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I belong to a couple of online “communities” by virtue of the things I post about: some weird diet groups (not on the bingo card this time last year, but here we are), some tech support/techie groups, and UNC athletics fandoms.

For those not in the latter group, UNC played Duke (I have a hard time spelling that the mature way, for the record) in men’s basketball this past weekend, a game where Duke was heavily favored. They won the game, but not as convincingly as their victory a few weeks earlier in Durham. Carolina fans could still hold their heads high, having led by as many as 7 points midway through the second half.

In Durham we (yes, I consider the tuition and fees I paid to the institution significant enough to claim first-person rights to the team) got embarrassed. In Chapel Hill we just got outplayed by a team that is more physically gifted than us.

As Duke made their (what would be ultimately decisive) run in the middle of the second half, the camera panned to the parents of star player Cooper Flagg. Cooper had just slammed home a nasty (and relatively uncontested) dunk, having driven past his defender on a fast break broken play. It was a dunk worth celebrating, if you were wearing Royal blue.

As the camera hit Kelly Flagg, it captured her and her husband aggressively celebrating by doing the “head-tap” motion, and turning to taunt the surrounding fanbase of mostly Tar Heels. I’m not good at lip-reading, but her face said enough to know she wasn’t commending the hustle of her son, she was taunting the crowd with some language she’d probably not use at church.

As tends to happen when you get televised internationally, folks immediately began to blast Kelly for a couple of reasons:

1. The head tap celebration is for when you dunk on somebody’s head. To do it when there’s nobody there is like doing a Grand Slam celebration for a 2-run homer, or like celebrating your half-birthday with cake.
2. She’s an adult turning to scream profanity at the people sitting around her.

Sure, there’s lots of pearl-clutching and self-righteousness involved, and I’m honestly not here to contribute to that, nor am I here to try and defend Flagg.

I’d be lying if I tried to pretend that watching Ms. Flagg display such a distinct lack of (a) taunting knowledge and (b) class was anything other than gratifying, but I’m here to sell books.

That’s right: I’m here to use this trending topic (Ms. Flagg went on to dig herself into a hole by calling all UNC fans “classless A-holes” in a much-screenshotted social media post) to tell you to order my book.

Is my book going to keep you from making the same blunder that Kelly Flagg committed? Maybe.

One of the principles I harp on in the book: in technical support you can either escalate or deescalate things. Being defensive will always and only escalate things.

One of the things my team hears me say repeatedly: let’s control what we can control in the situation, and remain focused on solving the user’s problem. To take even a second to justify your own actions opens up a dialog that leads directly away from resolution.

Good when you’re trying to generate ad revenue for a social media site, but bad when you’re trying to resolve technical issues for a frustrated customer.

Folks who preorder before March 20th get bonuses. Read more about those here.

My eighth grader is on the JV baseball team this year, and like many young athletes, he’s spending more time on the bench than he’d like. Our small school has enough talented players to fill three teams, and while I’m incredibly proud of him for making the JV team in 8th grade, it’s tough watching him sit when I know how much he loves the game.

As much as we want our kids to succeed on the field, sports offer something even greater—lessons that shape them into strong, resilient young men. Here are my biggest takeaways from this season so far.

We Are Raising Men, Not Just Ballplayers

Don’t get me wrong—I love watching my kids play, and I want them to excel. But at the end of the day, their character matters more than their playing time. We refuse to bash coaches or criticize teammates who are getting more playing time. My son plays first base, and there’s a very talented ninth grader ahead of him. His time will come, but he has to wait his turn. Life will present this lesson over and over: work hard, be patient, and stay ready. This season does not define who he is—he is so much more than a baseball player.

It Takes a Village, and Coaches Are Part of It

I’m incredibly grateful for the coaches who have poured into my son over the years. They have helped shape him into the person he is becoming. Too often, I see parents complaining about coaching decisions, but I just don’t get it. If you don’t want your child playing under a certain coach, then don’t be on the team. Coaches are not meant to be our kids’ buddies—they are there to lead, challenge, and teach. When I played sports, I was a little scared of my coaches, and that wasn’t a bad thing. Today, too many parents expect coaches to explain every decision. But part of growing up is learning to accept authority, even when it’s hard.

Would You Rather Watch the Game from the Bleachers or the Dugout?

