Albert Sanders Jr. is the most important person in the NBA you’ve never heard of

Albert Sanders Jr., the boy with the big dreams and the bigger drive, was scared. He was angry. Worried.

He wanted to become a lawyer, to wow courtrooms just like Ben Matlock and Perry Mason did on his family’s clunky console TV. But in 1994, when he was 14, that dream suddenly seemed beyond reach, hence the anger and worry. He had excelled at a private school but circumstances had brought him to Jefferson High School, one of the worst in Los Angeles.

Before his first day as a freshman, he and his mother, Paula Sanders, sat in front of the campus in her 11-year-old Volvo as she fought to hide tears.

“How am I going to realize this dream of being a lawyer and maybe working in politics one day when I’m at a school where half the kids don’t graduate?” Albert wondered to himself.

But that was on the inside.

“He said, ‘Mom, I know what to do,’” Paula Sanders remembered. “And I believed him.”

It was trust well-placed. Sanders would work on Capitol Hill, at the White House and at Google. These days he is head of referee operations in the NBA, and is one of the most important people in professional basketball.

The role may seem improbable. He’s never blown a whistle, never called a foul. But to those who know him and recall the boy who grew up in South L.A., his journey is not so surprising.

“Mom, I know what to do.”

The child of an aviation manufacturing worker and a nurse, Sanders made it abundantly clear early on that he wanted to be a lawyer. Sitting on the burgundy living room carpet, he devoured any TV show with a courtroom. He became a skilled arguer with his parents. And if he got sent to his room? The door would slam shut with the words “Sanders & Associates” taped on the outside.

In elementary school, Sanders carried a briefcase to campus and practiced his signature so it would perfectly adorn legal filings. Academically, he was thriving at a private Christian academy in Compton. 

But there also were sports, especially basketball. Like many L.A. kids born in 1980, Sanders made sure the “Showtime” Lakers were on the television whenever “Matlock” was off it. He’d go to parks with his father, Albert Sr., who taught him how to put the proper spin, “some English,” on a finger roll layup and mimic Kareem Abdul-Jabbar’s skyhook.

They attended some Lakers games where Sanders would stand on his seat and occasionally yell “Bad call!” when he thought the home team was wronged.

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But along with “amazing memories” of his dad and basketball — including always watching the Lakers’ Christmas Day games on television — there was “a time in my life where he was not there and he couldn’t be there.”

Albert Sr. lost his job and struggled with addiction. Paula, who was working in private nursing to make extra money for the family, slipped on a porch and injured her back.

With no money, they had to move.

“She can’t work. My dad’s unemployed. And now we’re moving from Carson and that private school and all that sort of stuff to South Central, where I did not expect to be in 1993, ’94, ’95 — all the things that were happening in South Central.”

There was a time when Jefferson represented the best of Black excellence in Los Angeles. Legendary singer Etta James, Nobel Peace Prize winner Ralph Bunche and ground-breaking choreographer Alvin Ailey all attended Jefferson. But that was the past. In the 1990s, South L.A. was reeling from gangs and the aftermath of the 1992 riots.

Even so, teachers steered him into the “Humanitas Academy,” a tract of classes for high-potential students. Teachers who were lifers at the school — who had taught Albert Sr. and his brothers when they attended Jefferson — kept close tabs on Albert Jr. and helped him overcome disadvantages he now faced, like a schoolbook shortage that meant texts needed to be kept on campus.

“There was a rich community of people there that spent their own money on supplies, that would drive us to mock trial competitions, that would stay after school, that would go above and beyond what teachers were paid to do or supposed to do to help us excel,” he said. “So between that, between my family and between my church, my world was full, right?”

Sanders also played on the basketball team, but it was Humanitas that prepared him for the future, recalled Sanders’ teacher and friend Cris Gutierrez.

