The last time I saw David Stern was the day after the greatest night of my professional life.

It was a Friday in September in Springfield, Mass., minutes before the Basketball Hall of Fame’s 2019 induction ceremony. The previous evening, I had noticed Stern in the crowd as I nervously ambled through my speech after receiving the Hall’s Curt Gowdy Award, but we missed each other in the aftermath.

So I was thrilled when I spotted him heading toward the red carpet outside Symphony Hall, where the ceremony would soon begin. Impartial journalists probably aren’t supposed to say such things, but I couldn’t help my ever-nostalgic self.

“I miss you,” I told Stern.

“I don’t miss you,” Stern replied, explaining that he was actually seeing my work more often now as a voracious reader of The New York Times.

He then skipped right past the pleasantries about the peak achievement of my career to tell me he had been wanting to call me about several things I had written.