The league is on a three-week hiatus for the FIBA Women’s Basketball World Cup in Berlin, Germany, but Engelbert’s announcement became the league’s biggest story. The reaction from fans was strikingly celebratory, almost resembling the response to a championship rather than the retirement of a commissioner. 
 
That reaction highlighted just how wide the gulf had become between Engelbert and many of the league’s players and supporters. What had once been tension had evolved into a highly public and well-documented feud. 
 
Pressure had been mounting for NBA Commissioner Adam Silver to address the league’s leadership problems. Engelbert’s departure now gives the NBA and WNBA an opportunity to define what the league needs in its next commissioner—and to find someone capable of leading it into a very different era. 

It’s About Relationships
 
The Engelbert-player relationship had become increasingly strained, but any pretense of harmony disappeared in late September 2025. 
 
After the Minnesota Lynx were eliminated from the playoffs, star Napheesa Collier, the First Vice President of the WNBPA Executive Committee and co-founder of the 3-on-3 basketball league, Unrivaled, held an end-of-the-season press conference with a prepared statement in her hand and a stern face. 
 
Only days earlier, Collier had been injured in Game 3 of Minnesota’s semifinal series against Phoenix on a controversial play in which no foul was called. This intensified an already growing public outcry over officiating and league leadership. 

Then Collier took direct aim at Engelbert. “We have the best players in the world, we have the best fans in the world, but right now we have the worst leadership in the world.” She didn’t stop there. “The real threat to our league isn't money, it isn't ratings or even missed calls or even physical play. It's the lack of accountability from the league office." 

Bad Press 
 
Somewhere along the way, the basketball became background noise. Instead of celebrating the brilliance of A’ja Wilson, the drawing power of Caitlin Clark or the emergence of rookie sensation Olivia Miles, the WNBA increasingly found itself trapped in a 24-hour news cycle dominated by what was happening away from the game. 
 
The league struggled to get ahead of the barrage. They dedicated resources to combating racist, homophobic and misogynistic abuse online and in arenas, while repeatedly assuring the players and the public that it was committed to improving officiating. But each controversy seemed to create another headline.
 
It has been clear for some time that Engelbert wasn’t the person to lead the league into the future. Meanwhile, Commissioner Adam Silver must have felt as though he had taken up residence in The Glass House Museum in New Canaan, Connecticut: everything surrounding the league was suddenly visible, and the pressure for action was mounting.  
 
The WNBA depends heavily on free media. Silver knows this well. A protégé of the late NBA Commissioner David Stern, Silver has spent more than three decades inside the NBA and watched stars such as Magic Johnson, Larry Bird, Michael Jordan, Kobe Bryant, and LeBron James transform not only the game but the public conversation surrounding it. The WNBA had its own icons such as Cynthia Cooper, Lisa Leslie, Maya Moore and others, and the same lesson applied: positive press can shape the conversation and elevate a league, while relentless controversy can overwhelm it.
 
Finally, Silver stepped on Engelbert’s turf. In July, he publicly defended Caitlin Clark, calling it “incredibly unfair” that she had become a “political football” amid the controversies surrounding her and the league. Whatever his intent, the NBA commissioner had now inserted himself directly into a WNBA controversy that ordinarily would have belonged to Engelbert.

And Silver had plenty of issues of his own at the time. The NBA was considering expansion in the US, exploring a formal relationship with teams in Europe, and dealing with the investigation ​into the Los Angeles Clippers and Kawhi Leonard over possible salary-cap circumvention. Yet he still found time to address the turmoil surrounding the WNBA.
 
Silver approached it as a lawyer and longtime league executive would, through carefully worded statements, measured public appearances and little rhetorical excess. But the smoke kept rising. And by then, it was becoming harder to argue that the WNBA merely had a public-relations problem. It had a leadership problem. 

​Born in Philly
 
Long before Cathy Engelbert found her way into corporate boardrooms, sports were a major part of her life. Engelbert was born in Philadelphia and raised across the Delaware River in Collingswood, New Jersey, about ten miles from the city. She grew up in a large family with five brothers and two sisters, and basketball was part of the family fabric.
 
Her father, Kurt, was a standout player at St. Joseph’s University in Philadelphia in the mid-to-late 1950s. He played for Hall of Fame coach Jack Ramsay and was selected by the Detroit Pistons in the fourth round of the 1957 NBA Draft.
 
Engelbert followed her own athletic path. She played basketball, lacrosse and tennis in high school and was later inducted into her school’s Athletic Hall of Fame. At Lehigh University, she walked onto the basketball team, where she played under future Hall of Fame coach Muffet McGraw, and eventually became a team captain in both basketball and lacrosse.

​Her upbringing was decidedly middle class. Engelbert recalled during a 2025 appearance on The David Rubenstein Show that her father worked for RCA as an IT manager before his death at age 51 in 1987, while her mother spent 62 years as an office manager for the same pediatric practice.
 
Engelbert’s professional direction changed almost by accident during her sophomore year at Lehigh. She was majoring in computer science and taking a FORTRAN programming course when she had a realization. “I have no idea what that professor is talking about,” Engelbert told Rubenstein.
 
Someone suggested she transfer to the business school and study accounting, the “language of business,” she was told, and a field in which she would be able to find a job. The advice stuck. Engelbert graduated from Lehigh in 1986 with a degree in accounting and went to work for Deloitte. She would stay for the next 33 years.

Her Game is Business 
 
Business acumen has never been Cathy Engelbert’s problem. She is a woman of firsts. In 2015, after nearly three decades at Deloitte, she became the first woman to lead a Big Four accounting services firm. During a 33-year career there, she moved through a succession of increasingly important positions, developing particular expertise in financial instruments before ultimately spending four years as CEO. 
 
The corporate world is clearly her comfort zone. Engelbert speaks the language of C-Suites and boardrooms and currently serves on the boards of McDonald’s and Royalty Pharma. 
 
And then there is golf. “My passion now is golf,” she told David Rubenstein on The David Rubenstein Show. She explained that she took up the game after becoming Deloitte’s CEO and began encouraging other women to do the same. “It’s a great way to build relationships in the corporate world.”

In retrospect, that comment is revealing. Engelbert clearly understood the value of relationships in business. Yet in the WNBA, her ability to build and maintain those relationships—particularly with the players—became one of the most persistent criticisms of her leadership. The contrast is difficult to ignore. 
 
When McDonald’s welcomed her to the board in late December 2019, the company praised her record at Deloitte, specifically noting that she was known for “driving a people-first agenda.” Six years later, her relationship with WNBA players had deteriorated to the point that one of the league’s most prominent stars could publicly accuse its leadership of being the worst in the world.
 
For someone whose résumé was built on managing organizations, cultivating corporate relationships and protecting enterprise value, that disconnect was more than a personnel problem. It became a business problem. Because in professional sports, the players aren’t simply employees. They are the product.

New Boss 
 
Engelbert was hardly the obvious choice to run a professional basketball league. In 2019, when the WNBA appointed her as its first commissioner—elevating the title previously held by league presidents, the basketball world knew considerably less about Engelbert than the corporate world did. NBA Deputy Commissioner Mark Tatum had been overseeing the league on an interim basis following the departure of Lisa Borders, the WNBA’s fourth president. 
 
For Engelbert, whose four-year term as Deloitte’s CEO was coming to an end, the opportunity arrived at precisely the right time. She was looking for what she called a “second act.” Basketball, at least, was familiar territory. Engelbert had played Division 1 basketball at Lehigh and later coached her daughter’s middle-school travel basketball team. 
 
But she was still an unknown in professional basketball. “So, it didn’t seem to make a lot of sense to a lot of people, unless you had come to my office at Deloitte and saw basketballs all behind [me],” she told David Rubenstein. “We had a lot of basketball DNA in the family.” She smiled broadly as she recalled how the opportunity came about.

​“I want[ed] to do something different. Something with a broad women’s leadership platform, and something I had a passion for, thinking maybe it would take me to a college or university,’’ she said. “And then someone approached me about the WNBA commissioner’s job. And I said definitely is something different!”
 
Different was an understatement. She inherited a 12-team league still fighting for financial stability and mainstream attention. Teams traveled on commercial flights, often to arenas that had only a sprinkling of fans. Player compensation lagged far behind that of other major professional sports, with a maximum base salary of just $117,500 in 2019.  
 
For many players, the WNBA season was only half of their working year. When it ended, players packed their suitcases and headed overseas— to Russia, Turkey, China, Asian and European leagues where the salaries could dwarf what they earned at home. The arrangement came with a cost: months away from families, year-round wear on their bodies and, as Brittney Griner’s detention in Russia would later demonstrate, risks that extended far beyond basketball. 

