like goal tending or hanging on the rim.
“Now, this is gonna go faster than what you’re used to, but just follow my lead, then make the calls on your side of the court, and you’ll be fine,” explained Dee minutes before the opening jump ball.
Frankly, I don’t remember anything until about the halfway point of the first half period. I must have gone into automatic for 10 minutes and used my muscle memory to make most of the standard calls up to that point.
“Angel!” yelled Dee as I came awake, standing over a heap of bodies near the sidelines on my side of the court. I had blown my whistle to stop the clock. The noise echoed in my ears as angry players, coaches, and fans, moving in what seemed like slow motion, awaited my out-of-bounds call.
“Everybody is freaking Dennis Rodman,” I remember saying to myself. In 1995, “The Worm” was a controversial player always in the news, and was recently traded from the San Antonio Spurs to play with Michael Jordan and the Chicago Bulls. These college boys must have been inspired by Rodman’s fearlessness in throwing his body around for loose balls and rebounds.
The coach for the home team called a timeout after my call. Dee acknowledged it with the scorer’s table. Then he motioned me over to the empty side of the gym.
“What the hell is this?” questioned Dee as he raised two thumbs up over his head.
“It’s the sign for jump ball,” I replied.
“Well, quit that shit and make a decision! You’ve called five of them in a row,” he yelled. Dee was right. I was starting to remember. Although technically I had the right to make that call and provide a 50-50 chance for each team to get the ball based on the possession arrow, I was wrong.
“But can you see who touched it last? It’s crazy out there,” I said in my defense.
“Hell, no! That’s on your side of the court, and these brothers are crazy!” said Dee.
“But if you don’t make the decision and sell it, those players, coaches, and fans are all gonna kick your ass…and if they don’t, I will,” stated Dee as he pointed to the other side of the gym.
The opening lyrics to “Gangsta’s Paradise” played through my mind:
“As I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I take a look at my life and realize there’s nothin’ left.”
All I could say to Dee at that point was the two most important words that pickup games in basketball taught me. I said the two words I’ve used many times over to this day – “My bad.” We admit fault. We learn. We move on.
“Take in what you see, make the decision quick, and sell it,” exclaimed Dee as he motioned his arm with strength, with his finger pointed in one direction.
“Red ball, this way! Make the call! You’re eyes will catch up to see it better later,” expressed Dee before walking back to his position at center court.
My eyes never caught up. But I never called a jump ball for the rest of the game. The next out-of-bounds ball on my side of the court was mystical. I blew my whistle, and time stood still. Absolute silence weighted the air with all eyes on me.
“White ball, this way,” I commanded out of my mouth. I sliced through the silence with a strong arm motion, pointing towards the white team’s basket. Half the people in the place hated me even more after that call. The other half presented something new.
Words of admiration, cheers, and encouragement poured out from the white ball people. It was “It’s all love, baby,” until the next out-of-bounds call I made went against them.
“Red ball, this way!” I said next with a bigger exaggerated motion, getting my hips into it. Dee grinned and nodded his head in approval as if to say, “That’s my boy.”
I never saw Dee again. That game put me out of the referee business. I was done. I had made my side hustle money, learned my lessons, and moved on. Despite the trauma of that night, I learned two very valuable lessons that have stayed with me to this day:
- Playing basketball and being a good basketball referee are two very different things. I have the utmost respect for all referees. Never badmouth a ref.
- You don’t have to know it all. You don’t have to be perfect. Know that you will make mistakes. But learn your craft and weigh all the factors you can in any given moment. Then make a decision based on good information and from a position of peace. “Make the Call.”
From that night forward, I realized that leadership isn’t about always being right — it’s about making the best call you can with the information you have, standing by it, and learning fast. In A Creative’s Insights into Sales, Marketing, and PR, I explore how moments like these shaped my approach to storytelling, business, and personal growth.
What’s a moment in your own life that taught you how to “make the call”? Share it in the comments below — I’d love to hear your story.
