A visitation for James Mastaglio will be held today at Fairchild Sons Funeral Home in Garden City, from 3-7 p.m. Expect big crowds. The funeral mass will be on Friday, August 4, at the Church of St. Joseph's at 9:45 a.m. Expect packed pews.
What follows here are the thoughts and memories of his teammate and friend Sean Gregory, a basketball player from the Class of 1998 and today one of the best sportswriters in the country with his work at Time Magazine.
James Mastaglo took a phone call while standing on a balcony overlooking St. Andrew's Links, the so-called "Home of Golf," one of the oldest and most historic courses in the world. He was staring at the Scottish sunset. It was the summer of 2011 and Bridgette Murphy, who was on the other end of the line, gave James the news. She was pregnant. James was about to become a father.
James told Bridgette there was no better way to find out about the impending arrival of Olivia, their daughter who would be born about six months later. So many of the things James cherished about life were present in that moment. Bridgette, the health care administrator from Wisconsin whom he had met a few years prior. Golf, the game into which he poured so much passion. A breathtaking golf course view—at St. Andrew's, no less. James' sense of adventure: he loved to travel and explore curious new places.
And of course Peter, Big Pete, James' father and best friend, who accompanied James on this golf trip to Scoland, just like he had so many others. Technically, Pete wasn't supposed to find out about Bridgette's pregnancy, since she wasn't yet three months along. But there was no way James could keep this news from his father. Especially here, under this St. Andrew's sunset, while they were together.
So after James hung up, he told Pete that he was about to become a dad.
"I hugged him," Pete said last week. "And I cried."
We lost James Matstaglio on July 25, too suddenly and all too soon in life, after a brief battle with aggressive cancer. He was 47. James is survived by his wife, Bridgette, his daughter Olivia, 11, son Kellan, 8, his father Peter, and sister Elizabeth. (James' beloved mother, Deidre [Dee], passed away last August, at 77). James, the co-founder and principal of a financial services company, was a devoted friend to so many, the guy could command a room with his presence and confidence, but without any airs, pretense, or conceit. His bursting laugh was generous, his involvement in your life nothing but a blessing.
The Mastaglio family—Kellan, James, Olivia, Bridgette—at Cherry Valley in 2021.
James with his father, Peter.
He was a brilliant athlete, perhaps the greatest athlete to come out of Garden City, N.Y., the Long Island village in which he grew up and where he was raising his family, in 70 years. First, as a basketball player at Garden City High School then at Princeton University, where his toughness and defensive acumen and knack for rising to the occasion earned him the nickname, "Big Game James." During James' four years at the school, those Princeton teams won three Ivy League titles, two NCAA tournament games, and cracked the top-10 in the national college rankings his senior year, when James started every game for a team that finished 27-2.
And later on, as a golfer. James won four individual championships at the Cherry Valley Club (in 2010, 2012, 2013 and 2014) and played in several prominent United States Golf Association amateur events. As a Cherry Valley board member and chairman of its greens committee, James was able to transform the look and character of the course while indulging his lifelong fascination with golf course design, something he planned to pursue more seriously in the coming years.
Above all, James was devoted to his family. When his younger sister, Beth, entered high school, James and his friends went out of their way to look after her. "It was having a whole crew of older brothers," she says. Meanwhile, James involved his dad in all aspects of his life. They golfed together at Cherry Valley, and on excursions across the country and the world. He and Big Pete made annual trips, as a twosome, to Princeton basketball games. "I never had to ask to tag along," says Pete. "It was always, 'will you come with me, dad?' He always wanted me to be a part of it."
"He enjoyed me being with him."
James was a doting husband and father, who coached what seemed like every sports team in town. He coached Kellan's football team, Olivia's travel and rec and CYO basketball teams, plus youth softball, soccer, baseball, and lacrosse. Garden City is particularly crushed by James' passing, as not only was James a local legend through his athletic exploits and acts of friendship, but he also influenced so many kids and families, in such a positive manner, through his involvement in youth sports.
During the pandemic, he held informal basketball workouts for neighborhood kids at a local park. A parent sent food to Bridgette after James' death, along with a note, telling Bridgette that her two sons thought James "was the absolute best coach they ever had."