Engelbert’s leadership was tested almost immediately. Less than a year after she arrived, COVID-19 shut down sports around the world. The WNBA responded by moving its entire 2020 season to IMG Academy in Bradenton, Florida, creating what became known as the “Wubble” (the female version of the NBA’s bubble). The regular season was condensed to 22 games, and the league managed to complete both the season and the playoffs. 
 
But basketball was hardly the only crisis confronting the country. George Floyd’s killing by Minneapolis police in May 2020 triggered nationwide protests and a renewed movement for racial justice. WNBA players became some of the most visible and outspoken athletes in professional sports, using the season to draw attention to racial injustice, police violence, and the #SayHerName campaign. 
 
The league made it through. Six years later, Engelbert faced another defining challenge.  The players had exercised their right to opt out of the existing collective bargaining agreement (CBA) with the league in October 2024, setting up nearly a year and a half of increasingly contentious negotiations. A tentative agreement finally arrived on March 20, 2026. Players ratified it three days later, and the WNBA Board of Governors followed on March 24.

The numbers were transformational. The 2026 salary cap jumped from $1.5 million to $7 million. The maximum salary rose to $1.4 million, average salaries were projected to exceed $583,000, and minimum salaries climbed to between $270,000 and $300,000. For the first time, many WNBA players could look at overseas basketball as an option rather than an economic necessity. It was one of the most consequential achievements of Engelbert’s tenure.
 
Beyond the new CBA, the business achievements during Engelbert’s tenure were substantial. The league moved from 12 teams toward 18 by 2030, instituted league-wide charter travel, and secured an 11-year national media-rights package reportedly valued at about $2.2 billion, with additional agreements that could push the total closer to $3 billion. 

The WNBA that Engelbert will leave behind bears little resemblance to the one she inherited in 2019. She deserves credit for helping build that business. But commissioners don’t make jump shots, fill highlight reels or inspire children to wear a player’s jersey.
 
The extraordinary growth of the WNBA ultimately belongs to the women who put the product on the floor—from the stars who carried the league through leaner years to A’ja Wilson, Breanna Stewart and Napheesa Collier, and then to a new generation led by Caitlin Clark, Angel Reese, Paige Bueckers, Olivia Miles and others. Engelbert helped build the stage. The players gave everyone a reason to watch.

​Regrets? 
 
For all of Engelbert’s accomplishments on the business side, she never seemed to communicate her love of basketball with the same ease or enthusiasm she displayed when discussing a media deal, expansion, or the league’s balance sheet. That distinction mattered.
 
Her public comments often emphasized what she had accomplished rather than what the league and its players had accomplished together. Over time, the distance between the commissioner and the players became increasingly difficult to ignore. 
 
Yet when Rubenstein asked Engelbert if she had any regrets about taking the job, her answer was unequivocal. She said, “No regrets at all. This was a really good fit for me, personally, professionally, and [I] just enjoy the game so much. I could go to a game every day and it’s just been a total transformation of a league that was just surviving five, six years ago, and now thriving.” 

Rubenstein then asked what she considered her biggest accomplishment. “So, getting through that pandemic year, I’m probably most proud of,” she told Rubenstein. “It was like working on an IPO (Initial Public Offering) for a couple of weeks, because I had just come in the league. I didn’t have a lot of relationships.” 

She recalled the extraordinary circumstances confronting the league in 2020, persuading players that they could compete safely during a pandemic while the country was also confronting the killing of George Floyd and a national reckoning over race. “We had to convince the players to play—that we would keep them safe,” she said.
 
Engelbert then quickly returned to the language she knows best: business.  “We were the first women’s sports property to raise capital at scale, $75 million. We probably could have raised more.” 
 
It was vintage Engelbert, proud, confident and comfortable discussing capital, growth and transformation. Those were unquestionably among her strengths. The question that followed her throughout her tenure was whether running the WNBA required something more.

Next Commissioner 
​
 A commissioner is paid to lead.  That means taking responsibility when things go wrong and sharing the credit when things go right.  No one outside the league knows what Engelbert was compensated during her seven years in the job, but accountability comes with the title 

The next commissioner will need Engelbert’s business instincts, but that won’t be enough. The WNBA needs someone who can execute a business plan while also building relationships with the people who make that business possible. The commissioner must be a diplomat, a consensus builder and, when necessary, a decisive leader willing to make difficult and unpopular choices. 

Above all, the next commissioner must love the game and make the players believe it. That person must understand that the WNBA is not simply an investment opportunity, a media-rights package or an expanding collection of increasingly valuable franchises. It is a league built over nearly three decades by women who fought for respect, visibility, better pay, and the right to be taken seriously as professional athletes.

Time may ultimately look more favorably on Engelbert. The business transformation that occurred during her tenure is undeniable, and history may give her more credit for helping to position the WNBA for the extraordinary opportunity now before it.

But her departure also offers the league something it badly needs: a chance to rebuild trust. The next commissioner will inherit a WNBA that is bigger, richer and more visible than ever before.
​
The challenge now is to find someone who can bring its business and its basketball together—and convince the women who built the league that they are building its future together.

​###

Anthony Price is an entrepreneur-turned-author and publisher of CT Hoops Magazine and Mini Books, known for brining compelling sports and business stories to life. 

By Anthony Price 

​Up close after a basketball game, Azzi Fudd’s dark, expressive eyes and toothy smile connect in an aw-shucks, I-can’t-believe-I-did-that way. Her round cheeks, with companion dimples, are welcoming. 
 
She lets you into her world—even if it’s only 15 seconds to sign an autograph or give a fan a high-five. It looks genuine from afar. The rapture works every time. She connects when posing for selfies with young fans, leaving them mesmerized. 

Then she’s off to the next fan. It’s not transactional, but there are so many fans waiting for her, lining the lower level of Gampel Pavilion in Storrs, Connecticut. 
 
But there’s more to her than that. She’s skilled at controlling her emotions and not revealing exactly what is on her mind. She conceals the past that played out in public for years: Her life could have been a Netflix medical drama series.
 
Basketball has taken her around the world on a ride to stardom, where she reached the pinnacle of winning a national championship, and devastating injuries that kept her off the court for lengthy stretches of her career. 
 
Fudd never anticipated the lows. The French have a saying, “c'est la vie,” which translates to “such is life.” While she may not know French, her life has felt like a roller coaster, and often she didn’t recognize who the person was in the mirror as she faced injuries.  
 
Without a basketball by her side, she plunged into a black sea of despair. Her emotions and self-doubt were pulling her down. Family, friends, her love of the game, and optimism would help her bounce back. 

Celebrate Azzi Fudd's career and order now before it's too late. 

Anthony Price 

​When former NFL star Ahmad Rashad introduced Spencer Haywood, the audience applauded politely.
 
It was a Friday evening, September 11, 2015. Savoring his moment, Haywood, who was dressed in a blue suit with a white pocket square, strolled through the crowd and up the six steps to the stage of the Springfield Symphony Hall in Springfield, Massachusetts. Soaking in the smiles like sunlight and exchanging fist bumps, those were the slowest steps his long legs ever walked. 

​Haywood, who is 6-foot-8 with broad shoulders, looked the part of a basketball ambassador ready to be enshrined in the Naismith Basketball Hall of Fame. With a bald head and clean-shaven face, he cut a dashing figure on the stage with his brown skin juxtaposed against the red curtains behind him. 
 
To his right on the stage were his three presenters: Hall of Famers Charles Barkley (’06), the late Lenny Wilkens (’89, ’98, ’00) and the late Bill Walton (’93). They are enshrined legends, but on this night, they seemed to be sentinels welcoming him to the pearly gates of basketball immortality.  
 
Dick Bavetta, John Calipari, Dikembe Mutombo (deceased), Jo Jo White (deceased), Lisa Leslie, Louis Dampier, John Isaacs, coach Lindsay Gaze, coach Tom Heinsohn (deceased) and coach George Raveling (deceased) were also being enshrined on this night.  
 
But this was Haywood’s moment, and he wasn’t going to let it slip away without telling his story. His neck craned to reach down to the microphone, like a giraffe nibbling on leaves.

​A Long Wait 
 
His wife of twenty-five years, Linda, his daughters, Zulekha and Shaakira, and his brother, Leroy, watched with pride. It had been a long time. Haywood last played in the NBA for the Washington Bullets during the 1982-83 season, averaging 8.2 points and 4.8 rebounds over 38 games. 
 
On his mind tonight was the small town of Silver City, Mississippi, where he was born—back then, it had fewer than 400 people. He looked out into the sea of people and began to tell his story. 
 
He and his nine siblings and mother picked cotton for 12 hours a day in the cotton fields of the Mississippi Delta as sharecroppers, he said. It was inhumane work that tortured the human spirit and paid a meager wage of a few dollars a day, starving the body of nourishment. 

​Haywood was 13 years old in the early sixties. His father died months before his birth. He and his family were on their own, struggling to make ends meet. 
 
