Confessions of a Social Sports Commissioner: I’m Afraid of the Dark

I grew up sharing a room with my older brother, and I made him keep a lamp on all night—perched on the end of our dresser like a tiny lighthouse guarding us from whatever might crawl out of the shadows. He didn’t mind… or maybe he hated it. I honestly don’t remember. What I do remember is this: when that light was off, there were monsters under my bed. No question. But when it was on?

Well… the monsters were afraid of it and disappeared into the abyss.

When my brother graduated to his own room, I migrated—night after night—into my sister’s room. For some “princessly” reason, she always had her own space. I made her keep the light on too, but unlike my brother, she talked. A lot. We’d lose hours—countless hours—talking about everything and absolutely nothing until sleep eventually caught up with us.

Here’s the thing: I’m not afraid of much.

I’ve always believed I could handle whatever comes my way. Physical, emotional—you name it. I can run fast, jump high, tackle hard. I could stand up to bullies twice my size, ace the pop quiz, embarrass myself with an impromptu song and dance at the school-wide assembly. I still think I could take down a burglar if they broke into my house—maybe even a group of them. A grizzly bear? Yeah… probably. I’ve thought about it. I’d run it around a few trees, tire it out, and when it least expects it—poke it in the eye and submit it with a chokehold.

Simple.

Because with those things, you know what you’re dealing with. There’s a shape. A form. Strengths. Weaknesses. A plan.

But the dark?

Eek.

And monsters?

Double eek.

The unknown is what gets me.

We watched a lot of scary movies growing up—stuff I wouldn’t even consider watching now, and definitely wouldn’t let my kids near. But hey, it was the ’90s. Junk food, no rules, and whatever was on TV until bedtime.

I hated being the last one downstairs.

My siblings—older and wiser (or maybe just crueler)—would head upstairs a few scenes early, leaving me alone. Just me, the flickering TV, and the creeping awareness that I was now the last line of defense between the living room and… whatever else was out there.

I’d sit there in silence. Waiting. Gathering courage.

Then—remote in hand—I’d turn off the TV.

And sprint.

Full speed to the light switch. Slam it. Bolt up the stairs. Slam the door. Never look back.

Not once.

Now, I’m a mature adult.

And I haven’t sprinted up the stairs after turning off the lights for… weeks now.

Yeah, that’s right. Weeks. Probably even months.

It still gets me sometimes—that darkness outside the windows, the eerie calm inside the house. The quiet that feels a little too quiet.

What are those spirits planning?

What are they going to do?

They probably just want to say hi. Maybe play a game.

…but I’m not taking any chances. It’s my house now, and I’m just going to leave the lights on all night so I can casually mosey up the stairs like a respectable adult :)

Running sports leagues isn’t all that different from being afraid of the dark.

As a commissioner, you’re constantly stepping into the unknown. New seasons, new players, new personalities. You don’t always know what’s going to happen. Will people show up? Will teams click? Will that one overly competitive guy turn a casual game into the Super Bowl?

There are “monsters” in this world too—awkward first games, blooper-worthy sequences, missed calls, last-minute cancellations, personalities that don’t quite mesh. Things you can’t fully predict or control.

But just like that lamp on my childhood dresser, Social Sports VT is the light.

It creates structure. It builds community. It turns the unknown into something familiar—something fun. When people show up, meet teammates, laugh, compete, and connect… those “monsters” don’t stand a chance.

Because at the end of the day, most people aren’t scary at all.

They’re just looking for the same thing we all are—connection, belonging, and maybe a little fun after a long day.

So yeah, I’m still a little afraid of the dark.

But I’ve learned that when you turn the lights on—whether it’s in your house or on a field full of strangers—it’s a lot easier to see what’s really there.

And most of the time?

It’s just people… waiting to play.