This, just from impromptu tutorials James decided to hold on his own, to give restless kids something to do.
While James embraced all the teams and sports to which he devoted his time, he had a special fondness for The Shooters, the fifth grade travel basketball team Olivia played on. The Shooters finished 13-0 in the Island Garden Super League, en route to the championship.
After hearing the news of James' passing, Colleen Parker, mother of Shooters guard Katelyn Parker, texted Bridgette. "I can't help thinking about the gift that James gave to her," Coleen wrote. "Not only the basketball skills he taught her but the absolute love of the game. She was so lucky to have him as her first coach. I know she will go on to play for him the rest of her life."
***
While growing up in Garden City, James would go home from school and read encyclopedias, one letter at a time. Things seemed to come easy to him. After watching the movie Karate Kid, James could mimic the martial arts moves the character did on screen. James' lifelong friend Ryan McDermott recalls Dee taking James and him to Toys R' Us to pick out Legos. "We'd go back to his basement, and it would take me 45 minutes to make a little astronaut," says Ryan. "Meanwhile, he had built an entire galaxy. He was a Lego savant."
James was known for doodling golf course designs in his notebooks during class. Pete, an attorney, had joined Cherry Valley in 1982, and at 14 James started to caddy. He taught himself how to play. In AP Physics class at Garden City High School, 29 students would be taking intense notes while the teacher was explaining some complicated concept. James was scribbling his green at 14.
He was a lanky child, with preternaturally long arms. Later on, his nieces would call him "Uncle Monk," since his arms were so stretched out, like a monkey's. He put those appendages to good use on the basketball court. After James developed a talent and fondness for hoops during his CYO days, he asked Pete to put up a basket in the Mastaglio backyard. The neighbors didn't always appreciate his late-night habit of working on his shot. Neither did his opponents, whom he torched with regularity.
"He was never the noisiest, chattiest guy on the court," says Jim Keenan, who played for rival Chaminade High School and became friends with James. "He never drew attention to himself. But before you knew it, he was the guy dropping 20 and 10. He just got s–t done."
James on his Confirmation day in Garden City in 1989, with father Peter, sister Beth, and mother Dee
James' productivity caught the eye of Butch van Breda Kolff, who coached at Hofstra University in the early 1990s. Butch was a coaching legend, having led Bill Bradley's Princeton team to the Final Four in 1965; the Los Angeles Lakers then lured him to the NBA. Butch offered James a scholarship, which flattered the Mastaglio family. But James wanted to leave Long Island for college, and preferably play for an Ivy League school. So Butch tipped off his successor at Princeton, Pete Carril—whom van Breda Kolff had also coached in college at Lafayette—about James.
Carril, however, wasn't inclined to recruit Garden City. His theory was that players from stable, suburban homes were often too soft for basketball. But he begrudgingly sent his volunteer assistant coach to scout James: under NCAA rules, volunteer coaches weren't permitted to go on such recruiting trips. Carril, the basketball Hall of Famer who passed away last year, had little regard or patience for stupid NCAA regulations. The assistant coach came back to New Jersey impressed, and Carril offered Mastaglio a spot in the class of 1998.
No other Ivy school showed much interest in James, a blunder they'd soon regret. James quickly disproved Carril's theory about one's zip code hindering courage on the court: James took charges and defended as hard as anyone on the Princeton team. He started from the get-go his freshman year, scoring 13 points in his first game, against LaSalle: that output stood as a record for a Tiger freshman in his first game for the next 14 years. He played all 55 minutes in a triple-overtime win against Texas A&M. The Princeton Office of Athletic Communications noted, in the pronunciation guide to Mastaglio's name: "The G Is Silent. But There's Plenty of O."
James at Jadwin Gym, 1996.
He started for most of his sophomore season. But Carril, playing a hunch, moved James to the bench for an Ivy league playoff game against rival Penn—which Princeton won in overtime, and Princeton's now-famous win over UCLA in the first round of the 1996 NCAA tournament. James played only one minute in Princeton's 43-41 upset of the defending national champions. But made the most of limited playing time. To the everlasting delight of his teammates, the CBS cameras caught James, while standing on the foul line, mouthing "f–k you, f–k you" to UCLA forward Kris Johnson.
