A Note on Chad’s Decision to Enter the Transfer Portal
I don’t think I’ve quite processed it yet—Chad entering the transfer portal. Of all the possible outcomes we’d been bracing for this offseason, this wasn’t one I had seriously considered. If you’d asked me last month, even last week, what Chad’s next move would be, I would have told you, almost without hesitation, that he was NBA-bound. There was always a quiet confidence that this season was likely his last here, but it was wrapped up in excitement for what would come next for him at the professional level—not in fear of losing him to another program.
The idea that we might lose him to the portal? That was never part of the script.
I remember when Chad first committed. He was one of those players who brought energy with him before he ever stepped on the court. The kind of recruit who shifts the tone of a program the second his name is linked to it. Everyone started paying a little more attention. The fan base buzzed. Local sports talk shows spent more time than usual breaking down his high school tape, projecting how he’d fit, where he’d make an impact. And from the moment he arrived, he delivered.
He wasn’t perfect—no young player is—but his game had this raw edge of potential wrapped in flashes of brilliance that made it clear: this kid was going to be special. And he was. You could see it in how he improved month to month, game to game. You could feel it every time he had the ball in his hands during a close one. He had that intangible factor, the kind you can’t teach.
That’s why this stings so much. It’s not just about the points, the assists, the defensive stops, the way he could take over the momentum of a game with a single possession. It’s about what he meant. What he could have meant if he’d stayed one more season.
But the portal? That hits different. Losing a guy to the NBA is bittersweet. You miss them, sure—but you’re proud. You celebrate them. You brag about them. “That’s our guy,” you say, when he’s drafted. You follow him into Summer League, then hopefully to a solid rookie year. There’s pride in that loss. It feels earned. You feel like a stepping stone in a much larger journey.
The portal, though… that’s more uncertain. You don’t really get that clean sense of closure. And in Chad’s case, it almost feels like a break-up we didn’t see coming. No long goodbye. No senior night farewell. Just… gone.
And let’s be clear: there’s no bitterness toward him. How could there be? College basketball is changing. The transfer portal is a powerful tool for players, and I respect that. They should have agency. They should have the ability to make decisions that align with their goals, their values, their situations. I’m not mad at Chad. But I am shocked. I’m confused. I’m honestly just sad.
What’s hard to wrap my head around is why. Not because I believe our program is flawless or because I think he owed us anything—but because from the outside looking in, this felt like a natural, almost inevitable, next step: Chad declares for the NBA Draft, enters the pre-draft process, gets feedback, maybe signs with an agent, and we all say thank you and good luck. That was the story I thought we were in.
Instead, we’re rewriting the final chapter—and none of us know how it ends.
There’s been speculation, of course. Maybe he wants a bigger stage. Maybe he wants a different system, more exposure, a coach who can sell him better to NBA scouts. Maybe it’s NIL. In this new era of college sports, those financial decisions aren’t small ones. And I don’t blame him if that’s the reason. At all. If there’s a chance to secure life-changing money before the draft? You take that. Still, it leaves us feeling like something was lost. Something that didn’t have to be.
And yet, maybe it’s more than any of those things. Maybe it’s personal. Maybe there’s stuff behind the scenes none of us are privy to—team dynamics, academic goals, relationships, a desire to be closer to family. We so often forget these players are still just young men trying to navigate a thousand expectations from coaches, fans, family, and themselves. It’s easy to project, to assume, to analyze like we’re all insiders. But maybe Chad just needed a change. Maybe, for reasons he doesn’t owe any of us an explanation for, he felt it was time to move on. And who are we to argue with that?
Still, the impact on the program is undeniable. Chad wasn’t just a good player—he was a program guy. The kind of player that recruits want to play with. That fans rally around. That wins you close games and puts you in the tournament conversation every single year. Replacing him isn’t going to be easy. Maybe it’s not even possible in the short term. He brought so much more than numbers to the table—leadership, poise, and a sense of identity. We’ll have to find a way to rebuild all of that now.
There’s also the emotional side of this. Chad had become part of the culture here. You’d see kids in the stands wearing his jersey. You’d hear his name shouted in the student section before games. You’d see his highlights shared on every social platform. He wasn’t just another player—he was this team in a lot of ways. And that kind of presence doesn’t vanish quietly. It leaves a void. A noticeable one.
The locker room’s going to feel different without him. So is the bench. So is the court. And maybe, eventually, we’ll look back at this and say it was all for the best—for both sides. Maybe he thrives somewhere new. Maybe we find a new identity, a new leader, someone who steps up in ways we didn’t expect. That’s the hope, anyway.
But right now? It just feels like loss.
I’m trying to remember that this is a part of the game now. The portal giveth and the portal taketh away. It’s changed the calculus for everyone—coaches, players, fans. No one is immune. You build around a player, invest in their growth, build relationships, and then in a flash, they’re gone. It’s the new normal, but that doesn’t mean it hurts any less when it happens to your guy.
And Chad was our guy.
That doesn’t change with this decision. I’ll still root for him. I’ll still follow where he lands, and I’ll still hope he makes it to the league. Because he should. His talent, his work ethic, his ceiling—it’s all there. And maybe this move is exactly what he needs to make that leap. Maybe it’s the launchpad he’s been waiting for. I’ll support that, even if it’s hard.
I just wish we’d gotten one more season.
I wish we’d gotten to send him off with confetti, with a packed arena chanting his name, with a banner maybe, or at least a proper goodbye. He earned that. We earned that. Instead, it feels like we’re left reading the headlines like everyone else, trying to piece together what went wrong—or maybe just what changed.
In the end, we’ll move on. We always do. New recruits come in. The next season starts. Someone else wears the number. But if I’m being honest, Chad won’t be forgotten here anytime soon. He left his mark. In stat sheets, sure—but more importantly, in memories. Big shots, bigger plays, moments that reminded us why we love this game in the first place.
So, wherever you end up, Chad—thank you.
Thank you for the games, for the passion, for the heart. Thank you for the excitement, the effort, and for giving us a reason to believe. Thank you for being the kind of player we could be proud of, no matter where your path leads next.
You’ll always have a fanbase here.
And we’ll be watching.
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