“We All Just Cried”: What It Was Like for a Team to Learn Its Dream Was Over Because of COVID-19
By Eric He
Megan Griffith, the head coach of the Columbia women’s basketball program, was working out on an exercise bike at the Dodge Fitness Center before a 10 a.m. practice on March 10 when she received a text from her athletic director, Peter Pilling, asking if they could talk.
Griffith was excited for practice. It was the Tuesday before the Ivy League Tournament that weekend, and Columbia had made it into the postseason tourney for the first time after its first winning season in a decade. She was going to start with a film session on Princeton, the Lions’ first opponent in the tournament on Friday. Two more wins would mean a berth in the NCAA Tournament.
But when Griffith stopped by Pilling’s office on her way down to the court, she saw him turn white.
“I have terrible news,” Pilling said. “The tournament’s been canceled.”
Downstairs at the court, Griffith’s players were already warming up, shooting around. Not wanting to blindside her entire staff, she ran to the balcony above the stands and called her assistant coaches up.
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Before the Ivy League canceled the tournament that Tuesday due to COVID-19, no other major sporting events in the United States had been called off yet. The previous day, the number of coronavirus cases in New York had risen to 142. Columbia had switched to online classes for the week ahead of spring break. There were rumors that the tournament and other sporting events might be played without fans.
But at the time, the players had no idea how the sports landscape would be altered in the next week. They were coming off a rough weekend with back-to-back losses to Princeton and Penn. They just wanted to have a good practice. And Tuesdays were always hard practice days.
“There was talk picking up about the coronavirus,” said senior team captain Janiya Clemmons. “For us, it wasn’t that serious at the time … Never did it cross our minds that our games would be impacted or that they would start canceling stuff. No one was even thinking along those lines.”
The day before, Griffith had been on a conference call in which she had been told that the tournament was still on. But less than 24 hours later, standing in Pilling’s office with her coaching staff, they had to break the news to the players.
Downstairs at the court, the clock ticked past 10:20 a.m. Players tried to stay loose, shooting around and chatting.
“We were speculating: ‘What happened, what’s going on?’” said sophomore forward Sienna Durr.
Rap music blared from the speakers. At one of the center courts, Clemmons and freshman guard Abbey Hsu engaged in a shooting contest.
“I didn’t even notice when all the coaches disappeared,” Clemmons said. “I just realized I was shooting for a really long time. And then I looked around. I was like ‘OK, what’s going on?’”
Finally, the coaches re-appeared through the double-doors. Pilling was with them, dressed neatly in business attire. That was not a good sign. During Griffith’s playing days at Columbia, she had only seen her athletic director address the team once in a closed, intimate setting — that was to tell them that their coach had been fired midseason.
“As soon as [Pilling] walked into the gym with us, our team knew something was up,” Griffith said.
Griffith blew her whistle and yelled at everyone to circle up. The music stopped. The team gathered around halfcourt. Pilling began speaking, almost in a whisper.
“I was straining to hear what he was saying,” Clemmons said.
Clemmons had waited four years to play in the Ivy League Tournament. That coming weekend would possibly be her final moments in a Columbia uniform and Friday was the biggest game of her career. When Pilling said that the tournament had been canceled, Clemmons didn’t initially react because it didn’t seem real. But then, Pilling addressed her.
“Sorry Jay,” Pilling said. “You had a great career.”
You had a great career. The emotions sunk in. Clemmons realized she had already played her last game. She was not going to be able to compete for an Ivy League championship. The season was over.
“Usually, you’re prepared to play your last game,” Durr said. “Nobody went in thinking that Penn was our last game. We knew we had more. We had another chance to go out and redeem ourselves in the Ivy League Tournament.”
Until they suddenly didn’t.
Pilling left the circle and walked back out the double-doors, leaving Griffith to address her team. She told her players she had just found out, too. That she had been thinking in the last 15 minutes about what to say to them. That she was sorry. That it was okay to be confused, to be mad. But if somebody was making this decision, it was out of the best interest of the team and every other student-athlete in the Ivy League. She wasn’t against it. She wasn’t for it. They just had to accept it.
There were tears, sniffles, heavy breaths. Some players put their arms around each other. Others dabbed their eyes with their jerseys.
“The feelings you’re feeling, let it out,” Griffith told them, through tears. “It’s not fair. I’m very, very sorry. I know it’s not my fault. But I am so sorry. I am so proud of you.”
From across the circle, Clemmons tried to stifle her feelings. She knew she had taken a big hit, but the news was just as devastating to Griffith, who had her bag packed for the tournament since the season began. Together, the pair had been through a four-year journey since Griffith took the job before Clemmons’ freshman season, culminating in the program’s first appearance in the Ivy League tournament.
Clemmons wanted to be strong, to not have Griffith feel too bad for her.
“But none of that worked,” Clemmons said. “We all just cried.”
The team left the circle, unsure of what to do. They were all dressed for a practice that wasn’t happening. There was lots of hugging, embracing and more crying. Some sat down and just stared at the court. Others grabbed basketballs and instinctively began shooting again.
Clemmons was the first to leave the court. She reached the stairs and began to break down. She kept walking into the locker room and sat down in shock. One of her teammates suggested they go to the punching bags. Clemmons and two others put on gloves. They started punching, kicking and screaming. Then, they went to the weight room and did curls and pull-ups, running through the rack until Clemmons was sore.
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The team met again that day in the afternoon, at a restaurant off-campus. They didn’t talk about what happened that morning, but instead tried to figure out what was next. Some players wanted to fly home immediately. There was still an outside shot at a bid in the WNIT, which at that point had not yet been canceled.
But mostly, they just enjoyed each other’s company for what would be the final time until next season. It was relaxed and casual. They were smiling and hugging.
“I’m glad it wasn’t so emotional the last time we were all together,” Griffith said. “It was a good time. … It was them. It was them being them. I’m grateful.”
Still, a sadness hung over the air. To some, the decision felt personal, like the Ivy League was being unfair. Every other conference’s postseason tournament was still on schedule. Clemmons and the rest of the seniors in the league — whose careers had abruptly ended — expressed their feelings in a group chat. A petition circulating on Change.org called “Reinstate the Ivy League Tournament” received over 15,000 signatures. The question was universal: Why were they being forced to stay at home while everyone else kept playing?
“You don’t want to admit there is a ‘why us’ mentality, but when it’s something that important, it’s hard not to feel like that,” Durr said.
The next day, the NBA season was postponed after Utah Jazz star Rudy Gobert tested positive for the coronavirus, and soon the rest of the sports world would follow in shutting down indefinitely. The WNIT, the NCAA Tournament — everything would be canceled. The situation quickly became bigger than the Ivy League and less personal for the athletes. This wasn’t just Ivy League presidents brushing aside sports, or a single group of people who were being affected.
The cancellation was not a rash decision, and one in hindsight that will make the Ivy League look prescient in being the first conference to call off games outright.
“I don’t think anybody knew how serious this would all be,” Griffith said. “If you knew what we knew today, it would make total sense.”
For now, Griffith is at home and the team is too, scattered around the country after Columbia asked students to move out of housing. Like every other athlete, they are riding out this unprecedented situation until it’s safe to be back on the court with each other.
“We don’t need to be bringing people together,” Griffith said. “Unfortunately, that’s what sports does. That’s why we love sports. It brings people together. At this time in our world, we can’t be doing that.”
Eric He is a student in Class of 2020 in the Columbia Graduate School of Journalism’s Stabile Investigative Program.
