STORM IN THE DESERT: ST. JOHN’S FEELS THE COST OF GROWING UP TOO FAST

By Jason Safford | Relentless Redstorm

Las Vegas held its breath. The sand outside shimmered in the noon sun. The players walked into Michelob Ultra Arena and felt the heat rise at their backs. The sound grew strong. The gym filled. The game began. And everything that followed grabbed the soul of St. John’s and squeezed it tight. Iowa State won 83 to 82. One point. One shot. One game that may shape the whole season ahead.

This loss felt sharp. It felt cruel. It felt like a lesson carved into bone. The Red Storm played with heart. They played with fight. They played with courage. They also showed cracks. They also showed youth. They also showed how far they must go to become the monster Rick Pitino wants.

This was not a blowout. This was not a collapse. This was a test of soul. It was a mirror. It told the truth. And the truth was hard.

THE FIRST WOUND

The noise cracked early. Iowa State hit eight of its first eleven shots. The Cyclones moved with purpose. They screened hard. They cut sharp. They fired from deep with clean confidence. St. John’s did not. The Red Storm gave them space. The guards lost shooters on screens. The bigs rotated late. Iowa State built a 23 to 13 lead that felt heavy.

This game turned brutal on the glass right away. Iowa State pulled down ten offensive boards in the first half alone. They finished with twenty two second chance points. St. John’s had eighteen. The Cyclones punished every slip in footwork. Every missed box out. Every late jump.

Pitino warned this would happen. He called Iowa State one of the hardest teams to play. He said their defensive rebounding was relentless. He said they were very physical. He said every possession would matter. And it did.

THE COUNTERPUNCH

St. John’s bent. They did not break. They scored fast. They scored in space. They flew up the floor. Dylan Mitchell lit the crowd with a slam that snapped the tension like a thin rope. Oziyah Sellers found his touch. Bryce Hopkins worked inside with long steps and calm shoulders. Zuby Ejiofor crashed the boards like a hammer. And the run took shape.

The Red Storm sliced the ten point deficit into dust. They went on a 21 to 6 run. Iowa State went from comfort to panic. The score flipped to 36 to 31 St. John’s. The building shook. The St. John’s bench rose. The fans who traveled from Queens roared loud.

The rhythm felt new. The speed felt clean. The Storm ran their game. They played free. They played brave. Sellers looked smooth. Hopkins looked strong. Ejiofor looked like a leader. And Mitchell looked like a force made in a lab. The Red Storm led 45 to 43 at the break.

This was the ascent. It felt like a beginning. It felt like a promise.

THE CLIMB AND THE FALL

The second half began like the first. Iowa State punched again. They hit a 6 to 0 run. The Red Storm missed shots. They missed passes. They missed rebounds. The Cyclones looked older. They looked stronger. They looked like they trusted every detail of their system.

St. John’s looked surprised. They looked confused. They looked like a team searching for its next breath. The score swung back. The lead grew to seven.

Then Mitchell struck again. His energy rose like a spark in dry grass. He scored inside. He fought for loose rebounds. He barked at teammates to stay with him. He refused to let the game drift away. All this while only six foot eight and still playing like he could lift the rim from the floor.

Ejiofor and Hopkins then brought the muscle. They played like Clydesdales with fire in their legs. They pushed through bodies. They held the ball strong in traffic. They forced fouls. They dragged the Red Storm out of the pit with pure strength. The run returned. It became a 13 to 2 sprint that put St. John’s up 68 to 64.

This was the fight fans needed. This was the heart they wanted from Hopkins. This was the promise they hoped from Ejiofor. They carried the whole roster on their backs.

THE SHOOTERS TAKE CENTER STAGE

Then the stars walked out. The lights found them. And the drama changed.

The Sellers Show

Sellers could not miss. He hit five threes. Four came in the second half. He looked fearless. He looked ready. He turned into the scorer fans dreamed about when he came from Stanford. He talked with his eyes. He asked for the ball. And every shot looked like truth.

Pitino wanted him to shoot more. He said so after the game. He wanted Sellers to fire threes. He wanted aggression. He wanted no fear. Sellers delivered for most of the night.

Then the moment came when he drove for a tough two instead of firing the three that Pitino called for. The shot missed. The room cracked. The choice hurt. The pain stayed.

The Momcilovic Answer

Every time Sellers hit a shot, Milan Momcilovic answered. He played like a ghost with a flamethrower. He moved without sound. He shot without hesitation. He drained five threes. He finished with twenty three points. He was steady when Iowa State needed calm.

He spoiled every run. He held the rope for the Cyclones. He showed how far St. John’s must climb to guard elite shooters who know their spots and trust their veteran rhythm.

Sellers brought flash. Momcilovic brought control. Their duel rose like a wave and crashed like a drum. It felt like a movie. The gym saw two players trying to write their own endings.

Sellers played hot. Momcilovic played cold. One used fire. One used ice. Both drove the night.

