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Forty years ago, I couldn’t appreciate the enormity of winning the 76ers World Championship.

There were the sports fans (honking and screaming), my Dad (wearing sunglasses, ahem), the players (soaring and signing autographs with the coach along with them), and me (graduating 8th Grade).

But I saw things differently when Dad couldn’t make the 40th reunion on March 19th and 20th and asked me to stand in for him.

No longer was I the 8th Grader on the float, wondering how I could ever fill my Dad’s shoes.

Somehow, I had to fill my Dad’s shoes at the reunion dinner.

I love when Dad and the players get together. No words describe those moments- camaraderie, family, community, jokesters, and teammates all rolled into one.

Words pale to compare to the magic and love that they collectively ignite. When they’re in each other’s company, it’s for the greater good.

And when do we ever do that in life? Even I couldn’t rise above my 8th Grade ego and see the grandness that they represented.

And when Moses Malone gave his prophecy “Fo, Fo, Fo.” The announcer asked people in the stands at last Monday night’s Sixers game, what does it mean? No one knew.

In all fairness, I only knew the original story last Sunday when Dad composed a letter to the team so I could read it on his behalf.

And there was the explanation.

Moses had a hurt knee, so he was with the trainer, Al Dominico, and Dad, and that’s when he first said they’d win the series “Fo, Fo, Fo.”

And Dad said, “From your mouth to God’s ears.”

Only that’s not what happened. Moses declared the vision–it reverberated like a torch. So even through the dark times (losing a game to the Milwaukee Bucks), when anyone could give up and say, “Nice try, but there went that vision,” instead, it got adjusted to, “Fo, Fi, Fo.”

And the Sixers could have lost sight of Mo’s vision every halftime of the LA Lakers series when the Sixers were down. But they swept those four games instead.

But that group of guys from the 1983 team made it happen. They were out there to win this thing together, not individually.

How often do we let our vision get swayed by “the reality” and “the facts?”

How often would we not even say our vision out loud for fear of jinxing ourselves or looking like fools if we can’t accomplish it?

And how often do we adapt our vision so that our group has one common goal and we act accordingly?

But Moses stood tall in his grand vision for his team, and his team stood by him.

Moses said the words, and the players fulfilled the prophecy.

To succeed, we need a great vision. When the time is right, not when it’s still in the incubator stage when we need to keep it tight-lipped, but when we’re ready, we need to say it out loud and stand behind it, even when the circumstances might sway us otherwise.

And no team before or since has ever won a championship series in 12 out of 13 games.

Once you’re part of something bigger than yourself, you can never live that down.

The triumphs we accomplish with others will always be the best part of us.

It took me standing in for Dad to understand how we’ll never accomplish anything meaningful and long-lasting working alone. Having an unswerving vision and working as a team player are integral. Once we forget who’s who, we’re onto something greater than ourselves.

I still can’t fill his shoes, but now I know better–I’m not supposed to.

Now that Moses isn’t with us, that 1983 team lives on. They’ve dreamt up new visions, brought those visions into their communities, and made success stories happen locally.

Like Dad said in his letter to the players, “Winning a championship was a highlight in all our lives, but doing it with you and what you’ve done for your communities made it all worthwhile–you’re remarkable men. It’s not words I’m saying. If the country and world could do what you do for your communities, we’d live in a better place.”

I have never been more honored than to have the moment last week I could stand in for Dad. To say the words he wanted the guys to hear on his behalf. To finally understand what part of a winning team means.

Appreciating what these men have taught us all makes me warm inside. Plus, getting swept away in a hug from Earl Cureton, Julius Erving, and Clint Richardson is super adorable, too.