Like so many others I know, I got caught up in the magic of watching Iowa play basketball this season. It was extra special watching with my in-laws. My father-in-law is a proud native Iowan and U of I alum who loves to quote Field of Dreams, “Is this heaven? No, it’s Iowa.” 

Caitlin Clark is a joy to watch, the sort of player who can repeatedly hit a perfect three off a screen from 30 feet out. I imagine there are times even the opposing team has to just laugh and say, “Unbelievable.” 

Last Sunday afternoon, I felt genuine sadness watching the final minute of the final quarter dissolve, and it wasn’t because I had our life savings down on the championship game winner. 

It was a good story and I love good stories. Caitlin Clark with her record-breaking shots and uncanny ability to see the floor became our protagonist, and her teammates the astounding supporting characters. Kate Martin’s spin jump shots are amazing. Gabbie Marshall’s defense. Hannah Stuelke’s inside plays. They’re all amazing. 

The camaraderie that this team has brought to the game, drawing record crowds, has been unparalleled. Sunday’s title game was the most watched basketball game since 2019, men or women’s, college or pro. And unfairly, South Carolina, despite being the strongest team in the nation, got stuck in the role of villain boxing out a happy ending. 

After so many records broken, Caitlin Clark’s last move on the collegiate floor was a turnover. It felt like a terrible ending for the story. We wanted it to be in style—a final swish, on the buzzer, for the win. Anything less felt like the author flopped the last page.

But summarizing someone’s lifetime of achievements in a single forty minutes is silly and shortsighted. To quote Jules Michelet, “Le but n’est rien. Le chemin, c’est tout.” “Accomplishing the goal is nothing. The path getting there is everything.” (Translation by me. Interpret with caution)

When asked about her legacy, Clark said, “I guess going forward—and I’ve talked about this with my legacy—I don’t want my legacy to be, oh, Caitlin won X amount of games or Caitlin scored X amount of points. It’s I hope it’s what I was able to do for the game of women’s basketball. I hope it is the young boys and young girls that are inspired to play this sport or dream to do whatever they want to do in their lives.”

Watching Iowa this season has made me nostalgic for my own life, for the highs and valleys of 15 years ago, those basketball days with my dad I can’t return to. For me, real basketball is outdoors—an uneven driveway, a ball rubbed smooth from concrete, a rim set against a backdrop of towering trees, and a dad with plenty of opinions about my jump shot but even more love. He died about two months after the last game of my tenth grade season, a game which providentially happened to be a career high score for me of 39 points. 

The championship game my senior year of high school, I played with a badly sprained ankle. Minutes before tip-off, my teammates held up their hands to show me their fingernails. They’d painted my last name, one letter for each nail—YODER. 

Until that moment, I hadn’t fully grasped what I meant to my teammates and what the game meant to me. I hadn’t embraced that basketball was more than a game I played to make my dad proud but rather a part of growing up. It was about making choices that defined a future, not the choice to pass or shoot, but to pursue resiliency, discipline, humility, teamwork, sacrifice. Things I picked up on the court that I didn’t learn in math class.

Caitlin Clark didn’t become great while at University Iowa. Greatness happened a long time ago, probably in a driveway with an opinionated dad. No fans, no post-game interview. Just ten thousand decisions to practice and persevere. Her effort from childhood has become our joy today. 

Although my days of being able to navigate a box-on-one defense are long gone, Iowa has reminded me of the meaning of the game. The privilege it’s been to play and to cheer. The impact we can have when we choose resiliency and sacrifice.

Greatness isn’t the final score at the buzzer. Someday, Caitlin Clark’s name will recede from public conscience but her effect on others won’t. That’s the true meaning of legacy.