WVU’s Guzman: A Picture of Humility and Skill
It started at a rather strange moment and place, no matter how you want to look at it — a rusted-out basketball hoop behind a forgotten church on the edge of Fairmont, West Virginia. A light drizzle fell that day, soaking the cracked asphalt, but one boy didn’t seem to care. There, in sneakers held together by tape and sheer will, Julian Guzman practiced his footwork, cutting sharply around invisible defenders with a focus that belied his 13 years.
Now, as a redshirt junior at West Virginia University, Guzman is known as much for his surgical ball-handling as he is for his quiet demeanor. At 6’1″, he’s not the most physically imposing guard in the Big 12, but his game is pure poetry in motion — deceptive hesitation dribbles, no-look passes with laser precision, and a three-point shot that arcs like a prayer and lands like an answer.
Coach Darrell Kennedy, a grizzled veteran of college hoops, calls him “the calm in the chaos.” In a league dominated by ego and showboating, Guzman stands out by blending in. No wild celebrations, no chest thumping — just a nod to the bench, a quick fist bump with teammates, and back to defense.
But it isn’t just skill that defines him. Humility is his signature. Last season, when he dropped 27 points, 9 assists, and 4 steals in a comeback win over Baylor, he deflected praise. “It was a team win,” he told the press, barely lifting his eyes from the microphone. “The guys made the shots. I just found them.”
Guzman’s story has echoes of folklore — the undersized kid who was overlooked by every major program outside the Mountain State. His highlight tapes didn’t go viral. He wasn’t ranked. What he had couldn’t be measured on paper — a sharp basketball IQ, a tireless work ethic, and a soul stitched together by hardship. His father, a coal miner, passed away when Julian was just 11. His mother worked two jobs to keep the lights on. Basketball was never a dream. It was an escape.
At WVU, Guzman carries that past with him — not as a burden, but as a foundation. His pregame routine includes a moment alone, eyes closed, whispering words only he understands. “It’s for him,” he once told an assistant coach. He didn’t need to say more.
This fall, NBA scouts are circling. Whispers of a late first-round pick grow louder with each game. Yet Guzman remains unmoved. “I’ll play where I’m needed,” he says, “and I’ll give it everything.” That’s always been the plan — not to be the star, but to make others shine.
A picture of humility and skill, indeed. Born from rain-slicked courts and a hunger to rise, Guzman reminds us that greatness doesn’t need noise — just heart, discipline, and a love for the game that never fades.