The reason for his outburst? Johnson had called James a "nerd."
He may as well have dropped 20 and 10 at the Hoosier Dome that night.
Mastaglio during Princeton's 43-41 upset over defending champion UCLA at the 1996 NCAA tournament. The author is seated next to him.
Princeton would lose to Mississippi State in the second round. The players partied hard after that game—a loss was not entirely unexpected—and flew back to New Jersey from Indianapolis too early the next morning. James loved airplanes—he geeked out on airliners.net in later years, and would stare out the windows of the airport gate, telling you the make and model of aircraft taking off and landing. Ironically, he had a healthy fear of flying. So he'd often be conducting this exercise in aviation trivia after pounding a few beers at the airport bar, to calm his nerves before takeoff.
This habit, plus the late night post-Mississippi State, left James feeling a little queasy on the flight. A mom and her newborn baby occupied the seat next to James. After the airplane landed, he lost his breakfast on both of them, gifting that team a story they'd all cherish forever.
One Shining Moment, Mastaglio-style.
***
Carril retired after the season, and his longtime assistant Bill Carmody took over as Princeton head coach. During James' junior year, he settled into a 6th-man role for a team that finished 14-0 in the Ivy League and cracked the national Top 25. On the occasion when he was called on to start, he more than delivered: in a nationally televised game against 12th-ranked North Carolina, coached by Hall of Famer Dean Smith and featuring future NBA All-Stars Vince Carter and Antawn Jamison, James led the Tigers with 18 points, shooting 7 for 9 from the field and 4 for 5 from three-point range, in a 69-60 loss. Princeton had trailed by just three-points with less than two minutes left.
James dribbles the ball up the floor against Marquette University in 1996.
During the summer between his junior and senior seasons, James briefly held a summer job at his dad's law firm. One of Pete's female colleagues remarked that James was cute, but he didn't do much around the office. Pete thought James might be better served working on his game that summer, to insure his spot in the starting lineup his senior year. James agreed. He quit his gig as a subpar law clerk and spent days perfecting his shooting and playing in pick-up games against Big East-level competition at St. John's University.
On a pre-season exhibition tour of Italy in August of 1997, James shined for Princeton, often leading the Tigers in scoring in games against European pro squads (one opponent even featured Dominique Wilkins, the "Human Highlight Film," who was ending his pro career overseas). The Italian public address announcers loved screaming his name—the G is silent, but there's plenty of O—and after one game, the father of a young Italian girl approached James and asked that he take a picture with his beaming daughter. James complied. The dad gave James their address, and insisted that he write.
James was key to Princeton's rise into the Top-10 in 1997-1998, when the Tigers were the story of that college basketball season. Princeton finished the regular season 26-1, losing only to No. 1 North Carolina at the Dean Dome. The Tigers then defeated UNLV in the first round of the NCAA before losing a close game to Michigan State, who would win the national championship two years later, in the second round. A James jump shot against Michigan State tied the game late, but the Spartans would pull away at the end. James shot 50% from the field that season—remarkably efficient for a perimeter player—and scored 8.3 points per game while making contributions that never showed up in a box score. He was often called on to cover the opponent's best defender: against rival Penn, for example, he guarded five different players during the game. None scored on him.
"The way he defended, it's hard-wired into your DNA," says close friend and college teammate Mitch Henderson, who now coaches the Tigers and led this year's Princeton squad to a thrilling run to the Sweet 16. "He never had a bad day. He allowed the rest of us to be good by doing what he does best."
ESPN analyst Dick Vitale, the voice of college basketball in that era, took a liking to James, and named him to his "All-Blender Team." These were the role-players who, in Vitale's views, made the biggest under-the-radar contribution to the best teams in the country. "I don't know where that whole thing came from, it was totally out of the blue. Dick probably just liked the Italian last name," James said later-on, in typical self-deprecating fashion "I know he said that the role players are the guys who are supposed to dive on the floor for loose balls and do all the other dirty work, but I don't remember diving for one loose ball the entire season, so go figure."