Wearing that jersey is a privilege, whether you’re starting or sitting. Being on the team means you get to spend five days a week with your best friends, doing what you love. The inside jokes, the locker room banter, the bus rides, the dugout camaraderie—those are the things you’ll remember long after the season ends. Don’t waste this time sulking about playing minutes. Enjoy the experience for what it is.

Life Goes On After High School

I was a high school athlete myself—volleyball, softball, and even one year of basketball. Someone recently reminded me of a playoff game my senior year. The last game for our senior class. We were about to win, just one out away, when our pitcher overthrew me at first base, costing us the game. You’d think I’d remember that moment, but I don’t. I’m sure it was hard at the time, but life goes on. So much has happened since high school. I made great memories in those 4 years. I have no regrets. But I am so glad I am not still holding on to some missed opportunity in high school. I hope my kids enjoy every stage as it comes. High school sports can be a very fun stage of life but the fun does not end there. 

Heaven Is Our Home

This might seem out of place to some, but it shouldn’t be for Christians. At the end of the day, our ultimate home is in heaven. Our time on earth—and on the ball field—is just a fleeting moment compared to eternity. Keep your eyes on the real prize, kid. Walk by faith, trust God, and know that even on the bench, He is shaping you in ways you may not yet understand.

Sports are an incredible gift, but they are not everything. The lessons my son is learning this season—perseverance, patience, humility, and faith—will last far beyond the final inning. And in the grand scheme of things, that’s what truly matters. I hope our family can keep this perspective as the seasons go by. 

Colossians 3:23:

Whatever you do, work at it with all your heart, as working for the Lord, not for human masters.

James 1:2-4:

Consider it pure joy, my brothers and sisters, whenever you face trials of many kinds, because you know that the testing of your faith produces perseverance. Let perseverance finish its work so that you may be mature and complete, not lacking anything.

Jeremiah 29:11:

For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the Lord, “plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you a future and a hope.

Last night (February 6, 2025), leaving the Middle School basketball game, I lost for the first time in a footrace with one of my children, in a typical boy-parent “I’ll race you to the car” moment.

It was bound to happen: at nearly 17 years old, he’s working out every day and currently outweighs me by at least 20 lbs. He might even be taller than me, but I’m not willing to concede that race just yet, because we’re very close on that metric.

What’s especially strange about the whole thing is that while I may have technically lost the race, I won in so many ways.

In the summer of 2022 (or maybe it was 2023) I was giving my kids a hard time about how they needed to work harder in the offseason, and doing general dad “back in my day” posturing.

One thing led to another, and I found myself lining up in the yard to run wind sprints. I had probably had a beer, and clocked in at 235 lbs.

I took off, completely un-warmed up (just like last night, for the record!) and made it approximately 40 yards before my legs couldn’t keep up with my torso and I toppled over.

Worse, my lungs couldn’t expand and contract fast enough to get oxygen into my system, and I had a moment sitting on my porch where I genuinely thought I was going to pass out or worse. My heart was beating out of my chest, and I needed at least 5 minutes to regain any semblance of a normal existence.

I wish I could say that was the moment I decided to get serious about my health, but that moment needed some more rocks to form on the bottom.

Fast forward to the grass beside the middle school last night.

As backstory this time around:

• I still have not sprinted even one time since that fateful somersault I tried to play off in the yard.
• For a time last year I was really into walking, and even had gotten into doing what I’d consider “cardio” by walking the large hill in the woods behind my house. I haven’t done that consistently at all over the past 6 months or so.
• I’ve been doing some body-weight exercises maybe 15 minutes per day but really nothing that’s gotten my heart rate up for anything over a few seconds.
• The only thing that has functionally changed is my diet, having gone no-carb carnivore in April of 2024, relaxed to a few no-carb veggies in September of 2024.

So, in a less-formal-than-I-would-like start, my boy said “ready, set, go” and we launched out across the yard.

My Achilles tendon has been acting up for a few days (happens when I stand too much at work) and feeling it getting tender I wisely made the decision after about 10 really hard steps to ease off and take the L, but I still ran at what I’d estimate to be 90% capacity all the way across the lawn (maybe 75 yards at most). I don’t think I could’ve beaten him at 100%, either.

“That’s right, you’re slow old man!” the boy bellowed across the dark parking lot.

Then, in what I can only describe as a nearly out-of-body experience, I walked around the minivan, and got in the driver’s seat.

I was mildly winded, at best.

