FEW INSTITUTIONS OF HIGHER LEARNING have been more successful at developing narcissists than Penn’s Wharton School of Business. The school’s record, however, is not perfect. Ten years ago, a freshly-graduated Sam Mattis hung up his power tie, turned his back on a potentially lucrative Wall Street career and commenced throwing discs onto a field dotted with goats. It was unusual behavior for a man with an Ivy League degree, but passersby had no cause for alarm. Sam had nothing against livestock. He just wanted to change the world.
Choosing discus as his means was a bold move, though now, a decade after college graduation, Mattis has minted an American Record: 237-8 (72.45) at the Oklahoma World Throws Invitational (April 09 in Ramona).
In spite of a successful college career that featured a 2015 NCAA title and an American Collegiate Record toss of 221-3 (67.45), there was reason to wonder whether Sam had the physical makeup to survive on the pro circuit.
His father Marlon, who threw the hammer at William & Mary, remembers there were “many hints that Sam shouldn’t do this sport. God gave him sweaty palms and stubby hands. And he stopped growing pretty early.”
Luckily, Sam was endowed with a deep reservoir of stubbornness, likely inherited from his mother, Marcie, who rises at 4:30 each morning to walk 8 miles in defiance of the mercurial New Jersey weather.
“He’s highly competitive,” says Marlon. “It doesn’t bother him if he starts something and he’s not good at it. He’ll do what it takes to get good.”
At the age of 7, Sam taught himself the piano. In high school, he picked up an upright bass and qualified for the select chamber orchestra. Then he turned his attention to the discus and began knocking heads with Marlon, who tried to teach him conventional technique while Sam preferred to rely on what felt right. Sam stuck to his guns, and found an admittedly quirky style that to this day allows him at 6-1 (1.85) to compete in an event dominated by giants like the 6-8 Daniel Ståhl and 6-9 Kristjan Čeh.
A 218-4 (66.54) high school PR got him on the squad at Penn, and that ’15 NCAA win got him thinking about a pro career. After graduating a year later, Sam joined forces with Coach Dane Miller, the man who’d installed the discus pad near the goats. Miller guided Sam to his first U.S. senior title in ’19 and first Olympic berth in ’21 and continues to train him to this day.
At the same time, Sam began using throwing as a platform.
In 2020, he participated in Black Lives Matter protests near his home in Pennsylvania, then joined other athletes at the Tokyo Olympics in drawing attention to oppressed peoples everywhere by displaying the letter “X” (in Sam’s case inked onto his considerable right forearm) during the Games.
Since 2024, he has served as one of World Athletics’ Champions for a Better World, which has allowed him to bring attention to environmental issues. In November of that year, he spoke remotely as part of an athlete panel at COP29, the United Nations Climate Change Conference.
He is currently partnered with a company called Sport One Carbon Zero, which raises money to promote “science-based climate solutions.”
Sam, according to his wife Ines, “has a deep optimism for people. He believes that most humans deserve better, and he’s always working in service for that.”
Sam inherited his sense of empathy from both sides of his family. Marcie’s ancestors immigrated to America to escape antisemitic pogroms in 19th century Europe. Marlon’s family was active in Jamaican politics until their house was fire-bombed twice and the economy tanked, forcing them to relocate to New York City.
Ines says that all it takes is “5 minutes at the Mattis’ dinner table” to get a sense of how “amazing, intelligent, and outspoken” they are.
Most influential was Sam’s grandmother Zeresh, who was the first minister of a church built by her father. According to Marlon, Zeresh was incapable of turning her back on a child in need. “That compassion,” he says, “is in Sam’s DNA.”
Strangely enough, Sam’s compassion has often been directed at his competitors.
Marlon recalls Sam giving tips to fellow throwers during high school meets, even if they were close to beating him. Marcus Gustaveson was a gifted up-and-comer when he first met Sam in 2021, and despite the fact that Marcus had been blessed with the height and levers he lacked, Sam immediately took him under his wing. The following season, when Marcus made a huge breakthrough by hitting 211-6 (64.46), the first text he received came from Sam.
Throughout his years of competing abroad, Sam has, according to Marlon, “collected an incredible array of good guys and gals, that he competes against but are also like a family.”
Sam and Ines needed the support of that extended family when, two weeks after their wedding in the fall of ’22, Sam was diagnosed with testicular cancer. He was rushed into surgery and found himself fighting through a difficult recovery. Ines says that just a week or two after he squatted 500lbs in training, it felt like a big victory when Sam made it through three stop signs and back clutching her hand on a post-surgery walk.
Remarkably, he won his second national title in ’23, but missed the finals in Budapest and Paris by a combined total of 20 inches.
Sam’s first pilgrimage to Ramona, Oklahoma, came in April of ’25, when he slammed a 233-10 (71.27) PR, which left him just shy of Ben Plucknett’s previous best of either 237-4 (72.34) or 234-0 (71.32) depending on who you ask. (It was the ’80s. You get the picture.)
He returned this year and settled the deal with his 237-8 bomb at what has become his favorite venue.
“At Ramona,” he says, “the competition is between you and yourself for a national record or qualifying mark. It’s like a carnival of throwing where everyone is happy for and encouraging towards each other.”
That evening, Sam joined a dozen of his fellow throwers in the back room of a local restaurant. The din of celebration echoed throughout the establishment as they toasted Sam’s record. It sounded a bit wild, but the other diners need not have been alarmed. It was just a bunch of discus throwers raising a glass to a man doing his best to change the world.