“We didn’t have money and food, but we sure did have a love for God,” he recalled from the stage. “We had a special relationship with God, and many times we would be so hungry, and we would be so desperate, but every time God came through for our family.” 
 
He tapped the podium to mimic the sound of someone knocking on his door. “Somebody would walk up to us and say, ‘Eunice, I got some beans. I got some rice.’ We were able to eat,” he said, holding back the stream of emotion in his heart. 

​Go North 
 
Haywood left Mississippi after his sophomore year and moved north to Ohio to live with his brother Leroy. After living with him briefly, he moved to Detroit to live with James and Ida Bell, who were the parents of one of his teammates. 
 
Will Robinson, who would be like a father figure to Haywood, coached him at Pershing High School. By his junior year in 1966, he was 6-foot-7 and averaged 29 points and 17 rebounds per game. In his senior year, he grew to 6-foot-8 and weighed 220 pounds. He averaged a quadruple-double: 25.4 points, 13 rebounds, 14 assists and 12 blocked shots. His team won the state championship in 1967. 
 
After high school, during the 1967-68 season, Haywood played at Trinidad State Junior College in Trinidad, Colorado. He averaged 28.2 points and 22.1 rebounds, earning him the Junior College Player of the Year award.
 
The 1960s were turbulent times for the Civil Rights movement. Blacks faced discrimination and racism in all facets of American life. Martin Luther King Jr., Malcolm X, Muhammad Ali, Jim Brown, and Lew Alcindor (later Kareem Abdul-Jabbar) fought to empower Black people and change America. 
 
The Olympics is a world stage with millions of eyes watching. Elvin Haynes, Wes Unseld and Alcindor didn’t try out for the American basketball team that year as part of a broader boycott of the games for the treatment of Blacks in America. 

Haywood participated in the 1968 Olympics, winning a gold medal at 19—the youngest player ever to make the team. He shot 71.9% from the field and scored a record 145 points in the games—a record held for 44 years until superstar Kevin Durant broke it with 155 points in the London games.  
 
This was the Olympics where track and field athletes Tommy Smith and John Carlos came in first and third in the 200 meters. And on the medal stand, they wore black gloves and saluted Black Power with their fists in the air, and their shoes off—an iconic moment for the Civil Rights movement.  

The Four-Year Rule 
 
Haywood transferred to the University of Detroit Mercy Titans after one year in junior college. The plan was to go there, and within a year, coach Robinson would take over. That’s the deal he thought he arranged with the university. When coach Bob Calihan retired, they passed on Robinson and hired coach Jim Harding. 
 
Haywood was upset, but it didn’t impact his play on the court. He averaged 32.1 points and 22.1 rebounds per game for the University of Detroit Titans. After his sophomore year, he decided it was time to go pro. 
 
The National Basketball Association and the American Basketball Association both had rules that prohibited players from entering the leagues until four years after high school. The difference was that the ABA had a hardship exemption that allowed players to bypass the rule. Haywood’s hardship was poverty. 
 
Haywood entered the ABA at the age of 21. He played for the Denver Rockers, averaging 30 points and 19.5 rebounds in 1969. In his first year in the league, he won Rookie of the Year, league MVP, and MVP of the 1970 All-Star Game. 

The following year, he signed with the Seattle SuperSonics, which violated the NBA’s four-year rule. The NBA obtained an injunction preventing Haywood from playing for 10 games. 
 
Fans were not happy that Haywood was playing in the NBA. They thought he was destroying college basketball. He was booed and harassed. 
 
The NBA, the University of Detroit, and the NCAA all considered suing Haywood. Instead, Haywood fought back and sued the NBA. Lawyers on Haywood’s behalf argued that the NBA rule violated the Sherman Antitrust Act.
 
His case would go all the way to the United States Supreme Court, where he won. It was official: Players didn’t have to wait four years after high school to play professional basketball. 

High school players Darryl Dawkins (No. 5 in 1975) and Bill Willoughby (No. 19) opened the door for young players to enter the NBA. 
 
From 1995 to 2005, some of the game’s greatest players skipped college to play in the NBA: Kevin Garnett, Kobe Bryant, Tracy McGrady, Dwight Howard and LeBron James—all Hall of Famers, except James, who is still active in the NBA. 
 
Players with college eligibility left to turn pro, not just high school players. In 2005, the NBA and its players agreed to a rule requiring players to be 19 years old and one year removed from high school. 

​He Changed the Game 
 
In 2023, Theresa Runstedtler, a professor of African American history at American University, published the book Black Ball: Kareem Abdul-Jabbar, Spencer Haywood, and the Generation that Saved the Soul of the NBA. The publisher describes the book: “Against the backdrop of ongoing massive resistance to racial desegregation and increasingly strident calls for Black Power, the NBA in the 1970s embodied the nation's imagined descent into disorder.

​The press and the public blamed young Black players for the chaos in the NBA, citing drugs, violence, greed, and criminality. The supposed decline of pro basketball became a metaphor for the first decades of integration in America: the rules of the game had changed, allowing more Black people onto a formerly white playing field, and now they were ruining everything. But Black Ball argues that this much-maligned period was pivotal to the rise of the NBA as the star-laden powerhouse we know today, thanks largely to the efforts of Black players in challenging the white basketball establishment.” 

​In the foreword to the paperback version of the book, Haywood describes asking Wilt Chamberlain why he didn’t challenge the four-year rule. “I wasn’t as stupid as you,” Chamberlain replied. 
 
“I went to the ABA to get my mother out of the cotton field because she was still picking cotton for two dollars per day,” Haywood said in the foreword. “She was dragging a sack for all of her life, since she was five years old, and her back had gone pretty bad. I just wanted, before something serious happened, to get my mother out of that brutal work.”
 
Haywood’s successful court challenge forever changed the game. Billions of dollars of contracts have gone to players because of the Supreme Court decision. “So, I see the impact,” he said from the stage, mentioning LeBron James, Kevin Durant and Stephen Curry. “I see what I’ve done, and by the grace of God it has happened for me.“

He left the audience with one more message: “And remember, guys, I had game. It was not like I did this Supreme Court thing [because I couldn’t play]. I had some serious game!“ The crowd roared as if he were back on the court. 
 
Today, Haywood wants one thing: recognition. He planted a tree whose shade he never sat under. But now he wants that tree to be named after him: the Spencer Haywood Rule. This is his last fight. 
 
“I don't think the players today understand the sacrifices I made,” he said in Black Ball. 
“I have been begging the Players Association to help me get proper recognition.” 

His dream is to see the rule named in his lifetime—thanking him and his family for his work.
 
And if today’s players know and appreciate him, he will have accomplished more off the court than on.

​###

​Anthony Price is an entrepreneur, author and publisher of CT Hoops Magazine. Jump Ball Journal is basketball beyond the score.

By Anthony Price 

​On Monday night, No. 4 UConn beat the University of New Haven, 79-55, to the elation of over 10,000 fans at Gampel Pavilion in Storrs. 
 
Last season, Coach Dan Hurley and the Huskies lost to Florida, 77-75, in the second round of the NCAA tournament, ending a 13-game tournament streak—and resulting in a man-made river of tears in the locker room.

​On this night, the Huskies would protect their turf. While most fans went home happy, Hurley wasn’t satisfied. “That was excruciating,” Hurley said at the postgame press conference. “Games like that are tough. I mean, these games that we play are way more stressful than BYU or Kansas on the road.”
 
Hurley continued, “We played better in the two exhibitions against Boston College and Michigan State, who are significantly better than New Haven. “But credit them,” he said. 
 
His thoughts overflowed like two weeks of dirty laundry. “That game sucked to have to sit through,” Hurley admitted. “For the coaches, it was painful. It was miserable.” 
 
As the consummate motivator, Hurley’s words carried more than just frustration. “But I also love the team. I think the team will get a lot better from this. In a way, it will be a wake-up call.”

​Different Directions 
 
New Haven made the Husky fans squirm in their seats as the Chargers attacked the rim with fearless energy. UConn responded by swatting and scrapping, but every time they did, New Haven came back swinging. 
 
It was a matchup between two programs at opposite ends of the NCAA hierarchy. The Huskies, a blue blood perched at the top, have won two national championships in the past three years and developed a pipeline to the NBA. 
 
New Haven, meanwhile, is fighting its way up, working toward DI status. This year, the Chargers will take on Penn State, Vanderbilt, Boston College, Seton Hall, and a few DIII teams. 
 
Their roster features 12 scholarship players and five non-scholarship players. To reach the top, New Haven must be creative in generating revenue—the lifeblood of any program. Monday’s matchup was a buy-in game, meaning that UConn paid New Haven for the appearance. That check will go right back into building the Chargers’ future. 

The Game 
 
UConn was without two key starters: junior Tarris Reed Jr. and freshman Byron Mullins, both sidelined by injuries. Reed’s presence in the middle and Mullins’ shooting ability from deep behind the three-point line will make a noticeable difference when they’re healthy. 
 