THE FINAL THREE MINUTES

This was the furnace. This was the truth. This was the stretch that will follow St. John’s all year.

Iowa State led 79 to 74. The clock fell under three minutes. The Cyclones felt close to the win. Then Sellers stepped into another deep three. Swish.
He found space again. Swish.
St. John’s led 80 to 79.

The Red Storm fans stood. Their hands shook. Their voices rose. It felt like St. John’s would snatch the game.

But then came the breakdown. Four straight missed shots. Four straight empty trips. The guards lost bodies on rebounds. Iowa State grabbed second chances. They made small plays that loom large on film. This hurt more because it proved a pattern.

St. John’s guards grabbed only one offensive board between them. Iowa State grabbed seventeen defensive boards. St. John’s lost too many battles inside. And the Cyclones turned those breaks into control.

Momcilovic scored a beautiful hook with one minute and fifty five seconds left. The air tightened. Iowa State rose 81 to 80.

Then the final sequence.
Jefferson turned the ball over. The crowd gasped. St. John’s took possession.
Sellers drove hard to the rim. The shot rolled out.
Jefferson got fouled. He hit two free throws with nine seconds left.
St. John’s trailed 83 to 80.

The last play came fast. It came clean. It came bold. Ejiofor took the ball and stepped into a three. He wanted the win. He wanted the moment. The ball hit the rim. It spun. It fell out.
Mitchell flew in from nowhere. He tipped the ball in as the buzzer cried. It was good. But it was not enough.

The scoreboard froze at 83 to 82.
Silence fell.
The Red Storm walked off.
Pain walked with them.

THE FAILURE UNDER THE GLASS

This loss was not about the shots alone. This loss was about the war in the paint. Iowa State scored twenty two second chance points. They grabbed seventeen offensive rebounds. They beat St. John’s on the interior. They beat them with body. They beat them with will.

And if this team wants to rise, the guards must fix this fast. They must box out. They must stick to hips. They must crash with violence. They must fight for long rebounds that guard lines often lose. Every ranked team will target this flaw. Every coach will see it on film.

Mitchell cannot do it alone. Ejiofor cannot do it alone. Hopkins cannot do it alone. They need help.

This is the crack that could break the season. Or it could make the season.

EJIOFOR AND HOPKINS: THE CLYDESDALES

These two played with heart. These two played with force. They carried the team. They pushed the weight of the game with their legs and backs. They drew fouls. They held position. They absorbed contact. They scored sixteen each. They grabbed sixteen boards combined.

Hopkins shot three for ten. His touch came and went. But his effort did not. He went ten for ten from the line. He kept St. John’s alive. That matters.

Ejiofor played like a wall. He fought inside all night. He tallied five assists. He trusted his teammates. He never stopped working. His three at the end missed. But his heart did not.

These two are the base of the team. They are the Clydesdales. Their shoulders carry the burden. Their energy must ripple outward.

MITCHELL: THE MANCHILD

There is something special in Mitchell. He plays above the rim. He plays above fear. He plays above doubt. He plays like he has thunder in his legs. He had twelve points. He had nine rebounds. He had two blocks. He had the tip in that almost saved the night.

He must learn how to lead. He must learn how to lift the rest of the roster. He must learn how to pull young guards into his gravity. He must become the engine of belief.

This team will go far if his will becomes their will.

THE PITINO QUESTIONS

Pitino had no gripes with the effort. But he saw the cracks. He said they did not get the rebounds to win. He said Sellers needed to shoot the three at the end. He said Iowa State was one of the toughest teams in the country.

He is right on all counts. The truth sits between every word he said. The Red Storm are talented. They are fast. They can score. But they are not tough enough yet. They are not sharp enough yet. They are not ready to beat ranked teams on consecutive nights yet.

That must change now.

THE INFLECTION POINT

There are games that show who you are. And there are games that show who you can be. This game did both. This was a story about growth. This was a story about pain. This was a story about a team trying to rise fast in a world that only cares if you win.

The Red Storm must choose their path. They play Baylor in less than one day. They will be tired. They will be sore. They will be angry. They must decide what direction they take.

Up.
Or down.
Forward.
Or stuck.

Teams that rise do so in moments like this. Teams that fall also do so in moments like this.

Pitino will push them. He will sharpen them. He will demand full effort. He will demand trust. He will demand fire.

The players must answer.

Sellers must keep shooting.
Hopkins must stay steady.
Ejiofor must hold the paint.
Mitchell must lead.
The guards must box out.
The roster must grow up together.

The season turns now.

THE FINAL NOTE

The desert gave them truth. The desert gave them pain. The desert gave them a game they will remember. One point short. One lesson large. One future still unwritten.

This hurt will not fade quick. And that is good.
Pain shapes winners.
Shapes belief.
Forges teams that want to rise.

St. John’s walked into the desert as a team with potential. They walked out as a team with questions. Those questions are the compass now.

Which way is up.
Where is forward.
What path leads to March.

The answer starts now.

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