Awe at the Highest Level: Niele Ivey Watches Sonia Citron and Maddy Westbeld Shine as Notre Dame Pride Endures

In a moment steeped in legacy, pride, and quiet reverence, Notre Dame head coach Niele Ivey found herself courtside, not in the capacity of a leader barking instructions or drawing up plays, but as a witness—an observer to something larger than a game. She watched with awe, admiration, and deep fulfillment as two of her former stars, Sonia Citron and Maddy Westbeld, competed on the grand stage of professional basketball, showcasing the very essence of what Notre Dame women’s basketball stands for.

It wasn’t just a game for Ivey. It was a return to the foundation she helped lay brick by brick. This time, instead of wearing the whistle and clipboard, she wore her heart on her sleeve, as Citron and Westbeld embodied the discipline, poise, and excellence she instilled in them.

The moment felt symbolic—something that transcended wins and losses. Ivey, a Notre Dame legend as a player and a coaching force since taking the reins from Hall of Famer Muffet McGraw, had always emphasized culture, development, and personal growth. And now here she was, witnessing the full circle of that mission. She saw Citron’s signature pull-up jumper fall gracefully through the net and Westbeld’s fierce rebounding and clever passes in the post. Every moment on the court whispered a familiar tone. This wasn’t just professional basketball. This was Notre Dame in motion.

Citron and Westbeld weren’t merely players on a roster. They were warriors shaped in the golden tradition of South Bend. Their journey from high school prodigies to Fighting Irish stars and now professionals had been forged with years of sweat, setbacks, and resilience under Ivey’s meticulous guidance. The awe Ivey felt watching them perform wasn’t about surprise—it was about the sheer beauty of purpose fulfilled.

For Citron, the transition to the pros was marked with seamless poise. Her all-around game, honed over her collegiate years, translated fluidly. A 6-foot guard with an elite feel for the game, Citron had always shown flashes of brilliance in South Bend. Her versatility on both ends of the floor and unwavering work ethic made her an invaluable asset to Notre Dame. She was a silent assassin—rarely flamboyant, always impactful. Under Ivey’s guidance, she blossomed into a two-way threat, often guarding the opponent’s top perimeter player while also leading Notre Dame in scoring or facilitating.

Westbeld, on the other hand, brought an entirely different flavor to the game. At 6-foot-3, the Ohio native possessed the kind of hybrid forward skills tailor-made for modern basketball. A stretch-four with the ability to score inside and shoot from distance, her game had matured greatly during her college tenure. But beyond statistics, Westbeld’s value lay in her intangibles: leadership, unselfishness, and a basketball IQ that often made her an extension of Ivey on the floor.

Now, the two of them—no longer student-athletes but professionals—wore new jerseys, played under different lights, and embraced new challenges. Yet their game still reflected the Notre Dame fingerprint. The spacing, the movement, the defensive rotations—all subtle reminders that while they had left South Bend, South Bend had never left them.

As Ivey watched, surrounded by fans who might not have recognized her legacy as intimately, she remained focused on her former players. She clapped after strong defensive stops, smiled after crisp passes, and let out an audible “yes!” after Citron drained a transition three. She wasn’t just there as a coach or mentor—she was there as family.

Their presence on the professional stage served as a recruiting billboard for Notre Dame, even if unintentionally. Players come and go, but culture stays. And Citron and Westbeld were testaments to that culture—competence, character, and class. They played not for show, but for impact. And in doing so, they honored not only themselves and their coach but the entire Fighting Irish sisterhood.

There’s a certain magic to seeing a coach’s vision come to life, and Ivey experienced that in full measure. When she took over as head coach, succeeding a legend like Muffet McGraw was no small task. She carried the weight of expectations and the pressure of maintaining one of the premier programs in the country. But her blueprint never wavered—recruit the right people, build them the right way, and empower them to chase greatness far beyond the college hardwood.

In Citron and Westbeld, Ivey found willing disciples to that mission. They arrived at Notre Dame at pivotal times. The program was in transition, trying to recapture the championship standard that McGraw and Ivey had helped establish. Both players could have chosen other elite programs, but they believed in Ivey’s vision. And now, years later, that belief had paid off—not just with wins, tournament runs, and accolades, but with careers that extended into the professional ranks.

Watching the game unfold, Ivey was undoubtedly flooded with memories—of practices in Purcell Pavilion, road trips, buzzer-beaters, and the quiet moments that never made the highlight reels but defined the journey. Like the post-practice chats with Citron about tempo and patience. Or the film sessions with Westbeld breaking down weak-side rotations. Those moments were invisible to the outside world but sacred to the core of player development.

There’s something to be said about a coach who doesn’t just prepare you for the next game, but for the next stage in life. Ivey had always done just that. Her ability to connect with her players on and off the court was legendary. Her resume was bulletproof—a former national champion as a player, an assistant under one of the best to ever do it, a trailblazer in the NBA with the Memphis Grizzlies, and now the heart of Notre Dame women’s basketball.

But on this night, none of that mattered to her. What mattered was that her girls were doing what they loved, and doing it well. They were living the dream she once lived herself. And that dream, though carried out under different banners now, still bore the unmistakable stamp of the Golden Dome.

In many ways, the presence of Ivey, Citron, and Westbeld in the same arena was a quiet celebration of legacy—how one generation pours into the next, and how that cycle continues. It wasn’t a night for speeches or tributes. It was a night where awe did all the talking.

As the final buzzer sounded and fans shuffled out, Ivey remained still in her seat for a moment longer. Maybe she was reflecting. Maybe she was praying. Maybe she was simply giving thanks. Because nights like this don’t come often. Nights where the past, present, and future of a program all breathe the same air.

She later met both Citron and Westbeld postgame, embracing them with the kind of hug only a coach-mother-mentor can give. It wasn’t about stats or scoreboards anymore. It was about love. And awe.

Back in South Bend, her current roster will soon return to campus, preparing for a season filled with high expectations. No doubt Ivey will use Citron and Westbeld as examples—not just of talent, but of how to carry yourself, how to believe, how to honor the jersey. Because if there’s one thing she’s always taught, it’s that greatness isn’t just about what you do. It’s about how you do it.

And as awe gave way to inspiration, Niele Ivey quietly walked out of the arena, proud, fulfilled, and more motivated than ever. She had seen the fruit of her labor bloom—and it was beautiful.