The starting lineup featured Alex Karaban, Jaylin Stewart, Eric Reibe (freshman), Silas Demary Jr. and Solo Ball. Riebe, a 7-foot-2 freshman center from Germany, and point guard Demary Jr.,a transfer, both made their Huskies debuts. 

The usually potent UConn offense, which has been lauded by coaches nationwide over the past three years, struggled to find rhythm for most of the night. At halftime, the Huskies led only 37-24. 
 
UConn missed open looks at the basketball and shot 8 of 23 (34.8 %) from the 3-point range—numbers they’ll need to improve against top teams. Karaban led with 19 points and 10 rebounds, followed by Ball with 18 points, Stewart with 11, and Demary Jr. with 10. 

New Haven’s Unique Talent 
 
When Chargers sophomore Andre Pasha graduated from high school, he wasn’t ready for college. “My grades weren’t the best, so I decided to stay closer to home,” Pasha said calmly over the telephone. 
 
He enrolled at Mohawk Valley Community College, 54 miles west of his Syracuse home, and played for coach Harley Fuller, now an associate coach at Bryant University in Rhode Island.

Under Fuller, the team went 29-1, and won the NJCAA's Division III National Championship in late March. Pasha earned First Team All-American honors. “That wasn’t the expectation coming into [college],” he said. “I wasn’t thinking of a national championship. I think that was like one of the best experiences ever, that year in JUCO. It got me very prepared for physicality, I’d say.”

Making an Impression
 
UConn quickly learned who Pasha is—and who he isn’t.  He’s not the typical bruising center anchored in the post. “His center was driving the ball,” Hurley said, half in disbelief. “He was playing like a quarterback, like a point center.” 
 
Pasha, a 6-foot-9 forward, was a thorn in the Huskies’ paw, scoring 17 points on 8-for-16 shooting and grabbing six rebounds. He hit mid-range jumpers, finished tough shots over 7-foot-2 Reiber, and played with a confidence that belied his experience.
 
“There were some nerves at the start,” Pasha admitted, “but as soon as I got playing, I knew we could compete at a high level. We are going to compete with everybody.” 

​The jump from community college to Division 1 is steep, but Pasha handled it with poise. “It’s a lot different playing against my guys in practice and then going out there against the No. 4 team,” he said. “We knew what we had in store, but I think we definitely competed.”
 
He wasn’t surprised by his success because it hadn’t come overnight. “I can say not in the slightest bit because, obviously, working every day, I’m in the gym twice a day [and] at night. Preparing for the shots I know I’m going to take, and the ones I know I can make.” 
 
Pasha made impossible shots look effortless—a mini version of Nikola Jokic. “I like playing against bigger players. That’s something I thrive in,” he said. “I prefer playing against a seven-footer than somebody who is 6-6.” 

Off the Court 
 
Pasha is from a basketball family. His brother, Marcus, plays basketball at a JUCO, and his sister, Erykah, played in high school. 
 
He understands that winning starts with mindset. “We had nothing to lose out there. It’s our first game,” he said of the matchup—a typical buy-in game that most top NCAA teams avoid scheduling. 
 
People call him Dre—and he sees future upsets. He has goals: “Obviously to shock a lot of people, knowing that we are a first-year DI [program]. I’d say just to make history, man.” 

On the phone, Pasha is relaxed and thoughtful. But before games, he transforms. His pregame playlist? Loud and heavy—Lil Baby. Rio Da Yung OG and G Herbo. “Stuff that gets me pumped up,” he said with a laugh. 
 
Future opponents might hope he changes his musical diet to something quieter—for their sake. 

Postgame Presser 
 
When asked about Pasha, New Haven coach Ted Hotaling smiled before saying, ”No, I don’t want to talk about Andre Pasha, not in this world of college basketball.” It was a joke, but a telling one. In today’s transfer-portal era, protecting emerging talent matters.
 
“Yes, Andre Pasha is excellent,” Hotaling eventually admitted. “Andre was recruited to be a Division II player at New Haven. The one unique thing about him is he has a [more] unique skillset than most bigs because he can dribble.” 

​Hotaling added, “And I don’t think his passing showed up as well tonight, just because UConn’s defense is so good, it’s hard to get back cuts.”
 
Defensive Reflections
 
UConn got beat on straight-line drives to the hoop. Hurley hopes his defensive woes are just early-season kinks the team needs to work out. He attributed UConn’s shortcomings on defense to the smaller bodies and spacing of the floor. 
 
“But sometimes, you know, the buy-games, the games are very different,” he said, as if thinking out loud. “When you play high-major teams, the court is just spaced differently. There are so many small perimeter players on the court.” 
 
It’s clear Hurley’s mind is already working on a future solution. He prefers the challenge of bigger, more physical matchups.  “When you’re playing Michigan State and different people that are high-majors, there are bigger bodies out there,” he said. “Not to make excuses, but that may have something to do with the brutal defense. Because we guarded Michigan State better than we guarded New Haven.” 

​Happy Learning on the Job 
 
New Haven has a tough road ahead. Monday was their introduction to the big stage—a moment not lost on the Chargers graduate student Maison Adeleye, who sat next to Hotaling. 
 
“I think a game like this is truly a blessing just to come out here and play against the Basketball Capital of the World,” said Adeleye, who transferred from DII UT Permian Basin. 

Now in his sixth year of college basketball, he has perspective. “Honestly, so, I feel like it can only just make us better—me as a player and of course as a team as well,” he said, his voice barely audible.  Najimi George scored 14, and Adeleye scored 13. The Chargers had only three assists on 23 made baskets—a reminder that to compete at the DI level, they’ll need more ball movement and shared offense. 
 
Hotaling knows the challenge. “It doesn’t get any easier,” he said, noting that New Haven will face Columbia on Friday and Penn State at home on Saturday. “But those are the games these guys want to play in,” he said. 
 
Hurley said, “It’s going to be fun, I think, to watch him (Hotaling) build that program into a team fighting for NCAA tournament bids.” Then, with a wry smile, he summed up his own team’s uneven night. “I think the team is going to be awesome this year,” Hurley said. “But tonight sucked.”
 
For both programs, opening night was a reminder of what November basketball is all about—learning, adjusting, and believing that the next game will be better.

###

By Anthony Price 

For the UConn women’s basketball program, it was business as usual. 
 
A UConn home game is a spectacle, like the Colosseum in Rome—a battle against the odds. They have a multimillion-dollar coaching staff (two former Huskies), a marching band, Jonathan the Husky, an army of workers on the payroll, and a fan base across the country who watch on television. 

​In an exhibition game of disparate opponents, UConn, the defending national champions and No. 1 team in the country, beat Southern Connecticut State University (unranked Division 2), 105-39, in front of over 9,200 fans at People’s Bank Arena in Hartford. 
 
After the game, the players formed a line at midcourt and exchanged high-fives. The UConn players were giants and walked with swagger, after scoring 46 points in the paint, 36 points off turnovers, and 25 fast-break points. It was total domination—but Southern viewed it differently. 
 
As the Southern players walked toward the locker room, their faces didn’t look deflated. They weren’t defeated. Quite the opposite. They were beaming with pride in the effort they put forth on this big stage, which included a television broadcast, UConn’s band, and a spirit squad. Even Jonathan, the Husky, was there watching. Not Southern’s typical game. 
 
Inside the locker room, they waited. Coach Lynch arrived wearing a cream-colored blazer, aqua-blue fingernails, and sneakers. When she closed the door, the room erupted with a thunderous roar—as if they had won their second national championship.   

The Game Within the Game 
 
Lynch exited the locker room. She looked like she could be a Southern player. 
 
With a smile on her face and optimism in her eyes, Lynch said, “I thought we did a lot of really good things. For us, we are not focusing on the score.” Their goal was to hold UConn to 105 points or below—mission accomplished. “So that’s a win for us,” she said with a chuckle. 
 
Lynch, an ’08 Southern graduate, is in her 13th season as head coach of the Owls. She is a two-time All-American and the program’s all-time leading scorer at 1,779. 
 
In 2007, she led the team to its first and only DII NCAA national championship. Assistant coach Stephanie Hiriak Lund was on that championship team with Lynch and is now in her 10th season at Southern. 
 
Lynch’s focus was “the game within the game.” The team metrics that measured success for them included tipped balls on defense, offensive rebounds (the Owls grabbed 10 and UConn 11), defensive rebounds and taking offensive charges. “Those types of things were points in our scorebook,” she said. 
 
It was all about hustle and effort. 

“I thought we got out in transition a few times,” Lynch said. “And if we can get out [in transition] a couple times on UConn—and [we] scored a couple times too—imagine what we can do at our level? So, we really tried to focus on the things that we want to be good at this year, and even if they seemed like failures, they were not, in our eyes.” 
 
