Tucker DeVries sat on the edge of his bed, his phone screen glowing in the dim light of his dorm room. The room, filled with the lingering smell of fresh laundry and fast food, now felt strangely empty. He had just hit “submit” on the transfer portal application, and it felt like the weight of the world had been lifted off his shoulders. The decision was made. Tucker wasn’t sure if he felt relief or sadness—maybe both. His dad’s voice echoed in his mind, the constant reminder of the legacy that had shaped him since he was a child.
“You’ve got big shoes to fill, son,” his father always said, smiling with that knowing grin. His dad, a former WVU legend, had left a trail of accolades that would be hard for anyone to follow. The golden boy of the Mountaineers, a player revered across the state, and a father whose shadow Tucker could never quite escape.
But Tucker was tired of being defined by his father’s greatness. Tired of hearing, “You’re just like your dad.” He had always been proud of his dad, but the pressure, the expectation to mirror every dribble, every shot, every victory—it was suffocating. No matter what he achieved, it was always compared to the man who had already set the bar impossibly high.
For years, Tucker had played in his father’s footsteps, always trying to prove he was worthy of the same name. His father’s jersey still hung in the rafters of WVU’s Coliseum, a constant reminder of a past that was both a privilege and a burden. Tucker had been good—very good—but his heart told him he could be something even more. Something different.
Tucker remembered the first time he realized he needed a change. It was last season, during a game against a rival school. He had nailed a three-pointer to put his team ahead, and the crowd had erupted into applause. His teammates piled onto him, shouting, “Just like your dad!” He smiled, but deep down, something inside him had cracked. He didn’t want to be just like his dad. He wanted to carve out his own path, play for himself, not for the name on the back of his jersey.
It wasn’t an easy decision to walk away from WVU. The coaches had supported him, the fans had loved him, and there were still dreams of playing in the NBA. But none of that mattered anymore. His love for the game was buried under the weight of other people’s expectations.
“I’m not leaving because I don’t love this place,” Tucker whispered to himself, his fingers gripping the edge of the bed. “I’m leaving because I need to be me.” He thought of the schools he had spoken with, the new opportunities, the fresh start. A new team, a new home. Somewhere he could shed the shadow of his father’s legacy and finally play his game.
His phone buzzed. It was a message from his dad. “I saw. Proud of you, Tucker. It’s your turn now.”
A lump formed in Tucker’s throat. His father, for all the pressure he had unknowingly put on him, had finally given his blessing. It was the first time he felt like his father saw him—not as the next “great” or the heir to a dynasty, but as his own man.
Tucker stared at the screen for a long moment before typing back. “Thanks, Dad. I’ve got this.”
As he hit send, a small smile curled on his lips. For the first time in years, Tucker DeVries wasn’t just a son, a legacy, or a name. He was Tucker DeVries—a player ready to build his own story.