Somewhere in the World: Chasing a Basketball Dream
Jim Boyle, the former Saint Joseph’s University coach, was the kind of man who could change your life in a single sentence. He had coached in Japan, lived overseas, read poetry, reflected on scripture — a thoughtful, worldly mentor who took me under his wing just as I was chasing my basketball dreams.
The first time he put me through a workout, it couldn’t have lasted more than a few minutes. He told me to tie my sneakers, dribble full speed with my left hand, finish a layup, then do the same with my right hand into a pull-up jumper. When I finished, he waved me over, looked me in the eye, and said quietly:
“I don’t know where you can play in the world. But you can play somewhere.”
That was it. No promises, no fluff. Just belief. And it was enough.
Those words carried me into some of the toughest gyms in Philadelphia — and eventually, across the ocean.
The Philadelphia Gauntlet
If you wanted to prove yourself in Philly basketball in the 1990s, you played in the summer leagues. Thanks to Mark Burke, I met John Harnett and got a spot with the Germantown Medics in the Sunny Hill League. From the high school division, I graduated into the college division, running alongside players like Brian and Danny Earl — some of the best I’d ever faced.
Then came the Baker League at Temple’s McGonigle Hall, where legends walked into the gym on a nightly basis. One summer night, I looked up and saw Allen Iverson on the opposing team. The place was electric.
I knew I had to bring it. I ended up scoring 21 points for my team that night, matching the energy of one of the most dynamic players in basketball history. But the real test came in the final five minutes, when I found myself locked in a one-on-one duel against a 6’8” forward known only as “The Iceman.”
Possession after possession, it was just the two of us. Somehow, the basketball gods were on my side. I held my own, made shots, and battled until the final buzzer. I walked out of that gym with a newspaper box score tucked under my arm — proof, in black and white, that I belonged.
If I could survive a night like that in Philadelphia, I believed I could survive anywhere in the world.
Landing in Germany
That belief was tested as soon as I touched down overseas. I didn’t even know what Klaus — my supposed contact — looked like. I stood in the reception area of the airport scanning faces, growing more anxious by the minute. With no cell phone, I fumbled my way to a payphone and dialed his house line. A young girl answered, quickly realized I was the American player, and guided me where to go.
Klaus eventually found me, and for the first week, I slept on a couch in a company apartment with people I couldn’t even communicate with. My metal was being tested.
On the court, though, everything made sense. I played hard, passed when I could, scored when I needed to, and earned the trust of my new teammates. When the club owner sat in the stands, it was their decision to feed me the ball — and they did. That led to my first contract with the club in Darmstadt, just south of Frankfurt.
Finding My Place
I was 21 years old, chasing my dream overseas while discovering German beer. After practices, my teammates took me to beer gardens. We traded questions about each other’s lives, and slowly I wasn’t just “the American” — I was one of the guys.
The coach’s instructions were simple: “We have a lot of players here who can pass. We need you to score the ball.”
So I scored. Maybe not the 28 points a night my business partner Ryan Ansel later claimed in an interview (he must have confused me with another Matt), but enough to win. And when we won, we celebrated. Sometimes right there on the court. After one road victory, Coach Klaus handed me a tall stein of beer.
“Good game,” he said.
We clinked glasses. I took a sip. In that moment, it felt like I had just won the NBA Finals.
Beyond the Court
As the season went on, I looked forward to practices as much as games. Like most Americans in overseas clubs, I was given two youth teams to coach. At first, it was chaos — me speaking English, them responding in German — but slowly, I figured it out. Through demonstrations, tone, and learning a few key words, I learned how to make kids listen.
The club took care of me, too. Each month I was handed an envelope of crisp Deutschmarks. I moved into my own apartment. I was even given the keys to the team van. For the first time, I wasn’t just surviving — I was living.
Still, there were long hours to fill. So I picked up a custodial job at the U.S. Army PX. I swept floors, hauled trash, even scrubbed toilets. But the perk was worth it: access to Fruity Pebbles, peanut butter, and all the American products I missed most. Small comforts that made Germany feel a little less foreign.
Basketball gave me purpose. The PX gave me a taste of home.
The Turning Point
For all the joy, there were lonely moments. I missed my family and friends, and though a few visited, the timing didn’t always work. Two friends and my cousin even flew across the ocean only to find me back in the States.
Then came the real blow: after just nine games, I tore my ACL. My professional playing career was over before it really began.
But I didn’t feel like a failure. I had done it. I had played professionally overseas. I had lived the dream Boyle once told me was possible. That was enough.
A New Path
The injury closed one door but opened another. I turned to coaching and training, pouring into others what the game had poured into me. For the past 30 years, through Matt Paul Basketball and now Next Play Basketball, I’ve dedicated my life to learning, teaching, and helping others chase their own dreams.
I didn’t just find out where I could play in the world. I found out where I belonged.
