It’s just a game.
Payton Sandfort tells himself these words. Or at least, he tries to. His grandfather always repeated the mantra. His father echoes the message whenever he can. But sometimes the message reverberates like a dribble on a barren court amid an empty arena — hollow. The sound travels, but no one’s around to hear it.
Playing before thousands of fans at Carver-Hawkeye Arena and across the Midwest, Sandfort’s worldview shrinks to new dimensions. What happens inside the 94 by 50-foot hardwood rectangle dictates his emotions. The numbers on the Jumbotron overhead reflect his facial expressions.
But it’s not a matter of life and death. At least, that’s what he tells himself. He’s a 22-year-old kid from Waukee, Iowa, living out a dream.
Social media has a different message.
“A lot of people quitting on us,” Sandfort said ahead of Iowa’s latest matchup against Michigan State. “I got death threats. I’ve got all sorts of stuff this season, but I never quit.”
Sandfort had the opportunity to turn professional at the end of last season but bypassed a potential NBA future to return to his home state and guide the team he grew up watching back to the NCAA tournament.
But those aspirations haven’t materialized yet. The 16-15 Hawkeyes need to win the Big Ten tournament to punch their ticket to the Big Dance. Prospective teams will glance at Sandfort’s numbers and notice declines in points per game and shooting percentages from the floor, three-point range, and the charity stripe. Team failure is compounded by personal struggles, all the while trying to play hurt. That’s the reality of Sandfort’s final season in the Black and Gold, and the pressure to alter that reality became a burden.
“I can’t imagine there’s that many people who hate to lose more than I do,” Sandfort said. “I pretty much beat myself up from the minute it ends until the next game starts … I think my pursuit of being as good as I can has paralyzed me at times, and it’s affected my play.”
Following Iowa’s loss to Utah in the second round of the NIT last season, Sandfort and Iowa head coach Fran McCaffery attended the NBA Combine. Pre-draft workouts and negotiations on a two-way contract between an NBA team and its G League affiliate gave the forward a tangible preview of a post-college career. But Sandfort wasn’t at 100 percent health that summer, dealing with injuries that disrupted the rhythm of his offseason.
Regardless of injuries, a return to Iowa for a final season, joining forces with his younger brother Pryce for another year won out in Sandfort’s mind. But four games into the regular season, the physical health he worked to regain got knocked off kilter. A fracture in his right wrist suffered against Washington State added discomfort to his shooting form.
Sandfort finished the game, playing 32 minutes against the Cougars, and spent the next few contests managing the pain as the Hawkeyes shifted to their Big Ten schedule. It didn’t take long for the forward to find his groove again, knocking down at least 50 percent of his field goal attempts in five of seven games.
“He’s somebody that serious about his craft,” McCaffery said. “He loves to play and he loves to work. It’s not work, it’s what he does.”
Sandfort’s work soon became restricted to watching. On Jan. 17, he wound up on the bench in street clothes, a sling on his left arm and a dejected look on his face as the Hawkeyes closed out a dismal West Coast trip with a blowout loss to UCLA. What he hoped to be a season marked by a crescendo of triumph became staccato. The Hawkeyes went 3-9 over their next 12 games before an upset against Nebraska qualified them for the conference tournament.
“It’s hard to see those good moments when we’re going through a stretch like we’re in right now,” Sandfort said. “It feels like there’s a black cloud hanging over you.”
Sandfort never missed a game, but he also never escaped nagging ailments this season. In the Hawkeyes’ home finale against the Spartans, he was the last player to arrive on the court for warmups after receiving treatment by athletic trainers. But Sandfort jogged onto the court with his head held high, his eyes perhaps recognizing the silver lining and his mind realizing what it’s constantly repeated to itself. It’s just a game.
Taking the podium after the loss to Michigan State, Sandfort proudly sported two cuts on his right bicep and a gaping hole near the bottom of his white jersey — evidence of a physical game — but the smile on Sandfort’s face revealed more. The sport that he loves did its best to make him hate it, but its struggles only amplified his appreciation. This season is the one he’s most proud of.
“This isn’t the season that we really wanted to be defined by, but this is like the person that I am, what I want to be defined by,” he said. “When times were toughest and things weren’t going well, I stayed true to my character.”