At Princeton, James was known for employing what he called "the steel bar." When a bigger opponent tried to back him in down low, James would just stick out his forearm to impede all progress. "Despite the fact that I weighed probably 30 pounds more than Stags I could never budge him," says Mason Rocca, a reserve forward and center on that 1998 Princeton team. James later taught Mason how to use the steel bar; Mason played more than a decade overseas professionally, and credits James with schooling him on how to thwart bigger players.
"Occasionally, I'd score on him in practice and start talking some smack," says Nate Walton, also a reserve forward on the 1998 team. "'Hey, there's a crack in the steel bar!' He'd just laugh and come down court, step behind a screen and hit a jump shot right in my face."
"He was the unsung hero of that team," says Walton. "Whenever I myself or anyone else would complain, he'd remind us that he could score 20 points per game against any Ivy league team, but it was worth sacrificing for the greater good, because we had so much success."
Off the court, James developed a reputation at Princeton for generosity and good company. He toted around campus in a 1989 beige station wagon, lovingly referred to by an unprintable moniker (it rhymed with "The Witch") He was always up for a late-night ride to Denny's or Wendy's. At graduation, however, when James opened up his diploma case, there was nothing inside it except a notice from the University that he owed nearly $1,000 in unpaid parking tickets. "James!!!!" Dee screamed, in annoyance. James laughed. The Witch cost him. Pete helped James settle up. His degree was official.
"You'd just roll into your room after a long day, and there was Stags, offering you some of the cheese pizza he just ordered, no questions asked," says Henderson. "He was everything you wanted to be." When Dee brought down her baked ziti from Long Island, James shared it with the dorm. He devoured blocks of mozzarella cheese and chicken wings but somehow remained one of the most athletic players on the team. "He was always so malleable, so flexible," says Walton. "Nobody was ever worried about, 'hey, what does Stags want to do?' He was up for anything. He was always just there. And in our circle of friends, for the rest of our lives, he's just not going to be there. That's just rough. There's no silver lining there."
Jon Howe, currently a high school science teacher in upstate New York, lived with James at Princeton for three years, including their freshman year. When he arrived on campus from an outdoor freshman camping trip, Howe was worried about how his first meeting with his new roommate would go. "I was not a recruited athlete, and was sort of this smelly, backpack-wearing hippie," says Jon. "James was a 6'4'' basketball player, who I figured was probably a total jock. There were a lot of different ways this can go."
All Howe's fears, however, were unfounded. "He had that booming Long Island accent and smile that took up the bottom half of his face," says Howe. "I was so grateful that he introduced me to friends and a part of Princeton that I probably wouldn't have sought out. I was soccer-y and outdoorsy and science-y, and yet here I was taunting refs, camping out in front of Jadwin to get NCAA tickets, and driving to Indianapolis to watch my buds beat UCLA in the single best college basketball game of all time. It was a big part of my experience and entirely thanks to Stags."
During their sophomore year, James and Jon's dorm room had a "penalty box:" whenever a roommate would commit some kind of behavioral violation, he'd have to sit solitary in a nook, and write out on a piece of paper, for the amusement of the rest of the group, why he was in time-out. "Mostly, people got in there because they were trying to be funny but just weren't," says Jon. During their junior year, Jon, James, and fellow roommate Darren Hite, another of James' basketball teammates, kept losing the remote controls between the couch cushions in their dorm room (one remote controlled the TV, the other controlled the cable system).
So Jon came up with the idea to duct tape both remote controls to a nerf ball. James built the contraption and relished tossing the Remote Ball at Jon and Darren and any visitor who wanted to change the channel.
A year or two after college, Howe and two other Princeton friends went to the beach with James on Long Island. The group spent some two hours digging a contraption in the sand that would allow the current of an ocean wave to deliver a beer to the group. In theory, this project was utterly stupid. But James attacked it as if he was building the next great golf course. "I loved seeing the side of Stags that wasn't super cool," says Jon.
