Book excerpt: Dawn Staley’s ‘Uncommon Favor’ explores her basketball career and life lessons

Have you ever had a difficult time being in the moment? When your mind wanders to different places and times, and you ruminate on days gone by or what could have been? That was me my opening semesters in college.

I was miserable.

I was chippy.

I wanted to go home, and everyone knew it.

It wasnt anything I had to verbalize; it was obvious in my behavior.

I shuffled through the grounds with my head down, eschewing eye contact with anyone who passed by.

I hid in my room.

I was largely mute.

My only bright spot was playing ball.

If I could have stayed in the gym all day, I would have.

Unfortunately, in college, they expect you to attend class.

I went, but I was uncomfortable every day.

Unfocused.

At best a mediocre student, I wasnt prepared for the academic rigors of UVA.

As far as I was concerned, I was there to play ball.

Academics were a means to an end.

I found myself gravitating less to school and seeking out local courts throughout Charlottesville.

I went where the townies played.

The games on those outdoor courts werent as hardcore as those Id played in the projects, but I got to mix it up with the guys.

The looser, harder style reminded me of home.

I guess I was trying to replicate what I had back in Philly.

The rough-and-tumble outdoor games that raised me.

A place where I understood the rules.

My attitude and detachment began to show up in my grades.

Neglecting my studies and social life had put my basketball scholarship in jeopardy.

It was only my first year, and they were contemplating kicking me out.

Before long, I was summoned to the deans office.

Understand, Im nineteen years old, drowning in anxiety, itchy in my skin in every way.

There was less than a snowballs chance in hell this come-to-Jesus was going to go well.

I walked into my sit-down with the dean and made no eye contact.

Not an auspicious beginning when youre trying to convince someone to keep you around.

Now, Coach Debbie Ryan probably set the stage ahead of time.

Im sure she warned the dean I wasnt the best communicator off the court.

Gave my background.

I was terminally shy! But a once-in-a-generation point guard! My job was to charm and connect with the dean, be the closer, and persuade the school I should not be dismissed.

But instead, like clockwork, North Philly showed up.

After a few introductory niceties, the dean gave me a once-over, then said, Youre going to have to start conforming to the way we do things here at Virginia.

Conform? If it were a movie, this wouldve been where youd hear the needle-scratch sound effect.

In my head, my monologue was like, Im not conforming.

Im not kissing nobodys ass.

And certainly not the asses of these preppy white people, these elitist jerks.

No, Im going to be myself.

Always.

So yeah, this is me.

Take it or leave it.

My white-hot reaction was set off by that one word.

Conform.

My interior dialogue was all fiery Philly talk.

While my exterior communication was ice-cold crossed arms and cutting eyes.

In the moment, I wasnt getting it.

Id dug myself a hole, with no clear escape.

There I was, allegedly fighting for my scholarship and future as a player, and I was allowing one word to pull the pin on my emotional grenade.

I know this now as an adult.

But in that room, I doubled down on attitude.

Now, I will say, and I know this as a coach, sometimes word choice is everything to young people.

If instead of conform, the dean had said pivot or adjust, maybe I would have received the message.

But this was 1989.

Coaches and deans and ADs werent amending their vernacular to avoid offending kids.

It was a different time.

Nobody cared if you were insulted or hurt.

I exited the deans office without saying two words.

I didnt fall on my sword.

I didnt have that in me at the time.

I resentfully listened.

Then I left.

Debbie had to go back and do cleanup.

She probably needed a hazmat suit.

She begged the dean: I hear you, but we need to keep her.

Debbie had been head coach at Virginia since 1977, back when money for womens sports was what you dug out of your couch cushions.

In those days, female players often didnt even have their own locker rooms.

Or bathrooms.

They had to use the mens or make do.

Uniforms, equipment, all of it was hand-me-down.

Womens teams traveled by bus, players washed their own jerseys.

All to say, Debbie was used to fighting hard fights.

When youre young, you dont know what you dont know.

I was ignorant, incredibly ignorant to be honest.

I wasnt thinking about the context of all that came before me.

Or what I was risking by being willful.

I needed a wake-up call.

...

At Virginia, my wakeup call was coming from inside the house.

After I had a chance to process my meeting with the dean and the severity of what shed threatened, something stirred in me.

I digested the risk to my goals at hand.

If I didnt change, I wouldnt be able to remain in the game.

My eligibility would be revoked.

I realized I had to play ball to play ball.

In the end, wrong language or not, I needed to hear that message, because I was not going back home to North Philly a dropout.

I knew better than to toss my ambitions away for pride or let my shyness and obstinance derail my dreams.

I wasnt going to beat myself.

I pulled my shoulders back, took a deep breath, and returned to what I knew would motivate me: competition.

I flipped my staying on at UVA into a way of competing against the dean.

I made my grades about competing with my classmates.

Just like with basketball, when Im challenged, Im better.

Ill do whatever I need to do to win.

I knew if I was going to survive at UVA, I needed to deliberately alter my habits.

This was an uncomfortable realization and an even more uncomfortable process.

But it was grow or fold.

I wasnt folding.

Its not where you start, its where you finish.

This article originally appeared in The Athletic .

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