The UConn game has become something of a rite of passage at Southern—this is the second time in three years the teams have played. Southern lost 97-38 at Gampel Pavilion on November 4, 2023. 

Lynch played UConn on November 6, 2007, when she was on the team at Southern—a game in which she scored 16 points in a loss, 119-58, in Hartford, on a team that featured future Hall of Famer Maya Moore. 

“It’s an incredible experience to be able to step on the floor with the defending national champions, the number one team in the country,” she said. “I mean, UConn to me is the standard. “

The Players 
 
Senior guard Ally Sentance, from Thorold, Ontario, said, “Growing up, I was always a huge UConn fan. They were the team to look up to. I think that was a surreal moment.” 
 
When asked about the roar coming from the locker room, she said, “We did everything that we wanted to. We won morally, which is awesome. We did what we needed to do.  We were excited about it.” 
 
The game was more than the final score. “This was about us growing and playing together—this is our second game,” Sentance said.  “So, for us to put up almost 40 points—something like that—and the way we worked together, I think that was really awesome for us.”
 
When asked what she will take from this game into the regular season, she replied, “That we are very capable. That was a really, really good Division I team—obviously national champions.”
 
“If we can do stuff like that. Have them force turnovers, hit shots on them, do the things we did, and when we get to conference and Division II, we should have no problem with everyone, and we are going to win our conference,” Sentance said. “I’m really excited to see what we can do this season.” 

Senior guard Hope Fox, a Guilford, Indiana native who shares an off-campus apartment with Sentance, played against UConn in her sophomore year. Three other players from that game are still on the Southern team:  Jillian Martin, Rheyna Steinauer, and Maya Henry. 
 
 “It’s an experience not many Division II women’s basketball players get to experience,” Fox said.  Just being on a big stage and representing Southern and our program—it means a lot to past players at Southern, and also the future.” 
 
“Yes, there is reason to be nervous about playing UConn: they are bigger, faster and stronger. Very skilled players. At the end of the day, it’s really just to have fun and compete at a very high level.” 
 
“It’s more of an experience—obviously, we know we are not going to win—but we are going to go out there and play our hardest. And even our coach said this, it takes a lot of courage to step out and play against UConn. Some DI schools don’t even want to play UConn.” 

Southern focused on their “Hustle” stat line: They made note of UConn going under 10 seconds on the shot clock. They considered that a won possession. “Little things like that we kept track of,” Fox said. “It might not have shown on the scoreboard, but we did win a lot of possessions on our measuring stick. We did a lot of good things out there.” 
 
The program has ambitious goals for the 2025-26 season, following its appearance in the NCAA tournament last season and first-round loss. “Our goal this year is to make it to the Elite 8,” Fox said.  
 
Southern will remember this game for many years to come, and it may be the catalyst to achieving their goal of making a deep run in the NCAA tournament. 
 
Who would have thought a loss against UConn could be a win? The Owls from New Haven. 

###

By Anthony Price 

​It’s noon in October at Yale University, and the bright colored leaves and warm sunlight complement the Payne Whitney Gymnasium architecture: It’s depicting New England better than any tourism brochure could. 
 
The gymnasium is a massive structure with over twelve acres of space inside. Yet, it is disguised in plain sight. It’s a paradox. 

To find it, scan New Haven’s urban landscape for a 9.5-story Gothic Revival-style edifice built in 1931. Nicknamed “the cathedral of sweat,”  it’s an imposing monument to athletics—ironically fitting for an Ivy League school where sports trail well behind academic pursuits in prominence.
 
Inside, the lobby is dark, cold and carved out of stone—a warning not to take sports too seriously at this academic beacon. It leads to the John J. Lee Amphitheater, where the women’s basketball team plays its home games. 

Language Practice 
 
Sophia Gibson is ready for basketball practice, but she won’t be on the court sweating it out with her teammates today. Nonetheless, she is wearing a smile as if it is part of her uniform. “I definitely think I’m high energy and bubbly, which people tend to say,” she chuckles. 
 
Laughter pours out as she talks with her teammate, junior Ana Guillen, who is from Badalona, Spain. After being prodded by this writer, they have an impromptu conversation in Spanish. Gibson’s Spanish is rusty, and she struggles to keep up. The language was helpful for the team this summer when they traveled to France and Spain to play basketball and build chemistry. 
 
“Don’t do this to me,” she implores Guillen. “I took four years of Spanish—[I’m] not any good at it.” The torture ends when practice starts. 
 
The six-five Gibson is on an exercise bike, in a corner near the entrance to the gym. She slowly turns the pedals with a solemn look as if serving a punishment. 
 
This is not how Gibson wanted to start her freshman year. But an unexpected medical condition forced her hand. She will have surgery next week and hopes to be back on the court soon. 

‘Gibby’ 
 
“Everybody calls me Gibby,” she says with a laugh. Her father was Gibby in high school, according to her. Then, people began to call her Gibby in high school. The name has followed her 735 miles east to Yale. 

​“And now, nobody knows my name is Sophia,” she says. The sound of bouncing balls and giddy chatter can’t contain her laughter. 
 
Gibson’s father is 6-8 and her mother is 5-10. He played two years of football at Kentucky and then, after an injury, transferred and played basketball at Northern Kentucky University. He passed his love of basketball down to her, Gibson says. 
 
Her brother, Sam, is a 7-footer who played D2 basketball. They used to be “workout buddies, all the time,” Gibson says. That’s how she got used to shooting over someone taller than her. “We’ve always been big competitors,” she adds. 
 
Gibson is a throwback to when centers ruled the game, like Lisa Leslie and Bill Russell in their prime—and A’ja Wilson now. She is determined to make her play from the post position stand out. 

​“I love being a post player, and I want to continue doing that,” Gibson says. She feels the game of basketball has lost a true inside presence—especially with most teams launching three-pointers at record numbers. She wants to bring it back. 
 
“Honestly, I love being inside, and that’s what I’m passionate about,” Gibson says. She’s comfortable in her skin. She has a soothing presence with big, green eyes. 
 
The biggest difference from high school basketball to college has been the long practices, which Gibson estimates as 3 hours a day. Add time in the weight room and individual workouts, and it’s a long day. 
 
“Gibby has an incredible personality. She’s a lot of fun to be around,“ Coach Dalila Eshe says. “She’s a true center at the end of the day. She doesn’t have a huge desire to stretch it out and shoot the three.”
 
“And she’s very physical,” Eshe adds. “She gets in there, and she doesn’t mind throwing her body around and going to get rebounds, and she plays really well with her back to the basket.” 

The Bulldogs have seven new players from a team that was 4-23 last season. Over the past three seasons, under Eshe, the team is 25-56. 
 
This is a big year for the team. You can feel the anticipation swirling in the air. “I’m just looking forward to getting our team out on the court and starting a new beginning,” Eshe says, before practice on Friday. She has wiped the slate clean. 
 
As for Gibson, her goal is simple: “I just want to work on my skills and abilities, and grow, not only as a person this year but as a player.” 

Home on Her Mind 
 
Gibson grew up in Taylor Mill, Kentucky, about 13 miles south of Cincinnati. She was the team captain at Notre Dame Academy, where she scored 1,000 points. 
 
In high school, Gibson played soccer, basketball, volleyball, and track (discus).
 
“Cincinnati is my home, and I miss it,“ she says. She doesn’t hide her pride in the city. 
 
“Honestly, I watch a lot of football on my off day on Sunday. Big Bengals fan! I’m just anything Cincinnati. Reds, I’m there.” Her only disappointment about Cincinnati is that there is no professional basketball team in the city. “I think every state should be a basketball state, honestly,” she says.
 
Gibson’s roommate is from Minnesota and is a violinist in the Yale Orchestra.  Two Midwestern girls who can help each other adjust to New Haven. She’s excited for the Harvard-Yale football game.

When not playing basketball, she loves watching volleyball and women’s ice hockey at Yale. 
 
There’s a softer side to Gibson, away from physical play in the paint. 
 
“I really, really love animals. “They’re honestly the best thing on planet earth.” She has a Boston terrier named Winnie. “She’s so bad, but I love her anyway,” she says. “I Facetime my dad every night to see my girl.” 
 
Gibson gives of herself. In high school, she worked with children with disabilities as a service project. “I want[ed] to challenge myself in a different kind of way, and I learned so much from these kids.” 

Optimized for Academics
 
Yale attracts a certain type of student-athlete. 
 
Gibson had a 4.2 in high school, so the university satisfies her intellectual cravings. She attributes her success in the classroom to being organized. 
 
Gibson registered at the last minute for a senior-level philosophy course this semester. “It is challenging, but I absolutely love it,” she says.  In addition, she is taking an American Sign Language class. Some of her teammates have taken the course. 

“It’s all about timing,” Gibson adds. “I have my days planned down to the minute.” She gets up before 6:00 a.m. daily. “Waking up early has helped me a lot. It’s all about time management, but also making time for yourself.” 
 