A few years following the nerdy beach outing, Howe and his fiance threw an engagement party. They celebrated at a bar that, later on in the night, opened up the floor to karaoke. James signed up to sing, but wouldn't share with Jon what song he was about to belt out. When his turn came up, the bass line for "Ice, Ice Baby" thumped throughout the establishment.
"Some stranger makes some loud disparaging comment about the lame song," says Jon. "Stags says into the mic 'shut up, you know you like it' and then lays into a perfect, super cool rendition. Complete with strutting, hand gestures, minor dancing. It was soooo badass and the bar went nuts. He did a mic drop, and this was 2003, before mic drops were cool".
"He was known for being athletic and kind of quiet," says Jon. "So I loved his goofy side."
James and a his former Princeton teammates run into pro
wrestling legend Ric Flair at a Tampa, Fla. hotel in 2011.
****
After graduating from Princeton, James tried to play professionally in Italy. Although he impressed hoops coaches and executives overseas, he couldn't secure the dual-citizenship needed to receive a contract offer. Pete has roots in Italy, Dee in Ireland. But he wasn't quite Italian or Irish enough to qualify.
So he returned to the U.S. to start his business career. He continued to play basketball recreationally. He joined the hoops team at the New York Athletic Club, which in the early 2000s competed in tournaments around the country, as well in an outdoor summer league at Dyckman Park, a legendary New York City streetball outpost. Standing-room-only crowds gathered on sweltering summer Friday nights to watch playground basketball; wiseass DJs offered a running commentary of the action for the assembled masses. One such announcer started calling James "In-Synch," as if he were a member of the boy-band. It was not a basketball compliment.
Then James caught a couple of dunks en route to scoring 25 points. He earned a new name.
"Lethal Weapon."
In 2005, the NYAC team traveled to China to play a series of games. The players complained about the food: they expected to enjoy local cuisine, but at one stop, the KFC was all too prevalent. But James never minded eating buckets of bird. He didn't go to great lengths to learn the language. According to NYAC teammate Brian Earl, who also played with James at Princeton and is now the head coach at Cornell University, the only Chinese phrase James picked up from the team's interpreter was "Wo ai ni," meaning "I love you." After a few libations at a bar, Brian went to the restroom. When he returned, James "was there with his chest hair out," says Brian, "screaming 'wo ai ni' as the bar cleared out."
James at the Great Wall of China, 2005
As he got older, and hoops took more of a toll on his knees, James turned his attention towards golf. In his role as greens committee chairman at Cherry Valley—where the flags hang at half-mast in his honor—James was featured in a recent Barstool Sports documentary, about how courses are maintained during northeast U.S. winters. In February, he appeared on The Talking Greenkeeper podcast, where he discussed golf course management and his role at Cherry Valley, where he served as the liaison between the course superintendent and a membership group never shy about expressing dissatisfaction. "Nobody is going to tell me something," James told the interviewer, "that I haven't already seen."
James would hop on a lawn mower to help maintain the course. He hung out at the pro shop with the course workers, to learn more about how they did their jobs. In recent years he helped lead a tree removal project at Cherry Valley—and relished showing off the course's views on the clubhouse patio to visitors, often after treating them to dinner.
He developed a close working and personal relationship with Cherry Valley superintendent Chris Caporicci. Most country club board members don't hang out socially with employees. "I would mention to my colleagues, oh, I'm going to go watch a World Cup game with my greens chairman," says Caporicci, who's worked at Cherry Valley for the past quarter century. "They'd be like, 'what?'"
He studied courses. Ryan McDermott, his childhood friend, lived in Rochester, N.Y. for years and became a member of the Oak Hill Country Club, which hosted the PGA Championship this May. After watching the tournament on TV, James told Ryan how impressed he was by all the different adjustments the course designers made in certain holes. Most of these tweaks immediately escaped McDermott's notice, despite having played Oak Hill for more than a dozen years. "He had it all mapped out in his head," says McDermott.
James was a scratch golfer. But unlike many low handicap players, he never minded sharing the course with first-time hackers. He'd smack a 300 yard-drive down the fairway, and on the walk towards his ball, he'd veer to his left or his right to find some pathetic 75-yard slice that his playing partner plunked. Many top golfers, too concerned with their own performances, could be bothered with such tasks. He could spot anyone's ball. He'd occasionally offer a beginner a quick tip during a round. But he was never pushy or condescending, a rare trait for superior golfers.
