I Came, I Saw, I Listened (& Didn’t Screw It Up): My First NBA Credential

I didn’t ask a single question tonight. Not one.

And still, when I walked out of the Amway Center, I felt a sense of joy and pride, like mama “I made it” or  like I’d just dropped 30 in an NBA Finals game.

My first-ever NBA credential was hanging off my neck like a championship chain. Better yet, hanging off my neck like a badge of honor — “I belong.” I got the full tour, and impressed isn’t even a good enough word to describe how it was.

Astonished maybe? Amazed? Yes, and yes.

I saw each of the press rooms. I saw the athletes warming up. I even sat front row next to Ira Winderman and Eric Reid for Erik Spoelstra’s presser — where he broke down basketball like it was scripture — and me? I was just soaking it all in.

A fly on the wall with a laptop and a dream.

Because truthfully, I didn’t come to make noise tonight.

I came to belong here.

To say that I’m not proud of myself is an understatement because the child in me is still jumping for joy inside.

The inner child in me wanted to scream to the mountaintop that we f**king made it! I’m still in awe that I graced an NBA court as a credentialed media member — and it’s a testament to all those nights with little to no sleep. All those hours spent editing content. All those times, they paid off in the sweetest way.

And don’t get it twisted — I’m not content.

I’m thankful.

New seats, who this?

There’s an audible silence (weird oxymoronic statement right?) that hits you when you realize that you’re closer to your dreams.

I remember being a kid and watching Michael Jordan play in the American Airlines Arena with my pops. One day you’re a fan screaming at referees or giving hot takes between timeouts, the next you’re sitting in the media row, next to people who’ve been doing this since before social media even existed.

You watch the way they time their questions, how the PR staff controls the rhythm of a presser, how Spoelstra never gives away too much but somehow makes every sentence sound like a TED Talk.

It’s like being backstage at your favorite concert. You’ve heard the songs before, but now you’re watching the soundcheck, seeing the artists curse and yell and their assistants, and seeing people pray before their performance all in real time.

And trust me even though I didn’t get called on (this time), I didn’t mind a single bit.

Because tonight wasn’t about being the loudest voice — it was about learning the room.

I sat there writing my WNBA and NBA stories on one screen while watching the NBA unfold in front of me on the court. That’s not luck.

That’s years of building something out of nothing, one credential, one story, one late-night post at a time.

The Florida Hoops Triangle

From Dallas to Miami to Orlando — that’s the triangle I’m building (it’s actually more but we’re going to stop from there I work all over the country with the WNBA.) 

Call it the Moreau Media Bermuda Triangle — where sleep disappears and content never stops.

The WNBA (to whom I am forever grateful and indebted to) gave me my first platform, my first locker room, my first real taste of what this could be. But now? It’s expanding like a South Florida condo development.

I want Moreau Sports Media and Tailgate 305 to cover everything that beats under the Florida sun: the Heat, the Dolphins, the Canes, the Panthers, Inter Miami, and yeah — the Magic too. Because apparently, I collect Florida teams like Pokémon cards.

People sleep on Orlando, but this city’s a hidden gym — or should I say hidden gym rat — of hoops culture. The Magic are young, hungry, and figuring it out… kinda like me, minus the multimillion-dollar contracts.

Every credential, every handshake, every game — it’s one more brick in the foundation. I’m not chasing clout; I’m chasing access.

Because the more doors I walk through, the more stories I get to tell from the inside — and one day, I plan on walking through all of them.

Closer Than When I Started

Before I left for my first NBA game, there were pro found words that my pastor said and it hasn’t left my ear drums since hearing it:

“You’re closer to your destination than when you first started.”

That hit.

I thought about the first WNBA game I ever covered, the nights grinding alone in my apartment writing recaps that maybe five people read (and three of them were probably family).

I thought about all the credential requests that got left on read — the polite “we’ll be in touch” that never touched back.

And now? I’m sitting in an NBA arena, press badge swinging, typing under the same lights as people I used to watch on TV.

I’m closer.

I didn’t need to ask a question tonight.

I just needed to be in the room — because now, they’ve seen my face.

Next time?

They’ll remember my name.