“Waking up early is tough, and we have 7:00 a.m. practice some days. But honestly, you get used to it. I never used to be a morning person. But now I am.”
 
As a busy freshman, she still finds time to unwind. “This team is where I find so much joy.” And chatting in the locker room clears her mind. 
 
The cathedral of sweat may have to wait a little longer, but when Gibson steps onto the court, the echoes will follow.

​###

By Anthony Price 

​NBA Hall of Famer Larry Bird once said, “Once you are labeled the best, you want to stay up there, and you can't do it by loafing around. If I don't keep changing, I'm history.” 
 
Lebron James, Stephen Curry and Kevin Durant must have taken those words to heart. For two decades, they’ve rewritten not only their own games but the game itself—stacking up ten championships between them and reshaping how basketball is played and watched. 

Once, they were the hunters chasing Michael Jordan. Now they’re the standards the rising stars measure themselves against. 
 
They may be graying at the temples, but don’t be fooled—these veterans are still running circles around the game’s younger players. And while they know their reign won’t last forever, they’re making sure the throne isn’t easily taken. 

Basketball Gods 
 
Today’s game is fast, physical, and often played above the rim. The best players don’t just play basketball—they levitate, like modern-day gods of the court. 
 
There have been basketball gods before. Bird once learned that the hard way. After Michael Jordan scored a record 63 points against the Celtics in a double-overtime game at the Boston Garden on April 20, 1986, Bird simply said, “It’s just God disguised as Michael Jordan.”   
 
Today, Minnesota Timberwolves’ Anthony Edwards is auditioning to be a basketball god. When in flight, he seems to defy gravity without a booster rocket, and seconds later, he hanging from the rim as if it’s a trophy he just claimed. 
 
While Edwards basks in the moment, someone else is peeling himself off the floor—another mortal sacrificed to the basketball gods, their fate sealed in a viral Internet meme, forever immortalized with a chorus of oohs and ahhs. 

The Past  
 
The game didn’t start with Edwards. Let’s rewind—or scroll back, for the tech-savvy crowd. 
 
The National Basketball Association, or NBA, is 79 years old—not exactly ancient but not young—a reminder that age and youth can coexist to create the kind of living art that people will pay to see.  

The league was born in 1946, when the Basketball Association of America merged with the National Basketball League, and it’s been home to the world’s best ballers ever since—players who entertain millions and get paid like kings. 
 
It wasn’t always that way. Long before basketball came with Brinks trucks’ money, NBA players worked a job in the offseason like everyone else. While they didn’t get the “bag” as today’s stars say. What they got was the love of the game. 
 
These were the men of the 1950s and ‘60s who played hurt, wrapped what ailed them and played the game. Legends like Bob Pettit, George Mikan and Bill Sharman set the standard, passing the ball—literally and figuratively—to Elgin Baylor, Bill Russell and Jerry West who carried the game into a new era. 

The Standard
 
The game’s greatest are enshrined in the basketball Hall of Fame in Springfield, Massachusetts—names like Bill Russell, Wilt Chamberlain, Oscar Robertson, Larry Bird, and Michael Jordan.
 
Greatness isn’t a single moment. It’s a standard of continued excellence measured over a long period of time. Celtics great Robert Parish set that bar high—1,611 games, more than any player in NBA history. Lebron James is in reach at second with 1,562 games.  
 
Basketball always pushes forward but never forgets its past. That’s how we measure how far a player has gone. 
 
Right now, three future Hall of Famers are still defining that standard: LeBron ”The King” James,  Stephen Curry “Chef Curry,” and Kevin Durant “KD.” Cool nicknames are mandatory. 

In a league–and culture–that lauds youth, these young-at-heart veterans are still among the best—even as unruly gray creep into their beards like weeds in a summer garden. James is 41, Curry, 37, and KD, 37. That’s middle-aged for regular folks. In the NBA, it’s supposed to be ancient.
 
But they’re not just hanging on. They’ve redefined the positions they play. Lebron is the ultimate point-forward. KD, a long-limbed 7-footer who can dribble and shoot from anywhere, goes by the nickname “Easy Money Sniper” for good reason. And Curry? He makes long-distance three-pointers from the half-court logo and beyond. Physics holds its breath when the ball leaves his hands. 

New Season: 2025-26 
 
As another NBA season approaches, let’s not take for granted the greatness we’re about to witness from James, Curry and Durant. 

Too often, we wait until a player is walking out of the arena for the last time to let them know how much they are appreciated. No one plays forever—just ask baseball great Leroy Satchel Paige, who became the first Black pitcher in the American League at 42 in 1948, and then retired at 47. 
 
And yet, in ESPN’s 2025 NBA Rank, Durant sits at 9, Lebron at 8 and Curry at 7—still among the best players on Earth. 

​Durant, a two-time NBA champion, is one of the most decorated international stars and the only player with an MVP in the World Cup, the Olympics and the NBA. He’s the first male athlete in a team sport to win four Olympic gold medals. 
 
James is entering a record 23rd season. Already the game’s greatest scorer, his total—42,184 points—ticks like a taxi meter that never stops. 
 
And Curry? The babyfaced assassin has made 4,058 three-pointers, the most in history. No lead is safe when he’s on the floor. And when he makes the “nighty night” pose, game over!
 
Curry and Lebron have each won four championships. The first one to five gets to retire on a mountaintop. 

The End Is Coming 
 
Like iconic brands etched in our minds, the Big Three—James, Curry & Durant—are more than players. They’re benchmarks.
 
Their games are timeless because they studied the greats like historians studying ancient Greece. Their knowledge of the past propels them forward, and their relentless work ethic keeps them on top even as time tries to catch up. 
 
The future belongs to Anthony Edwards, Shai Gilgeous-Alexander, Victor Wembanyama and Luka Dončić—and to some kid somewhere who’s too young to drive but is already studying their every move. 
 
For now, though, the Big Three remain the standards. So give them your full attention and love every minute of their games this season. 
 
Basketball entertains—but it also teaches. And its greatest lesson is simple: no one plays forever. 

###

By Anthony Price 

​When the dust cleared in April 2025, the UConn women’s basketball program ended a Dust Bowl-like drought—they won their first championship in nine years, beating rival South Carolina, 82-59. 
 
UConn was back at the top of college basketball, holding its 12th national title—to the annoyance of the programs chasing the Huskies. 

​Then-freshman Sarah Strong, the quiet superstar, emerged from the pack as the next potential generational talent in a long line of greats at UConn. Strong scored the second-most points (657) of any UConn freshman, behind only Maya Moore. 
 
Her game makes noise, wreaking havoc on defenses with her bag of tools. She was named the NCAA Division I National Freshman of the Year by the Women's Basketball Coaches Association (WBCA) and Big East Freshman of the Year, amongst other accomplishments. 

​No. 1 Recruit 
 
Last year, Sarah Strong was an 18-year-old freshman and the No. 1 recruit in the country, sharing a room with her teammates, KK Arnold and Kaitlyn Chen, attending classes, and playing basketball. 
 
Coach Geno Auriemma isn’t one to do metaphorical cartwheels in the late summer or early fall. He was excited in his “I’ve seen everything” way. 
 
With Paige Bueckers’ leadership, and a healthy Azzi Fudd shooting the lights out with her textbook form, Strong could be the X factor to push the team toward a national championship. 
 
The coaches were like scientists examining a specimen under a microscope. They had a hypothesis: If the team jelled, stayed healthy, and if Sarah could be as good as they believed, they would be good—UConn-speak for a championship contender. 

​Not Impressed 
 
Strong first met the Connecticut media on October 3, 2024, after practice. The media was one of the few things in her young life she hadn’t dominated. 
 
UConn, the biggest stage in women’s college basketball and self-anointed Basketball Capital of the World, is different. 
 
Strong sheepishly walked toward the media in the lobby of Werth UConn Basketball Champions Center on campus—the home of both the men’s and women’s programs. 
 
At 6-foot-2, Strong was wearing braces, an oversized hoodie, and sweatpants. Her long braids were her only shield. She looked toward the director of women’s basketball communications for reassurance and found none. She was on her own. 
 
She appeared unsure of herself—despite being the best baller in North Carolina, leading her Grace Christian team to three NCISAA championships on her way to averaging 21 points, 16.8 rebounds, 4.6 assists and 2.8 steals per game. 

​The media fired questions at her like daggers. With TV cameras and microphones, they seemed to be tormenting her, judging by the expression on her face. 
 
When asked about her Connecticut experience up to this point, she said, “Storrs is okay. There’s not much to do—everything is 30 minutes away. I like it. I’m getting used to it. Again, it’s definitely an adjustment.” That would be one of her longest exchanges all year. 
 
