Phil Sinwell Didn’t Just Mentor Me. He Helped Raise Me (Tribute)

Some people are more than mentors. They become part of your family, part of your foundation, part of who you are before you even realize it.

Phil Sinnwell was that person for me.

From the time I was six years old, Phil was in my life. He came to my house for dinner. He sat at our table. He knew my family. He watched me grow up. He didn’t just teach me how to referee — he helped shape the kind of person I would become.

As a kid, you don’t understand what that means. You just know there’s an adult who shows up. Who cares. Who takes the time. Who believes in you before you’ve really proven anything.

As I got older, Phil became my guide in soccer and officiating. He taught me how to see the game, how to manage people, how to stay calm when everyone else is emotional. With his mentorship, I worked my way up until I became one of the top-ranked referees in the state.

That didn’t happen because I was special. It happened because Phil invested in me. Because he pushed me. Because he expected me to be better.

One of the proudest moments of my career was my first semi-professional match as the center referee. Phil was there in the stands watching. I still picture that. My mentor, watching me step into a role he helped prepare me for. That moment wasn’t just mine. It was his too.

But Phil’s influence went far beyond soccer.

Phil owned his own business as an electrician. He believed in working with your hands, doing things right, and standing behind your work. At one point, we even built a garage together. Side by side. Measuring. Cutting. Solving problems. Sweating. Laughing. Finishing something real.

That wasn’t just a project. That was life training. It was showing a kid what it means to build something, to take responsibility, to see a job through to the end.

Looking back now, I realize how rare that is.

Not everyone gets an adult who chooses to show up like that. Not everyone gets someone who treats a kid’s future like it matters.

Phil did.

When he passed, it felt like losing a piece of my childhood, a piece of my foundation. His voice is still in my head — reminding me to be prepared, to be fair, to take pride in what I do, to handle pressure with confidence.

Every time I step up in a hard moment, part of that strength is his.

Every time I finish something I start, part of that discipline is his.

Every time I hold myself to a higher standard, that’s Phil.

People like Phil Sinnwell don’t make the news. But they quietly shape lives. They leave fingerprints on futures they’ll never fully see.

I was lucky. I was loved by a mentor who didn’t have to care — but chose to.

And that kind of love never really leaves you.