Man, “Ra Anana Basketball.” That phrase still makes me chuckle, and then shake my head a little. It sounds like something a kid would make up, right? But no, this was a real thing, a project, if you can even call it that, at an old company I used to work for. And let me tell you, it was one heck of a ride, mostly downhill.
So, what was “Ra Anana Basketball”? Picture this: the higher-ups decided we needed some groundbreaking, new internal tool. Something to “revolutionize” how we all worked. They were super vague on the details, as usual. The name itself, “Ra Anana Basketball,” was apparently the winning entry from some company-wide contest. I think that was the first red flag – when your multi-million dollar project is named like a forgotten 90s cartoon.
We started “developing” it – and I use that term loosely. There was no clear plan. Seriously. One week, it was supposed to be a super-duper instant messaging system. The next, they wanted it to manage all our project timelines. Then, someone had the bright idea that it should also order lunch for everyone. I remember one meeting where a manager seriously suggested it should have a feature to water the office plants. I wish I was joking.
- We’d spend days coding a feature, only to be told, “Oh, we’re not doing that anymore. Pivot!”
- The marketing folks were already designing brochures for functions that didn’t exist and probably never would.
- And my team? We were just trying to keep our heads above water, patching things together with virtual duct tape and hope.
So, why am I dredging up this “Ra Anana Basketball” memory?
Well, that whole chaotic mess was a big turning point for me. I was knee-deep in it, trying to make sense of code that was changing faster than I could type. I remember nights spent staring at my screen, fueled by lukewarm coffee, wondering how we got there. The stress was unreal. I think I started talking to my monitor at one point. Not a good sign.
The breaking point came during a “brainstorming session.” They wanted “Ra Anana Basketball” to now include some kind of AI that could predict employee morale. I just sat there, looked around the room at the tired faces, and thought, “Nope. I’m done.” I didn’t storm out or anything dramatic. I just finished my coffee, went back to my desk, typed up a very short resignation email, and hit send. It was terrifying, but also a massive relief.
Those first few weeks after leaving were weird. No frantic emails, no emergency calls about “Ra Anana Basketball” crashing again. I actually had time to, you know, see daylight. I started doing some small freelance projects, building websites for local businesses. Simple stuff, but it felt good to build something that worked, something people actually needed, something that wasn’t named after a tropical fruit playing sports.
And that’s how I got started on my own. It wasn’t easy, building things from scratch. Lots of late nights again, but this time they were for my projects, my clients. Slowly but surely, I built up my own little consulting thing. I learned to be very picky about the projects I take on. If it starts sounding anything like “Ra Anana Basketball,” I run the other way.
So yeah, that project was a spectacular failure. A real dumpster fire. But for me, it was the push I needed. It taught me a ton about what not to do in a project, how not to manage a team, and definitely how not to name critical software. And now, whenever I’m working on something new, I make sure it’s got a clear goal, a sensible plan, and definitely no features for watering plants. That’s my “Ra Anana Basketball” legacy, I guess.