Reader, I don’t say this to brag. I say this because it has been a tectonic shift in my understanding of my own body. I’m still processing the ramifications of what “cardiovascular health” even is at this point. I thought that the way you get to a point of being able to sprint without being winded is to run long distances, or to get your heart rate up for 30 minutes every day. That’s the way I’d always “gotten in shape.”

I would have confidently told you yesterday at this time that, while I have lost a bunch of weight, I need to be doing more cardio because I’m not really in great shape.

That’s probably true to a certain extent. What is categorically untrue is (whatever I would have said about my ability to sprint). Welcome to 2025, where Ben gets to wrestle with his grasp of how his own body works.

So yeah, the boy’s right about one thing: I lost fair and square. But if you ask me, he’s dead wrong about that “old man” bit.

I’m writing this one down so that we can enjoy it for years to come.

It all started where epic tales do: Facebook Marketplace.

First, some background: Jacqueline and I have been sharing a home office since 2021, and it’s worked fairly well. We’ve had a good run, and with her client roster expanding it’s become a problem that both of us can’t hop on a call at the same time.

It’s also, despite what you might have scribbled into your teenage diary, not realistic to sustain a healthy marriage where you literally breathe the same air 20+ hours a day. I love my wife and she loves me. She’d lay down her life for our family, but if she has to hear the same story told on 4 separate 1:1 calls every Monday, she might end up choking me out with an ethernet cable.

That’s two paragraphs to get here: we need a shed. We’ll convert that into outdoor office space for her, and save our marriage while still both working from home doing jobs we love.

Where was I? Oh right: Facebook Marketplace, at the beginning of a journey of Alighierian proportions.

You know how FB marketplace works: it’s a mad-max style, no holds barred, first-come-first served buffet full of “is this still available” and “porch pickups.” So when we found a too-good-to-be-true (I know. We know. We’ll get to that…) shed for sale just an hour(ish) away, we pounced. Jacq hopped in a car to go (with her dad) and check whether it passed a sniff-test, and to beat whoever was “coming tomorrow” by showing up today, cash in hand. (again… I know.)

After all, the way you catch a deal is by acting fast, right? (I get it. In retrospect I can’t believe how many signs we just blew past. Rookie mistakes all around. But stick around. It’s a good story)

Jacq fell in “like” with the little shed in [name of town redacted], and offered half of the $[redacted]purchase price just to hold it. We paid hastily using [payment service redacted] and contacted a towing company to see about getting there over the next few days to move our bargain-priced shed to it’s new home in our yard.

We headed back home, shed keys in hand.

The next day it was rainy, but we went ahead and had the tow truck guy swing by to see what it was going to take to move the shed.

“There’s no shed at the address you gave me”

(Cue that feeling like someone punched me in the gut, and was raring back for a second lick.)

We spent the next few hours piecing together the story: around the time we laid out some cold hard cash (via a handy app), the folks at Westwood Sheds discovered the FB marketplace listing for a shed they had just leased (no money down! no first month’s payment!) to a Ms. Smith (name changed here—but curiously not on the Facebook Maketplace listing—to protect the ongoing legal proceedings) just a few days before.

It (perhaps obviously) violates the terms of your lease with Westwood sheds to… sell the shed, and so Westwood dispatched the truck to go and retrieve the shed.

It’s a good thing we didn’t take it two nights earlier: in addition to being out double the money, we’d be in possession of a stolen shed, and participating in crimes.

Here’s where the story gets extra good.

With the help of the [nearby county] Sheriff’s deputy, we had more than enough to execute a warrant and run through the legal come-to-Jesus portion of the event (still ongoing).

The only thing we didn’t have? A shed.

You know who *did* have a shed? Westwood.

We called up the fine folks at Westwood and asked nicely if there is a “scratch and dent” sale on repossessed sheds. After a few good laughs, and phone-haggling on the price, we had a shed, discounted by a little more than the price we had already given to Ms Smith.

Before she hung up the phone, my wife got that gleam in her eye and I knew a funny line was coming. “So, now that we’ve got a price set for the shed, what will you give me for the key?”

As she signed the last of the paperwork here at the local Westwood branch, the sales guy mentioned that if we refer any friends, we get a $50 check. Again the gleam in Jacqueline’s eye: “Oh, please put down that Ms. Smith referred us. She could use the cash.”

So please come visit us! I’d love to give you the tour of the [Smith] Center for Excellence in Online Commerce. It’s in green: