Two teenage girls hold up their phones and scream as loud as they can. Azzi Fudd is about to make her way off the court and through the tunnel after Sunday’s win over Ohio State. This is the moment they’ve been waiting for. “AZZI!” they call, and she spots them, makes her way over and poses for a selfie. All three flash big, bright smiles.
Once Fudd exits under the stands and toward the locker room, the girls debrief. One can’t contain the emotion. She cups her face with her hands and squishes her cheeks upward before starting to cry. “I can’t believe it! I’m so happy,” she tells her friend.
The moment reminds me of another. Tears were also shed on that day, but not out of happiness. Fudd was the one crying, and her tears were out of fear and despair. On Dec. 10, 2024, just five games after Fudd made her return from an ACL and meniscus tear she endured in November of 2023, she left the court after colliding with a Louisville player. Fudd went to the bench with an apparent knee injury and coach Geno Auriemma sat down next to her. At that moment, they looked more like father and daughter rather than coach and player. Fudd’s eyes welled with tears and Auriemma wrapped her in a hug. “This is not going to go the way it did in the past,” he told her.
And whether or not Fudd believed him at the time, Auriemma was right. Fudd missed a few games with a sprained knee, but it was a mere blip in a poetic season that culminated with Fudd being named MOP in the Final Four and hoisting a national championship trophy.
The 2023-24 season was the second year in a row in which Fudd had endured serious knee injuries. She played just 15 games in the 2022-23 season, and then tore her ACL just two games into the 2023-24 slate. Fudd had also tore her ACL and MCL in high school, meaning it had been years since she’d had fully healthy knees.
After the season-ending injury in 2023, I remember telling a friend that I wouldn’t be surprised if Fudd hung it up for good. That we might never see her on a basketball court again. But that was me projecting my own weakness onto Fudd. And weakness is something she doesn’t have.
We’ve all seen that baby photo of Fudd. Her tiny right hand is Saran-Wrapped to her body, and her left hand holds a basketball that is nearly as big as she is. You don’t go from that little girl, wide-eyed with pig tails and ringlet curls, a Saran-Wrapped arm and huge smile, to someone who gives up. You don’t bet on yourself every single day as Fudd has, through high school, through AAU, through previous injuries, through USA basketball, through playing at UConn. You don’t do all of that with grace and grit and then say, “I’m done.”
Well I would have, but I’m not Azzi Fudd. And now I know better.
What a shame it would have been if she had shared my mentality. We wouldn’t get the Fudd we see now. The one who was named MOP in the Final Four. The one who hoisted the championship trophy. The one who’s comfortable and confident in who she is. The one who's dominating the basketball court. The one who brings teenage girls to tears of joy with one click of a selfie camera.
I’ve thought a lot about Fudd’s toughness over the last few seasons and how I wouldn’t have been able to do what she did. She showed a kind of resiliency that I’ve never had, but that I’d like to.
I can’t write about Fudd’s resilience without bringing up another player, who has inspired me in similar ways: South Carolina’s Raven Johnson.
Johnson endured an ACL injury of her own, but it’s a different kind of toughness that grabbed my attention.
During the 2023 Final Four, Johnson caught the ball on the 3-point line and Iowa’s Caitlin Clark waived her off. One small motion of the hand signified that Johnson was not a 3-point threat. That could have been bearable for Johnson if South Carolina proved victorious, but the Gamecocks lost, and the clip went viral. Johnson admitted that she felt embarrassed. The clip also emboldened people to say whatever they wanted about Johnson, and it got to the point where I would feel angry and hurt on her behalf when I’d see the online jabs.
Just as I wondered if Fudd would quit basketball when she was injured again, I wondered if Johnson would crumble under the overwhelming pressure of being a social media target. And once again, that was my weakness, not hers. Because Johnson flourished. She led her team to a national title in 2024, posting career-highs in points, assists, rebounds and steals, while also shooting 35 percent from beyond the arc. And after the Gamecocks defeated Iowa in the title game, Johnson proudly stated that “the revenge tour was over.”
But the cruelty people showed Johnson was not. The following season she was once again the subject of people’s disdain online. This time because people felt she should come off the bench or play less minutes in favor of MiLaysia Fulwiley, a talented sophomore with a penchant for scoring in bunches. This time, I didn’t need to wonder how Johnson would respond. I finally learned my lesson. She’s started this season once again posting career-highs in every category, including an impressive 3.5-1 assist-to-turnover ratio.
It’s been a privilege to watch how Fudd and Johnson have responded to their respective hardships. I’m a 30-year-old woman with a spouse, two cats and an established career. I’m the kind of person that should be dishing out lessons. Instead, I’m learning them.
I only truly understood resilience when I saw it displayed by two college basketball players.