Her answers were often one-sentence answers, unlike Auriemma, who can reply to a question by taking you back to his birth home in Italy, opine on the state of the game of women’s basketball, and talk about the Philadelphia Phillies in the playoffs. 
 
Strong has had many brief encounters with the media, but one stands out. After UConn beat Arkansas State 103-34 in the first round of the NCAA tournament, Strong was asked about her performance, in which she scored 20 points (9 of 10 from the floor, including two 3-pointers), 12 rebounds, 5 assists and 5 blocked shots. 
 
Strong replied, “It was a lot of fun being out there with my team. Everything was pretty much going our way, so that really helped. But I’m excited for the next one.” She looked at Azzi Fudd to her side and then Auriemma as if she might have done something wrong. 
 
Auriemma gave her a look as if to say, “That’s it?” When Strong left the stage, Auriemma said, ”Very enlightening. Riveting. Sarah Strong, riveting.” This is probably one of the few times Strong didn’t live up to Auriemma’s standard. 

​Using Her Voice 
 
Sarah Strong is now a sophomore and ready for the media. After a whirlwind year that took her to the championship, she has had plenty of time to practice.  During her sophomore year, she wants to lead with her voice. With Paige Bueckers gone, this may be an important step in Strong’s maturation process—a welcome addition to reporters’ ears, who are used to her responses leaving silence like a bad joke.
 
In the last week of September 2025, on Monday, she was back in front of the media. With white athletic tape covering her earrings, she stood with her hands crossed in front of her, wearing her practice uniform and slides. 
 
When asked what she wants to do more of this year, Strong responded, “This year, I want to step into trying to help lead the team. Use my voice more, whenever it’s needed, just be there for my teammates.”
 
Strong acknowledged that she was quiet last year, with a classic reply: “Yeah, for sure,” and smiled.  
 
She is ready to speak up. She said, “Especially just talking to the freshmen, I feel like I’m doing a good job, actually talking, on and off the court.” She said this with more enthusiasm and emotion than she had when winning the championship in April. 

A Generational Prospect 
 
A generational player is defined as an athlete with exceptionally rare and groundbreaking talent who consistently achieves extraordinary success and has a significant, lasting impact on their sport, often changing how the game itself is played. They are defined by a combination of elite skill, longevity at the peak of their game, an impressive collection of awards and statistics, and a cultural influence that transcends the sport, making them the standard against which future players are measured. 
 
Strong averaged 16.1 points per game and 9.1 rebounds her freshman year. Playing over 28 minutes a game, she fouled out once during the 36-game regular season. 
 
She knows how to get to her spots to help the team win, whether setting a screen, posting up, stretching the floor by hitting the three, or getting a key steal. 
 
Strong set the NCAA record for most points by a freshman in a single tournament with 114. She is expected to pose a challenge to her opponents this season. 
 
She may never be the loudest player on the court or at a press conference. But her game stats scream talent, versatility, and a fluidity that doesn’t waste energy. 
 
When her career is over, she may rank as one of the best in a program that has produced some of the greatest in the game: Maya Moore, Sue Bird, Breanna Stewart, Napheesa Collier, Diana Taurasi, Tina Charles, Paige Bueckers, and Nykesha Sales.

###

By Anthony Price 

​Saint Thomas More (STM), a college-preparatory boarding school tucked away in the small village of Oakdale, Connecticut, enrolls just 180 students from 26 countries. Yet, from this modest campus, one of New England’s premier basketball programs has emerged, producing Division 1 talent that has gone on to win NCAA championships.
 
The results speak for themselves. More than 660 former STM players have advanced to college basketball, with over 100 continuing their careers professionally overseas.

​Some alumni have played in the NBA, including Andre Drummond, Eric Paschall, Omari Spellman, Yuta Watanabe, and Damion Lee, who won a championship with the Golden State Warriors in 2022.  
 
Trinity College won the 2025 NCAA Division III Men’s Basketball National Championship with senior Sean Macarchuk and head coach James Cosgrove—both products of STM’s program. 
 
Syracuse University sophomore Tyler Betsey (STM ’24) is already making his mark, while his best friend, London Jemison (STM ’25), is a freshman at the University of Alabama. Together, they represent the ongoing pipeline of talent emerging from this small boarding school, which refuses to be overshadowed by wealthier rivals.

Young Globetrotters 
 
STM’s National basketball team is usually all the buzz on campus. Made up primarily of postgraduates, the squad attracts players determined to sharpen their skills and secure college scholarships. 
 
Sports are woven into the school’s curriculum. For basketball players, the formula is demanding: rigorous academics paired with daily basketball skill development and weight training—and the same commitment applies to other sports.
 
The 2024-25 team started their journeys from points in the United States, Japan, Australia, Turkey, and Ireland. “They are betting on themselves,” says long-time head coach Jere Quinn. His players are go-getters. “They are risk-takers.” 
 
Quinn grew up in Queens, New York, and played under the well-known coach Jack Curran at Archbishop Molloy, where his senior team won the CHSAA New York City Championship over Power Memorial in 1973. 
 
After high school, Quinn starred at Central Connecticut State University, where he scored 1,006 points, serving as team captain during his junior and senior years. He still holds the single-game record of 18 assists.

Now in his 48th season at STM, Quinn has seen thousands of teenagers arrive on the school’s leafy 110-acre campus. For many, especially international players, the first challenge is not basketball but the culture shock of trading busy cities and far-off countries for life in the Connecticut woods. 

The Lure of the Woods  
 
The STM campus is a nature lover’s retreat, and for nearly five decades, it has also been home to Jere Quinn. He and his wife, Judy— married since 1980—live in a house overlooking the lake, where they raised two sons and two daughters and now welcome 10 grandchildren.  
 
The land has always held a pull.  When Quinn’s father, Jack, first saw the property, he told his son, “You can never leave this place.” Quinn seems to agree. “It’s just a good way to live,” he says.  “I’m a morning kind of guy. I get up, have a cup of tea, and I open the gym at 6:30 in the morning.” Tired faces arrive to work out before classes start at 9:00 a.m. 
 

Though Oakdale may feel remote, Quinn sees its advantages. “We are away from everything,” he admits, “but in the world of basketball this is a great location because they do so many showcases in New Haven, Springfield, Hartford, Providence and Boston.” 
 
Over the years, opportunities have arisen for Quinn to coach at other schools, which some would call bigger and better jobs. But the combination of the setting and family ties has kept him rooted at STM. 
 
“Did I envision doing this for 47 years? No,” Quinn reflects. “But I don’t envision not doing it either—because I still enjoy it and I still like coming to the office, and I still like trying to help kids work through the maze of college athletics.” ​

Calm Under Pressure 
 
Some of Quinn’s best work comes in the tensest moments, when the game is on the line. 
 
In early March 2025, however, his team fell short, losing 92-86 to the No. 1-seeded New Hampton School in the semifinals of the NEPSAC Boys’ Basketball Tournament. Yet the season wasn’t over. The bigger goal—a national championship—still awaited.
 
On March 13, STM took the court at the University of Saint Joseph in West Hartford. The shoebox-sized gym was crammed with students, while college coaches packed the sidelines three and four deep. 
 
The semifinal against Cushing Academy was a competitive game. With 15 seconds left on the clock in the fourth quarter, STM trailed 63-61 and called a timeout.

In the huddle, Quinn sat on a folding chair, his 6-foot-3 frame and white hair cutting a familiar figure. He was unfazed by the noise and the team’s predicament. Looking into the eyes of his players, he radiated the calm he always preaches. With 1,500 games behind him and not a single losing season, Quinn had been here before. 

Last Play
 
With a clipboard on his lap, Quinn diagrammed a final play with the calm precision of a surgeon on a battlefield. The ball would go to London Jemison or Brandon Benjamin. 
 
Jemison inbounded from the sideline and made his way to the top of the key. Point guard Shuto Sakiham passed him the ball with 6 seconds left. One dribble, a step left, and Jemison rose up for a three-pointer. The shot floated through the net. 
 
STM’s Kieran Mullen, a 7-footer from Vancouver, British Columbia, put his hands on his head in disbelief as the student section stormed the court.  Chest-bumps, high-fives, and cellphones were everywhere. The referees furiously blew their whistles to restore order.
 
With 1.7 seconds left, Cushing heaved a desperation half-court shot after a long inbounds pass. It fell short. The Chancellors poured back onto the court to celebrate again. 
 
After the game, this writer spoke to Jemison. “I know our coach had a good play call, but it was initially for Brandon,” he said. “But Brandon rolled, so I popped [to the top of the key]. And I saw that they were guarding me one-on-one, so I did a pull-up and made it.” 

The Next Challenge
 
That night, STM faced nearby powerhouse Putnam Science Academy (PSA) for the national title. PSA’s roster, bigger and more physical, eventually wore the smaller and thinner Chancellors, pulling away in the fourth quarter, 79-72. It was the Mustangs’ third national championship in four years and their fifth overall, finishing the season with a record of 41-2. STM finished 27-12.
 
