The Patrick Callahan Story: Starting from Zero

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Recruiting was mostly frustrating after the Fowler miss. The only in-state kids still available had three and four stars attached to their names. They weren’t answering calls or texts from Stonehill College coaches. Out-of-state kids who weren’t getting the love from the power programs responded to Patrick and his staff more often but still declined official visits.

Maybe Patrick was panicking. But after a solid in-home visit with JUCO center Brandon Dove, Callahan found himself offering the 6-9 player from Fishersville, Va. The kid had a great inside-out game and could score. Lax on defense and couldn’t pass worth a lick, but a potential beast on the boards.

Unfortunately, as soon as Patrick extended the offer, Dove ghosted him.

“So where do we stand?” Patrick asked when he finally got in touch with Brandon a few weeks later.

“Right now, you’re not on my list.”

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When practice started, Callahan decided to compromise. He pushed the motion offense hard during preseason workouts, using nearly every offensive period to teach it. But once games were imminent, he put motion in the background in favor of Five Out and Flex. Why fight against what his older guys knew well?

Defensively, he decided to introduce the 1-3-1 zone and a 2-2-1 half-court trap to the repertoire. But man-to-man would be the base defense most of the way, with the occasional full-court press.

He had no idea what to expect once the opening toss of game one came around. His team actually wasn’t as bad as those first impressions, but did their coach know what the heck he was doing?

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Great to have another new CB2025 dynasty on the boards. Good luck at Stonehill.

Thank you! Having fun so far!

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Point guard Charlie King had mouthed off one too many times. He was contentious most days, but Callahan had had enough after a Tuesday morning practice in the week leading up to the season opener. When King made a smart remark after being told to take his studies more seriously, Patrick kicked him out of practice.

And, trying to send a message to his team, suspended King for the first two games of the season. “I’m in charge around here. No lip.” His captains had his back.

Yikes, what a way to start your coaching career. The Stonehill AD squirmed. Not a good look to have discord already.

King showed up when Stonehill players were getting ready to leave for George Washington, the first opponent. “You’re not getting on the bus, Charlie,” Patrick said sternly. “You got tests later this week and now you have two full days to hit the books.”

King walked away, muttering under his breath about quitting everything.

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Patrick Callahan got what he wanted in the season opener at George Washington – a game played at breakneck speed. Roy Williams would be proud (did he even know where Stonehill College was?).

George Washington liked to run as much, if not more than, Stonehill. The pace was fast and furious. Both teams going on scoring runs, both teams clawing back from deficits. Stonehill built a seven point lead in the first half only to lose it. George Washington went ahead by as much as 11 after the break. But the Skyhawks refused to lay down.

Stonehill had a chance to win at the buzzer. But a jumper from Bryan Washburn clanged off the rim. GW 89, Stonehill 89. Overtime!

The Skyhawks were gassed in the extra period. George Washington forward Greg Dixon wasn’t and he took over, scoring eight of his 24 points. In the end, the home team prevailed 108-103. Whew!

Callahan was modestly upbeat afterward. Thirteen players saw the court – and played better than his wildest dreams (he envisioned losing by 50). Four starters finished in double figures in scoring, led by Will Lucas 20 and Tom Fredrick 18. There was a lot to like, aside from the fact the Skyhawks couldn’t stop anybody.

Patrick called his parents after the game. “This college basketball coaching thing is fun,” he said. A lot better than 6 a.m. inventory at Home Depot, that’s for sure.

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Game two was the home opener. Holy Cross was coming to town, and for coach Patrick Callahan this felt like a must-win already. He kept running across Holy Cross coaches on the recruiting trail. Beating the Crusaders on the court felt necessary to establish the proper pecking order among smaller programs in the region.

In the first half, Stonehill set Merkert Gymnasium on fire. Patrick’s team had never practiced this well. Will Lucas buried a trio of three-pointers. Bryan Washburn bullied his way inside, converting multiple old-school three-point plays. The Skyhawks led 47-27 at the break. Sizzle!

While Stonehill cooled the jets after intermission, the team still gave Callahan his first victory as a college coach, 83-72. Lucas and Washburn finished with 19 points each. Guard Anton Monroe added 13. The team hit 31 of 37 foul shots. Where had that come from? The guys hate practicing free throws most days.

Athletics director Jack Doherty might have been the most excited of all. “I told you,” he kept telling boosters, patting them hard on the shoulders. “I told you I found the right guy.”

“Jack, it’s just one win. Chill.”

