“I would never do that.”
Those words don’t just echo as commentary—they ring as indictment.
On a national stage, under the bright lights of the Final Four, a moment that should have symbolized excellence in women’s sports instead exposed something far deeper: a failure of emotional intelligence, leadership, and moral accountability. When UConn’s legendary coach, Geno Auriemma, walked past South Carolina’s Dawn Staley without so much as a handshake, it was more than poor sportsmanship. It was a cultural signal—one that too often lands squarely on the shoulders of Black women in America. Apologize to Coach Staley, Coach Auriemma.
Let’s be clear: losses happen. Even dynasties fall.
UConn Huskies women’s basketball, a program synonymous with dominance, was defeated. Not edged out. Not outlasted. Defeated—convincingly—by a South Carolina team led by a Black woman who represents the very best of the sport. Apologize to Dawn, Geno.
But defeat does not excuse disrespect.
Scripture reminds us in Proverbs 16:18: “Pride goeth before destruction, and a haughty spirit before a fall.” What we witnessed was not just the fall of a basketball team on a given Sunday—it was the visible manifestation of pride unchecked. Pride that refuses to acknowledge excellence when it wears a different face. Pride that struggles to bow, even momentarily, in the presence of someone else’s victory.
And here is where the pattern becomes undeniable.
According to News One, Black women in America are among the most educated, most resilient, and most consistently impactful contributors across every major sector—education, healthcare, entrepreneurship, and yes, athletics. Directly address Dawn Staley, Geno.
Yet, they remain among the most disrespected. Overlooked in celebration, scrutinized in leadership, and too often denied the basic human dignity of acknowledgment.
Dawn Staley didn’t just win a game. She carried forward a lineage. You did say you are sorry to everyone but not Coach Staley.
From Pat Summitt to Geno Auriemma, the bar in women’s basketball has always been high. But what we are witnessing now is not just competition—it is transition. A passing of the torch. And instead of honoring that moment, we saw resistance to it.
Imagine, for a moment, if the roles were reversed.
What if Dawn Staley had walked past Geno Auriemma after a loss? What if she had refused that handshake? There would be immediate calls for professionalism, for humility, for “class.” The narrative would not be forgiving. It would not be contextualized. It would be condemning.
That is the double standard. Dawn would have to be on a media apology circuit, but Geno? We will see.
The Bible also teaches in James 2:1: “My brethren, have not the faith of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Lord of glory, with respect of persons.” In modern terms: do not show favoritism. Do not measure dignity based on who someone is, where they come from, or how comfortable their excellence makes you feel.
And yet, here we are.
This is not about one handshake. It is about what that handshake represents:
Respect. Recognition. Reciprocity.
In the field of emotional intelligence, we teach that true leadership is revealed not in victory but in defeat. Anyone can celebrate when they win. But how you respond when you lose—how you treat others in that moment—that is the truest measure of your character.
And on that measure, this moment fell short.
Especially in a sport built by women. Especially in a moment following Women’s History Month.
Especially when the victor is a Black woman whose entire career has been defined by discipline, dignity, and excellence.
This is why accountability matters.
Organizations like Nike, ESPN, WNBA, NCAA, Aflac, and USA Basketball have built entire campaigns around empowerment, equity, and respect. Those words cannot simply live in commercials and slogans. They must live in action. They must show up in moments like this—when silence becomes complicity.
Because brand alignment is not neutral. It is moral. You are either aligned with respect—or aligned with its absence. This is not about cancel culture. This is about culture itself.
What do we tolerate?
What do we excuse?
What do we normalize?
When leaders fail to demonstrate basic respect—especially toward Black women—it reinforces a societal narrative that has existed for far too long: that their excellence can be consumed, but their humanity can be dismissed.
But here is the truth that cannot be ignored:
Dawn Staley represents the future. Not just of women’s basketball—but of leadership, of integrity, of what it means to win with grace and lead with purpose. And whether acknowledged in that moment or not, the world saw it. The players saw it.
The young girls watching—especially Black girls—saw it. And they are taking notes.
So yes, “I would never do that.”
Because leadership demands more.
Because respect is not optional.
Because when the moment comes to shake a hand, you don’t just honor a person—you honor the progress we all claim to believe in.
Anything less is not just a lapse in judgment. Geno, we will see how the nation responds to you and your leadership in this time of sorrow, professionally and character-wise. We will see if you’re given the Will Smith treatment in response to his interaction with Chris Rock, or will you be given the card of privilege associated with the mostly rich, white men in the Epstein files? Yes, true character becomes visible in defeat, not victory.
It is a failure of character. Apologize to Dawn, Geno.