“We would work together on whatever we were studying as if they were colleagues,” Gutierrez recalled, adding, “Albert thrived in that kind of situation — to know that he could be assuming responsibilities in new ways and he could push us as we pushed him.”

Sanders excelled and even accompanied Gutierrez to Washington, D.C., to give a speech to a group of educators, politicians and reformers. He had found his thing, and it had nothing to do with a basketball.

“My basketball coach gave me the best basketball advice I’d ever received,” Sanders remembered. The advice came just after a loss. “I’d done my best,” he said, “and I’m looking at him for, like, inspiration and some feedback. He’s like, ‘Go to law school.’

“There was no chance that I was going to get to the NBA.”

He went on to Morehouse College and to the University of Pennsylvania law school, specializing in labor and employment law before going to Washington to work with the Senate Judiciary Committee and as associate counsel to President Obama. After Obama’s second term, he joined Google, overseeing the intertwined roads of technology and public policy.

Years later, there was another family car ride, this time with his father. They were driving from Los Angeles to Monrovia, where his parents now live.

“Dad, I’ve got a chance to work with the NBA,” he said. “And it’s a pretty challenging job they’re offering me.”

The men agreed to wait to tell Paula because it meant Sanders would again be leaving Los Angeles, but the choice was obvious.

“Well, you know what you gotta do,” Albert Sr. excitedly told his son.

The job required strong management skills to oversee officials in the NBA, the WNBA, the G-League and its African leagues. The league wanted someone who could identify and implement emerging technologies to help officials get more calls correct. And they needed someone who could navigate the political currents buffeting team owners, players, coaches, and referees and the unions representing them.

Whoever they hired, they’d work with veteran NBA official Monty McCutchen, who had transitioned to a leadership role after he left the court and was beloved by the officials he oversaw. Sanders wouldn’t be filling his shoes but would, at least, be sharing them.

The job made Sanders recall an article he’d read in the Harvard Business Review about “triple-strength leadership,” the value of having experience in the private, public and social sectors.

He was convinced his experiences would apply. The NBA was too.

“We went through an extensive search actually a couple times on this, and found him to be the right guy because he brings a level of experience to deal with tough issues, yet is also a professional manager that can help us deal with stakeholders,” NBA President of League Operations Byron Spruell said.

The job, Spruell added, is to “reenergize and bring a different perspective to referee operations, and set us up for the future. He’s a big fan of the game, has passion for the game, although he didn’t necessarily play or obviously officiate.”

In September of 2023, he signed his contract on a video call from downtown Los Angeles with family and friends. His mother said a prayer.

He’d need it.

Sanders wants you, basketball fan, to better understand the officials. To know that the NBA has the best in the game. And that maybe, at the final horn, you won’t leave the building convinced your team got hosed by the refs.

Good luck.

“My bet here is that if we educate the public and explain to them what our officials are doing — what we expect them to do — that will help move the needle a little bit over time,” Sanders said.

The NBA has been sharing videos explaining calls, increasing transparency about missed calls and even allowing their officials to do more interviews and participate in online content about their craft, which for generations had been taboo.

There are, of course, issues with this plan. Fans. Players. Coaches. Owners. Gamblers. Everyone is always willing to blame the refs.

“I think it’s like inherent to sport that people are looking for someone to blame,” said Lakers coach JJ Redick. “And referees and umpires, they’re low-hanging fruit.“

Sanders has had to overcome the obvious gap in his resume — having never reffed.

Sources inside the league’s officiating department told The Times that there’s some hesitation about getting fully behind someone who hasn’t officiated. And some of the changes that have been instituted under Sanders, like having some veteran officials work Summer League games, have been unpopular.

But other officiating sources praise his commitment to the job. Sanders read and reread the rule book and took the same weekly rules test as the league’s officials. Some officials were impressed with how Sanders carried himself as an observer eager to learn as he toured the league last season, watching and listening before implementing some of his new strategies.

