The ghosts were quiet at first. But they were always there. Hanging like dust in the rafters of Amalie Arena. In every bounce of the ball. In every sideline glare from Geno Auriemma. They watched as Paige Bueckers laced up one last time. They hovered over Azzi Fudd’s release. They stood witness as the most storied program in women’s college basketball reclaimed what it once owned so regularly it had almost become muscle memory: a national championship.