Quinn described the locker room afterward as “really upbeat.” His team had come within minutes of a national crown, and his focus quickly turned to what came next. “We finished the game, we’re going back to school the next day,” Quinn said. “We’re not headed to Disney World. We’re not getting a bonus.” 
 
By Monday, college coaches were at the STM gym. For Quinn, the real work was still ahead. “My job doesn’t end until all of our kids are placed in schools that match their academic and athletic capabilities,” he said. 
 
That honesty is part of his appeal. “The one thing about us is we are always going to be really honest with these kids,” Quinn noted. “I never tell a kid where to go. But it’s really important that kids go to places that match the way they play”.

By May, every player had found a home—at programs including Alabama, Pittsburgh, Fairfield, Western Carolina University, Lafayette, and Post University. Two others committed to playing professional basketball in Japan. 

​A Former Player: Tyler Betsey 
 
In mid-September, I asked Syracuse sophomore Betsey what coach Quinn meant to him. “He saw something in me that I didn’t see in myself,” Betsey said over the phone, “and he just pushed me until I was one of the best players.” 
 
Betsey recalls an early conversation with Quinn. “I came to his office when I was a junior. He said, ‘I think you’re going to be one of the best players in New England. By the time you’re a senior, I think you’re going to be the best player in New England.’ And we had that plan, and we worked for it, and it became reality.” 
 
Trust was key. “He had a vision, and I trusted him—he’s done it before,” Betsey explained.
 
Betsey left STM in 2024 as the two-time Connecticut Gatorade Player of the Year. He played his freshman year at the University of Cincinnati, averaging 3.3 points and 1.5 rebounds across 33 of 34 games. But the fit wasn’t right, and he entered the transfer portal. After considerable interest, he chose Syracuse. 
 
His bond with STM teammate Jemison remains strong. “It’s crazy—we played together in middle school,” Betsey said. “We could only dream of things like this, but we’ve been friends every step of the way.”

​Time Machine
 
The walls of Quinn’s office seem ready to give way under the weight of the photos, framed newspaper clippings and mementos from a lifetime on the hardwood. It is less of an office than a shrine—a daily reminder of what his players have accomplished and what the program has become.

The place is rarely quiet. Current players drop in, alums stop by, and on one summer afternoon, his son Matt—now the head of school, and once his father’s player and assistant coach—poked his head in for a chat. 
 
Quinn never planned on this life. After a pro team overseas folded, his playing career ended abruptly, before it started. With few options, he accepted an offer from STM founder James Fox Hanrahan in 1978. He’s been here since. 
 
“I’ve always loved being a head coach,” Quinn says. “Not too many people get the opportunity to coach a nice program, as a head coach, when you’re twenty-three years old.” Then, with a laugh, he adds: “I started this job in the ‘70s, when I was in my 20s,” he says. “Now it’s the ‘20s, and I’m in my 70s! It’s kind of wild.” 

Quinn deflects praise for the success of the basketball program, insisting the credit belongs to his players and others who helped him. When asked about his overall record at STM, he replied by text: “I believe 1185-360.” 
 
Now, a new roster has arrived, eager to chase the same dreams as those who came before them. For Quinn, the cycle begins again, as natural as the changing seasons. 
 
Basketball still sustains him. The kid from a Queens parkway now walks each morning from his lakefront home to the STM gym, breathing the fresh Connecticut air. “It’s a nice living,” he says simply.
 
In many ways, Quinn is a modern-day Henry David Thoreau. He went into the woods to build a basketball program and guide young men toward college—and in the process discovered that he had everything he needed to live a full, contented life, far from distractions. 

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By Anthony Price 

​When Breanna Stewart returned to the court, fans exploded at the Barclays Center. The New York Liberty star—affectionately called “Stewie—was back after missing 13 games with a knee injury, and the energy in the arena felt like the greatest show not on Broadway.
 
The timing couldn’t have been better. Without their 6’-4” superstar, the Liberty stumbled to a 5–8 record, sliding from second place to fifth at 22-15. With her, they’re a contender again, and their sights are set firmly on defending their title. 

​For Liberty coach Sandra Brondello, Stewie isn’t just another player; she’s a once-in-a-generation talent. “Her being out was hard for her. It was hard for us,” Brondello admitted at the pregame press conference. “She loves the game of basketball, and she knows she can help us. She’s just got this relentlessness about her that can rub off on her teammates. She’s got the highest motor I have ever seen in a player that just keeps going and going—now tonight…she’s not going to be happy that I have to take her out all the time.”
 
For this game, Stewie was on a strict 20-minute limit. The goal was to help Stewie get her rhythm back, easing her back into the game. She would play for 20 minutes, 36 seconds.
 
“It’s just nice [she’s] out there,” Brondello said, “the vibe that she brings to the team and the confidence that she brings to the team—these are the intangibles that we’ve missed from this team this long month.” 

​The Young Sun 
 
The streaking Sun pulled into Gotham City on August 23, the winners of three games in a row. With five rookies and no playoff pressure, they played with nothing to lose.
 
What followed was a thriller. The Liberty were up by as many as 17 points, only to see the fearless Sun close the gap with the game coming down to the final possession. With 2.2 seconds left, Sabrina Ionescu swiped the ball away from rookie Leila Lacan—who led the Sun with 22 points—as she drove to an open basket. Experience prevailed. Liberty 81, Sun 79.

Stewie led the Liberty with 19 points, though it wasn’t vintage form. She shot an abysmal 4 of 12 from the field but redeemed herself by nailing 11 of 13 free throws. 
 
The Barclays crowd roared its approval, led by hip-hop legend Queen Latifah and R&B star Coco Jones flashing big smiles on the video monitor. 

UConn Made 
 
Stewie, a North Syracuse native, has been a fan favorite since coming to the Liberty in 2023 as the league’s top free agent. That same year, center Jonquel Jones left the Connecticut Sun to form a Liberty “big-three” alongside Stewie and 2020 No. 1 pick Sabrina Ionescu. The expectations soared in a city that hadn’t won a basketball championship since the ABA New York Nets in 1976. 
 
The growing pains came fast. The Liberty lost 3-1 to the Chicago Sky in 2023. But by 2024, Stewie delivered, leading New York to its first WNBA championship, beating the Minnesota Lynx 3 games to 2 at Barclays Center. 

​Stewie’s resume is unmatched. Drafted No. 1 by the Seattle Storm in 2016, she’s a three-time champion and has averaged 20.5 points, 8.5 rebounds, and 3.2 assists in her career. Her numbers are down slightly this season: 18 points, 6.5 rebounds and 3.5 assists. At 6’4”, with the skills of a shooting guard, she can play with her back to the basket and guard multiple positions on defense. 
 
Before the WNBA, of course, Stewie played college basketball at UConn, where the program seems to produce only generational talents, under the tutelage of timeless wonder Geno Auriemma. In her four-year career with the Huskies, she won four championships and four NCAA Tournament Most Outstanding Player awards —this feat should qualify her as the GOAT. 
 
Stewie, the only player to earn four, is UConn’s second all-time leading scorer with 2,676 points, trailing only Maya Moore.

​Making Power Moves in Business 
 
Off the court, Stewie has built a life as big as her game. She and her wife, former WNBA player Marta Xargay Casademont, are raising two kids while thriving in New York’s spotlight.
 
She co-founded “Unrivaled” with fellow UConn alumna, Napheesa Collier. Unrivaled is a Miami-based 3-on-3 league that pays its athletes six-figure salaries and puts players first. It’s already being hailed as a game-changer. 

​Her ventures don’t stop there. The Breanna Stewart Foundation supports women and youth initiatives in Syracuse through mentorship, sports, education and healthcare. She runs “Stewie 30,” an elite basketball camp for high school girls. Her apparel regularly sells out on her “Stewie’s World” website. She advocates fiercely for the WNBA union to get better pay. And she’s in constant demand as a corporate ambassador.
 
If her game has made her a star, her voice and vision may make her a legacy.

Another Championship?

At the postgame press conference, Stewie sat alongside Jones and coach Brondello. 
 
Stewie wore a black Nike tank top. “I felt great,” she said, smiling. “I was trying to get Sandy to let me play more minutes.” Her joke had the seriousness of a tax audit. “It was great to be back with the team.” 
 
Brondello wasn’t laughing about how close the game got. “They gave us a good battle,” she said of the Sun. “They are improving for a young group. They are young and athletic.” 
 
The regular season for the Liberty will end on Thursday, September 11, against the Chicago Sky. 
With Stewie healthy again, the Liberty have a real shot at back-to-back championships. 
 
But every dynasty needs a rival, and this one already has hers: Napheesa Collier. Teammates in business, opponents on the floor—only one can own the spotlight when the curtain rises in October.

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