“He is absolutely growing the trust of our staff — through the listening, through the listen-and-learn portion, right?” McCutchen said. “Through the portion of respecting the work, learning and hearing what works within the work, and then [he’s] giving good insight on how things can be changed and added to, to make the work even better. Of course that takes time.

“…What I do know is that the points he makes are always on point. And they always add to the expertise of our group.”

But what about everyone else?

Inside NBA locker rooms, players generally will admit that NBA referees are the best in the world, but many still question the quality of the officiating.

Adding to distrust are memories of former NBA referee Tim Donaghy, who in 2007 pleaded guilty to two felony counts for his role in an illegal gambling scheme that sometimes involved games he officiated, memories that were reignited by a 2022 documentary.

One veteran NBA player, who spoke anonymously due to the sensitivity between player-official relationships, said too much of the rule book is too subjective. And that subjectivity, he said, tends to favor the league’s star players. It’s not uncommon to hear conspiracies about officiating in a league locker room.

A general manager, also speaking anonymously, pointed to the lack of veteran officials as a problem — the league having lost some of its more established officials to front-office jobs. Another left the league because he resisted its vaccine mandate following the COVID pandemic. Yet another retired after a league investigation into his use of a social media account.

“A large number, almost a third of our officials, have six or seven years of service or less,” Sanders said. “So that really represents a new generation of officials. And what I want to do is make sure that they get the focus and attention they need from our legendary referees who serve as our coaches to be able to be better on the floor.”

He also wants those younger refs to build relationships with coaches and players and get a chance “to show their stuff, build that credibility and buy-in over time.”

But patience, especially in sports, is in short supply.

And the relationship with fans remains eternally fraught, missed travel calls getting equal billing online alongside other highlights. On the Reddit page for NBA fans, a community with more than 14 million members, a video of Utah’s Keyonte George committing an uncalled carrying violation had nearly 350 comments. A video of Cleveland center Jarrett Allen dunking on a Pelicans defender elicited just 13 comments.

The routine for the Sanders family on Christmas usually consisted of three things — food, presents and Lakers basketball on television. But last December, the Sanders were going to see Lakers in person, together.

“This was full circle for us,” Sanders said.

In town as part of his rounds visiting the NBA’s 70-plus officials, Sanders went to Crypto.com Arena early for pregame meetings with the day’s officials, Scott Foster, Karl Lane and Jason Goldenberg.

He’s still a fan — just of the game and not a particular team.

“I’m up close and personal in the game I’ve loved all my life,” he said. “Not only am I, you know, at the Finals, but I’ve got a vested interest in how the Finals play out. And I’m on the edge of my seat, but rooting for a good game and also rooting for our officials to do an incredible job.”

Every step, basketball was there. From the neighborhood parks with his father to the D.C. pickup games. It’s why his eyes brightened and his smile widened when, while visiting Jefferson’s campus recently, the old gymnasium doors swung open. He asked for a photo to be taken in front of the school mascot.

That was a nice day. But his trip to a different gym last Christmas was beyond special. At Crypto.com Arena, Sanders met up with his mom near mid-court, 15 rows up. His father, quick to hit the concession stand for pizza, walked down toward them. These were the league’s seats — some of the best in the house.

His parents wondered about proper decorum when sitting with the head of referee operations. “They’re like, ‘Oh, wait, can I stand up and cheer and yell because you’re sitting there like Switzerland?’” he said.

They would make their way down to the floor for pregame workouts, his parents getting to stand on the court they’d only watched from afar.

After tip-off, the family sat together for a Christmas they’d never forget, Albert Sr. watching the Lakers and the Celtics, Albert Jr. watching the refs.

“It was great for both of us,” his father said. “Knowing that this is my son, that he’s involved in this, I was so very proud.”

But his parents were not that surprised. They knew Sanders and Associates would be enforcing the rules in court; they just didn’t realize it’d be a basketball one.

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This story originally appeared in Los Angeles Times.