What do you think of Scott Foster after reading this?

When he was a cocksure 25-year-old, on the fast track to officiating big-time college basketball, Scott Foster was summoned for a sit-down with his dad.

They met at a bar, and his father, Dickie, brought along a family friend with experience in high-level sports. They were concerned about Foster, who was mulling a daring career move. It was 1992, and he had been offered a job in the Continental Basketball Association, then a training ground for the NBA, making $95 a game. But to do so, he would have to forgo his schedule — and career path — of officiating Division I games, which at the time were paying him $250 a game. His dad and friend couldn’t see the logic of accepting less money, less exposure and less stability.

 

His dad’s word carried a lot of weight, not just with Foster, but all around Maryland’s Montgomery County. Dickie Foster was a decorated assistant fire chief, an accomplished softball player and the pulse of the frequent parties at the Foster house. As people splashed in their pool, and his dad grilled meats, Foster says he can remember being cornered by firefighters passionately telling him stories about his dad’s heroics, his dad’s leadership and how much his dad meant to them.

“The only job cooler than a firefighter in my neighborhood growing up was Major League Baseball player,” Foster said. “So he was a big deal.”

But on this day at the bar, as his dad addressed Foster’s new job offer, Dickie Foster used words like “pipe dream” and “one-in-a-million” and “few-and-far between.” Foster remembers his dad’s final words on the matter: “Not everyone can be Michael Jordan.”

“But …” Foster remembers telling his dad, “what if I am the Michael Jordan of officiating?”

Rest is here.