I've answered it in pieces. In passing. In the comments of posts when someone tags me with a question mark. But I've never actually sat down and told the whole story.

So here it is.

My school yearbook asked us what we wanted to be in 20 years. Most kids wrote doctor, teacher, astronaut.

I wrote: "My dream is to be a Yankees announcer like Suzyn Waldman."

I wasn't being cute. I meant it with my whole chest.

I grew up loving this sport in a way I couldn't explain to anyone who didn't feel it too. I couldn't play. I was terrified to stand in a batter's box. But I understood the game, I loved the game and more than anything — I wanted to talk about it for a living. Forever. That was the plan. That was always the plan.

First, I had to earn it the hard way.

After college I packed up my life in New York and moved to New Bern, North Carolina to work as a local news sports anchor. If you don't know New Bern, that's kind of the point.

I was 22. I was alone. I made every mistake you can make in front of a camera and some you can't. I fumbled live shots. I learned how to produce, write, shoot, edit, and show up even when no one was watching. Three years in a small market teaches you things a big market never could. It built the foundation for everything that came after — even if I couldn't see that at the time.

Then in 2019, I made a pivot that would change everything.

I had no idea what that decision would set in motion.

The betting world opened a door I didn't even know existed. I started building credibility as an analyst — not just a broadcaster — and that combination of on-camera experience plus detailed betting research was something networks were just starting to look for.

NBA TV called first. I became a betting analyst on NBA Bet. That was surreal.

Then MLB Network called.

The big break I almost didn't recognize.

The show was called Pregame Spread. My co-host was Matt Vasgersian — a legend in this industry, one of the best to ever do it. I was on two, sometimes three segments per episode. I wasn't the host. I was the analyst. But I was on MLB Network. On a baseball betting show. Living the exact thing I had written in that yearbook.

Here's what nobody tells you about getting your big break: you don't always feel it when it's happening. You're just trying not to mess up. You're just trying to make it. It wasn't until I looked back that I realized — that was the moment. That was when the industry started taking me seriously.

And it happened at 27.

I had set that goal in college. I remember watching Kaylee Hartung get to ESPN at that age and thinking — I want that. I want to make it to my dream job by 27. And I did.

So why didn't it feel like enough?

That question haunted me for a long time and I want to be careful how I answer it — because this is not a slam piece on MLB Network. I want to be completely clear about that.

MLB Network was my favorite company I have ever worked for. The bosses, the producers, the researchers, the crew — genuinely some of the best people I've encountered in 10 years in this industry. I loved being there. I would not trade a single second of it.

But here's the truth: it was Matty's show. Not mine. I was a guest in someone else's house, and I knew it. And when Pregame Spread got cancelled after one season in 2022, I had to figure out what came next.

Luckily, MLB liked me enough to bring me back. I joined the Off Base crew in 2023, and I was part of it through 2024. Two seasons. Two offseasons of hearing the show might not come back — and two offseasons of it coming back anyway.

Until it didn't.

The thing nobody tells you about working in media.

We work on contracts. One year, two year, three year deals. When your contract is up, you wait. You don't know if the phone is going to ring. You don't know if you should sign a lease. You don't know if you should take another meeting or hold out. You build your entire life around a decision someone else is making about you.

Every single year at both NBA TV and MLB Network, I didn't know if I'd be called back. Every year I sweated it out. Every year I tried to prove my value hard enough that the answer would be yes.

I could feel things shifting. The networks were becoming wary of the sports betting world. My lane was narrowing. No matter how hard I worked, I wasn't sure there was going to be room — not because of anything I did wrong, but because the shows were getting cut and the space I occupied was shrinking.

Going into 2025, Off Base was officially cancelled on MLB Network. My remaining work with the network was remote hits on MLB Tonight. Two minutes. Remote. That was it.

I had gone from Pregame Spread to two-minute remote hits and I was sitting with the hardest question I'd ever had to ask myself.

Was this still my dream?

It's the kind of question that's terrifying to even think — because you've spent your whole life pointing toward this thing. It's like an athlete who works their entire career to reach the pinnacle of their sport and then stands there thinking... okay. Now what?

I loved MLB Network. I genuinely did. But I had to reckon with the fact that what I loved wasn't just being on television — it was having a voice. A real one. And that voice kept bumping into ceilings.

I had ideas I couldn't implement. I had content I wanted to make that needed approvals I never got. I was playing a role in someone else's production, following someone else's rules, living inside someone else's creative vision.

At some point, you have to ask yourself: is this who I am, or is this just where I landed?

This past year I made less money than I have in years.

I want to be honest about that because the entrepreneurship conversation online is often sanitized into highlight reels. The pivot is hard. Building from scratch is hard. There were months that scared me.

But here's what's also true: this has been the most fulfilling year of my career.

After ten years of switching jobs, sweating out contracts, waiting for someone to call me back, wondering if I'd have a paycheck — I have full control for the first time. I work around the clock, genuinely. But I pick what I work on. I decide what gets made. I decide what the brand stands for. Nobody tells me what I can and can't say. Nobody limits my lane.

The success or failure of Prop Queen Media is on me. No excuses. No ceiling. No one controlling my seat.

I didn't want to spend the rest of my career hoping someone would give me a place at their table.

That's what I'm doing.

If you're here — you're already sitting at it. I don't take that lightly.

The life of an entrepreneur is not glamorous. It's not the version they sell you. It's early mornings and late nights and moments of genuine doubt. But for the first time in a decade, I wake up and the only question is: what am I going to build today?

If this hit home — forward it to someone who's in the middle of their own pivot. They probably need to read it.

And if you want to dive into my MLB K prop research this week, that's waiting for you below.