But he could turn on the heat when he had to. While playing as a guest of McDermott at Oak Hill, a supremely-confident friend of McDermott's asked his three playing partners how many strokes he'd have to give them during the round, given his low handicap. "What about you, big fella?" he asked James, who responded: "why don't I give you four." McDermott's buddy turned ashen. James eagled the first hole and proceeded to crush his round. "The guy's game has never been the same since," says McDermott.
As a self-taught player, Mastaglio's swing was never going to be featured in instructional videos. During one foursome, a chatty Cherry Valley member commented that the swing of someone in the group was a true work of art. He turned to James. "You James, not so much," he said.
James proceeded to rattle off three straight birdies. "Can you believe that f–king guy talked about my swing?" James said to Brad Barnett, his close friend and often-rival for Cherry Valley supremacy, after the round.
At Cherry Valley in the early 2000s, James and his father competed as a team in an event called The Governor's Cup. Pete sunk a 15-foot putt to win it for them. James hugged his dad and told him that, of all his shining moments in sports, this was the most exciting. This was his favorite.
****
On January 7, 2007, James joined a bunch of friends at the Park Avenue Country Club, a New York City bar, to watch the NFL playoffs. Bridgette Murphy was already at the bar with a few of her girlfriends, who for years played together on a flag football team. Bridgette spotted James walking in. He was wearing a black v-neck sweater. She thought he was cute.
Bridgette reached into her bag to put on lip gloss. She pulled out a large binder from her bag: later on in the day, she had planned to tackle her latest work project in the healthcare industry: rewriting the fire safety regulations at a large New York City hospital system.
James saw the book and asked her: "Who brings a binder to a bar?"
They started talking, went to another bar or two, and near the end of the night, Bridgette convinced James to join her at her favorite Manhattan tea joint. James, not known as an aficionado of tea, chugged a drink as if it were a draft beer. He spit some of it out.
At the end of the night, James placed his baseball cap over Bridgette's head to protect her from rain. They agreed to see each other again.
Soon afterwards, James invited Bridgette over to his apartment for their first date there. He ordered pizza. Bridgette asked if he had any plates. Forget that, James said: he tore off the top half of the pizza box, and placed a slice on it. Bridgette ate off cardboard. She inquired about napkins. No problem, James said. He went into the bathroom and returned with a roll of toilet paper.
I guess this is how we're rolling tonight, Bridgette thought to herself.
They survived TP Pizza Night, and a few months later, James attended the wedding of his Princeton teammate Chris Doyal, in Ireland. Bridgette had already made plans for that weekend, so she stayed back in the U.S.. After a rollicking wedding reception, James' roommate for the trip, Darren Hite, returned to their hotel room. Only to find James on the phone with Bridgette. He was talking like the Lucky Charms leprechaun.
"O Bridgette," James said in his best-worst Irish brogue. "O Bridgette Murphy? How are you this evening, Bridgette Murphy?"
Bridgette and James were married, in Central Park, in 2011.
James and Bridgette at a wedding reception in 2009.
After the births of Olivia in 2012 and Kellan in 2015, James devoted himself entirely to his children. They loved taking family camping trips—they'd stay in cabins or tents—to the Catskills. When Olivia was about 2, James YouTube'd "How To Put Hair In A Ponytail." He used a vacuum to get the job done. James packed the lunches while Bridgette made breakfast, and they walked the kids out to the school bus, together, everyday.
On the first day of fifth grade last fall, Olivia and her dad sang the "Back To School" song, from the movie Billy Madison, to each other. The Adam Sandler classic was one of the several PG-13—and higher—rated comedies James let Olivia watch on movie nights. (Kellan's favorite movie night selections: Optimus Prime and Angry Birds).
The Mastaglio Family in 2018
He coached all of their sports teams. James was known as a patient leader: friends say the only kid he'd ever raise his voice at was Olivia. (Olivia concurs). One parent, knowing her child was probably the worst player on the Shooters, volunteered to James to remove her child from the team. He absolutely refused. (Many youth sports coaches would have relished the chance to transfer playing time from a poor player to a strong one) He just wanted to help her improve.
