Ayo Dosunmu surveyed the situation in the final minute and recognized what Northwestern coach Chris Collins was throwing at him. The Wildcats were in man-to-man defense, with Anthony Gaines in front of the Illinois guard out top, some 28 feet from the basket. But when the shot clock hit 10 seconds, Northwestern quickly shifted back to the 3–2 zone look that had limited Dosunmu much of the game.
Bringing two other guards up to the wings meant the driving lines were shut down. Seemingly out of shooting range, the only real option was to pass, which is exactly what Collins wanted. He was trying to accomplish what every Big Ten coach hopes to do late in games: Get the ball out of the hands of the greatest closer in college basketball.
But there was one other option in play. Ayo Dosunmu knew it because he listened to the voices in his head—as he does constantly in the practice gym, honing his craft, building his confidence, stoking his determination. The voices that tell him what he do until he shuts them up with action.
, the voices said.
, Dosunmu countered, and rose up from a distance normally reserved for single-syllable NBA stars Steph and Dame.
The shot splashed; the game was all but over. The closer had closed again—just four days after scoring 15 straight points to end regulation and start overtime against Nebraska, just 10 days after a triple double against Wisconsin. He’s hit so many high-pressure shots in three seasons that the Big Ten Network put together a sizzle reel of them this week and still left off some of his greatest hits.
“He’s got ‘it,’ ” says Illinois coach Brad Underwood. “I don’t know how else to describe it.”
The bomb to finish Northwestern was his second three in a span of 40 seconds, after the massive underdog Wildcats had closed within two points. Those threes raised his shooting percentage in the final 90 seconds of games (plus overtime) this season to an absurdly clutch 67%. When the last one went in, Dosunmu jogged back downcourt, chuckling directly at Northwestern’s slack-jawed bench. “There was some talking during the game, just mutual competitiveness,” Dosunmu says. “I got the last laugh.”
Ayo had launched what his father, Quam, later labeled “the super dagger” from at least 26 feet out. “Maybe 28,” Quam says. “Tomorrow I might say 30.”
He laughs.
“Next year it’ll be 32.”
That would fit because there is a folklore building around the scion of Nigerian immigrants—the workaholic product of blue-collar Chicago—the Windy City savior who traveled down I-57 to resurrect Illinois basketball and would not leave without a chance to finish the job in March. It’s all happening the way he foresaw it—the team’s ranking getting higher, the games getting bigger, the shots getting deeper and more dramatic. It’s all unfolding according to the internal dialogue in a 21-year-old’s one-track mind.