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But it wasn’t just one win.

Stonehill captured the next two games as well. The Skyhawks toppled Brown 81-69 on the road, with Monroe pitching in 19 points and Washburn grabbing 10 boards.

Then, they turned heads by upsetting Northwestern, 84-80, in Evansville. The Wildcats had led by eight points early, then Stonehill surged, building as much as a 16-point lead in the second half. Northwestern clawed back, and Callahan wondered if his team might run out of gas at the end. Thankfully, they didn’t this time.

It was a balanced effort, with even Charlie “Crabby” King, seeing the court for the first time since his suspension, providing eight crucial points.

“I’m just glad you passed your history exam,” Patrick told him afterward with a wink. King smirked.

Patrick called home from the locker room to celebrate with his folks but for some reason they didn’t pick up. He tried again and again. Still nothing. That wasn’t like them.

Finally, while the team rode a charter to the airport (thankful not to have to bus the full 15 hours back to Massachusetts), Patrick’s phone buzzed. It was his mom.

“Did you watch the game, mom? Wasn’t that amazing? We beat a Big Ten team! On their home floor. We might get on ESPN!”

There was an awkward pause for several seconds. “Mom?”

“Patrick, your grandmother is really sick. We’re not sure she’s going to make it.”

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Patrick’s heart was heavy as he knelt by Grandma Rose’s recliner. Her hands, veined and trembling, continued to clutch the old rosary she’d carried for decades—dark wooden beads worn smooth by years of devotion, a silver crucifix dulled from countless touches.

Patrick felt the pangs of regret. He had moved away months ago, totally focused on basketball and his new life, and had done very little to keep up with family. He had no idea she was this sick. His brothers all said she had gone downhill fast.

Patrick leaned in for a last hug as other family members approached, but as he pulled away he felt his grandmother prying his palm open. She then placed the wooden rosary into his hands, her grip surprisingly firm.

It had always been her treasure, a relic from her own grandmother, whispered about in the family like a holy grail. Everyone assumed it would go to Patrick’s cousin Christopher, the priest, with his collar and his quiet sermons—Christopher, who’d spent summers memorizing and exploring the mysteries with her. Certainly not Patrick, the lukewarm Catholic (on his best day), who had spent his life chasing timeouts instead of vespers.

When she pressed it into his palm, the room went still. “Patty,” she whispered, her voice a thread, “You carry this now. It’s kept me steady—keep it close when you’re lost.”

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Grandma Rose slipped into eternity just past midnight, her last breaths cradled by the family’s murmured prayers for a happy death—decades of rosaries answered in that quiet room.

Patrick stayed until dawn, hollow-eyed but holding her rosary, its beads now his tether. By 8 a.m., he was on a flight from RDU to Boston, bound for Stonehill and his new life, a game against Virginia Tech drawing closer.

As the wheels lifted, surprisingly so did a burden Patrick had carried too long. Freedom—sharp and new—flooded him, cutting through years of guilt.

He’d always felt her disappointment like a shadow. Grandma Rose had glowed over Christopher, the oldest of the grandchildren and the priest—her pride spilling into every nudge for Patrick and the other grandsons to follow that path.

“The Church needs you,” she’d say, while he’d dodge her gaze, basketball stats and cheerleader crushes cluttering his mind. Sports had been his rebellion, and he’d worn the shame of letting her down like a too-tight jersey. But now, with her rosary in his hands, he saw it: she had blessed him, not for a collar, but for a clipboard. She’d known all along this was his vocation. She had seen it even before he had.

He landed in Massachusetts, ran that day’s practice with a new spring in his step, and prepared for Stonehill’s trip to Blacksburg. “We’re going to beat these guys,” Patrick told his team afterward. Even the ever-crabby Charles King seemed convinced.

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Patrick’s mom had left a message on his phone during his practice. The funeral Mass would be two days after the Virginia Tech game and two days before a home date with Lafayette. Patrick would fly home again and let his assistants run practices in his stead while paying his last respects.

As he left the empty gym that evening, he made a handful of pledges to his grandmother – and to himself. Yes, he would start going back to Mass. Every Sunday. Maybe during the week, too. Yes, he would relearn the rosary and try to pray it as often as he could.

And, if this college coaching thing did somehow work out, he committed to only entertaining offers from Catholic schools.

“Yes, even Notre Dame,” he said out loud as if every Fighting Irish fan in his family – there were plenty, though he had never been one of them – were standing right there with him.