He drew up plays for the Shooters: their out of bounds play was called Pringles. One time, when they were running a play called Carolina, Olivia accidentally threw the ball in the face of a teammate who went to set a screen for her. James just laughed at that one.
Olivia sank the team's only three-pointer of the season. No one was happier than her coach. "He was punching air," Olivia says.
At one point in the Shooters' undefeated 2023 campaign, James drew up a press-break that he saw while watching the Kansas Jayhawks. The girls, however, had trouble executing the game plan. After four or five straight turnovers, James called timeout and owned up to his mistake. "Girls, look at me," he said in the huddle. "That press break was too confusing. My fault. Forget about it." He put the ball in the hands of his best dribblers. The Shooters won the game.
Olivia and James on the way to a victory brunch after a Shooters hoops game in 2023.
James and Kellan on the football field, October of 2022.
James coaching Kellan at his first baseball game.
James caddying for Olivia on the PGA Jr. Tour
After team practices, he'd stick around to help players, one-on-one, with their individual skills, like shooting and dribbling. "He was happiest," says close friend and Shooters assistant coach Dennis Wunsch, "in the gym with those girls."
In James' final text exchange with a sports writer friend of his, he proudly sent along his first piece of published sports writing: an article about the Shooters he penned for the Garden City News. "Syosett threw the kitchen sink at the Shooters—full-court press, half court traps, 2-3 zone—but following a great week of practice, the Shooters were prepared for everything," James wrote, with accuracy. He mentioned every player on the team in the piece.
In June, Olivia's Garden City softball team won the district championship for the first time in 15 years. James was able to attend that thrilling victory as a fan. On July 11, he went in for a medical check-up: the doctors saw that his lab levels were all out of whack. Two days later, his heart was racing out of his chest: he drove himself with Bridgette to the emergency room.
A CT-scan revealed James had tumors all over his body. Bridgette cried. James comforted her, assuring her that he'd get treatment and be back home in no time. "It was typical James, as if he just rolled an ankle," says Bridgette. "We'll get some PT and get back into the game."
He was in the hospital for almost two weeks before the official diagnosis of lymphoma came back on July 24th, late in the afternoon. Things, however, turned for the worse very rapidly that day. James went into cardiac arrest. The doctors revived him, but James was now breathing through a ventilator. Bridgette talked to him for five hours straight in the ICU , telling him he was the love of her life, holding his hand, asking him to tough it out. The doctors, however, assured her his diagnosis was bleak. He'd no longer have any kind of quality of life.
James' father and sister joined her to say goodbye. Bridgette told James it was OK to go. She held his left hand. Peter held his right hand. James passed away just after midnight, surrounded by his loved ones.
"He was the best hugger," says Kellan, of his father. Kellan will miss the catches and thanks his dad for letting him play third base. The family will miss the camping trips and group golf outings and even James' habit of putting buffalo sauce on every form of food, even macaroni and cheese.
"I saw him put it on popcorn once," Olivia says.
They'll miss his grill-cheese sandwiches.
Olivia will miss dad helping her with math homework, especially with those annoying fractions. She's grateful that he saw the unheralded potential of an overlooked player—and friend—he put on the Shooters. She'll miss him brushing her long blonde hair.
"It never hurt when he did it," Olivia says.
We'll all miss James, forever.
Sean Gregory, senior sports correspondent for TIME, spent four years sitting on the bench behind James Mastaglio on the Princeton University basketball team. Stags' skills crushed Gregory's hopes of achieving his own college basketball dreams. Gregory loved him anyway, and is better for it.
Sean Gregory, senior sports correspondent for TIME, spent four years sitting on the bench behind James Mastaglio on the Princeton University basketball team. Stags' skills crushed Gregory's hopes of achieving his own college basketball dreams. Gregory loved him anyway, and is better for it.
Mastaglio waves to the crowd before the Princeton-Cornell game in Jadwin Gym this year. Princeton honored its great late 1990s teams in a pre-game ceremony.
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