The NBA is often described as a league built on talent, scouting, analytics, and strategy. But sometimes, it’s the small, heartwarming moments—ones that exist far away from the hardwood—that remind us there’s a deeply human side to this fast-paced, high-stakes world. For Assistant General Manager Matt Riccardi, such a moment arrived in the form of a heartfelt gesture from his young son, Lio. On the eve of one of the most important events of Riccardi’s professional life, Lio handed his father a small item, something that didn’t appear on any scouting report or trade sheet: a handmade good luck charm.
In the weeks leading up to the NBA Draft, Riccardi’s schedule had been grueling. Between evaluating top prospects, negotiating with agents, studying analytics, and preparing the franchise for decisions that could shape its future, the job was consuming. It required clarity, instinct, and nerves of steel. And yet, amid the whirlwind of responsibility, a moment of pure innocence broke through when Lio walked into his dad’s home office with something clutched in his hand.
It wasn’t flashy. It wasn’t expensive. In fact, it was humble—a small beaded bracelet, strung together with a mix of vibrant colors, haphazardly spaced, the way only a child’s creativity could allow. But it was the intention behind it, the love stitched into each bead, that gave it power. “This is for you, Daddy,” Lio said, holding it out proudly. “It’s your good luck charm. So you don’t forget how good you are.”
Riccardi, a seasoned basketball executive with a resume filled with accomplishments, was caught off guard. Not by the gesture itself—Lio had always been thoughtful—but by the wave of emotion that came with it. In that moment, everything else—draft boards, trade targets, cap space—faded into the background. What remained was a father looking at his son, reminded of the deeper reasons behind the work he did. Family. Purpose. Belief.
He took the bracelet and slid it onto his wrist, promising Lio he’d wear it through the entire draft process. “This is my secret weapon now,” he told him, and Lio beamed with pride. Riccardi may have spent the past several months poring over data and film, but that simple beaded charm would become the most important thing he carried with him into the war room.
Throughout the days that followed, Riccardi didn’t take the bracelet off—not during tense scouting meetings, not during mock draft simulations, not even when traveling for final player interviews. For a man whose life was governed by precision and planning, the bracelet served as a symbol of balance. It grounded him. It reminded him that success wasn’t always measured in points per game or defensive efficiency. Sometimes, it was about heart, intention, and staying true to the values that matter most.
On draft night, the bracelet remained on his wrist, nestled subtly beneath the cuff of his suit jacket. No one in the crowded front office or bustling green room noticed it. But Riccardi felt it there—an anchor in a storm of decisions and expectations. When the team was on the clock, discussions around potential picks reached a fever pitch. Voices were raised. Opinions clashed. The clock ticked down. And through it all, Riccardi kept his cool, his fingers brushing against the smooth beads now and then, each touch a silent reminder of Lio’s words: “Don’t forget how good you are.”
What Riccardi didn’t know at the time was that Lio had been watching at home, clutching a toy basketball tightly as he sat cross-legged in front of the television. His mom had explained what was happening, that his dad was helping the team make big decisions. Lio didn’t fully understand the complexities of the NBA Draft, but he knew his charm was part of the process. In his mind, that bracelet had magical properties—it made his dad stronger, smarter, luckier.
When the team’s pick was finally announced, and Riccardi’s voice could be heard in the background congratulating his colleagues, Lio leapt into the air, cheering wildly. “It worked!” he shouted. “My charm worked!”
For Riccardi, the outcome of the draft was a success—strategically sound, well-received by analysts, and aligned with the franchise’s long-term vision. But privately, he credits something else. Something intangible. The charm didn’t change the board or the pick. What it changed was him. It quieted the noise. It reinforced confidence. It brought him back to the center of who he was: not just an executive, but a father, a man whose strength came from the people who believed in him.
In the days after the draft, Riccardi shared the story with a few close colleagues, each time with a smile that was part amused, part moved. “Lio gave me his version of a scouting report,” he joked once. “It just had one line: ‘My dad is awesome.’” Everyone laughed, but the sentiment lingered. In a league where egos and pressure run high, it was a refreshing reminder that sometimes, the best motivation doesn’t come from accolades or contracts—it comes from a child’s unwavering faith.
That bracelet now sits in a shadow box on Riccardi’s desk. Not because he no longer needs it, but because he wants to preserve that moment forever. Alongside it is a photo of him and Lio, taken the morning after the draft. In the picture, Lio is sitting on his father’s lap, both of them grinning ear to ear, the bracelet visible on Riccardi’s wrist. It’s not framed in gold. It doesn’t come with a certificate of authenticity. But in Riccardi’s eyes, it’s the most valuable keepsake he owns.