Joyce Edwards stunned the women’s college basketball world earlier this week when she opened up about the internal struggles at South Carolina, a program long viewed as the gold standard of consistency and championship-caliber excellence under head coach Dawn Staley. But the most eye-opening part of her remarks wasn’t just the admission that the Gamecocks are in disarray—it was her unexpected and emotional revelation about a player she never got to share the floor with: A’ja Wilson.
“A’ja Wilson was someone I wanted to play with,” Edwards said, almost wistfully, during a rare one-on-one interview following a closed practice session. “She was more than a legend—she was the heart of this program. She embodied everything South Carolina stood for, and part of me always dreamed of playing in the same jersey as her.”
Wilson, who graduated years ago and has since become one of the biggest superstars in the WNBA with the Las Vegas Aces, remains an omnipresent figure in Columbia. Her face is on billboards, murals, and in the memories of every young girl who grew up dreaming of playing for the Gamecocks. That included Edwards, the five-star phenom and No. 1 overall recruit in the Class of 2024, who spurned offers from LSU, UConn, and Stanford to stay home and wear the garnet and black.
And yet, in just her first year with the team, Edwards is sounding an alarm few expected to hear from such a confident, decorated newcomer.
“There’s a disconnect right now,” she said plainly. “This place used to feel unbreakable. We used to walk into Colonial Life Arena with this aura that nobody could touch us. But lately… that fire? That unity? It’s flickering. And I think people are afraid to admit it.”
The admission is as shocking as it is honest. South Carolina, coming off another Final Four appearance and still boasting one of the most talented rosters in the nation, is not typically the kind of place associated with the word “disarray.” Under Staley, the Gamecocks have maintained a culture of excellence defined by discipline, intensity, and family. So what changed?
For Edwards, it’s a mixture of high expectations, unresolved tensions within the locker room, and the intangible pressure of carrying the legacy of players like Wilson, Aliyah Boston, and Zia Cooke.
“It’s like we’re living in the shadows of giants,” she explained. “A’ja, Aliyah, Zia—those girls didn’t just win games, they made statements. Every night. Now, it’s like we’re trying to follow a blueprint, but we’re not building our own identity. We’re trying to be someone else’s South Carolina instead of becoming our own.”
Edwards’ words didn’t come lightly. She’s aware that her openness might ruffle feathers. But in her mind, silence would only deepen the fracture.
“I love this program. That’s why I’m speaking out. Because I care. Because I want us to be great. But I also want us to be real with each other. If something’s not right, we’ve got to fix it. Not sweep it under the rug and hope nobody notices.”
According to insiders, there have been subtle but growing concerns about chemistry and leadership within the Gamecocks’ locker room. Some veteran players have reportedly struggled to integrate the wave of freshmen that includes Edwards and several other top-tier prospects. Others point to off-court distractions, including NIL obligations, social media branding, and player representation, that have subtly shifted the team dynamic.
“It’s like we’re all trying to win individually so we don’t lose our place in the spotlight,” Edwards admitted. “But that’s not how Dawn coached A’ja. That’s not what made South Carolina a dynasty. They played for each other.”
She pauses, eyes distant, clearly turning over memories of games she watched growing up, when Wilson would dominate on the court with a quiet swagger and an unwavering commitment to her teammates. “I remember watching A’ja hug her teammates before tipoff. I remember her diving for loose balls, hyping up the bench, crying on senior night like this school meant the world to her. That’s the South Carolina I committed to.”
There is no animosity in Edwards’ voice—just deep, piercing honesty. She’s not calling anyone out individually. She’s calling the team back together. She’s calling the program to refocus on what made it great.
“She could have gone anywhere,” said one assistant coach who spoke anonymously. “Joyce chose us because she believed in what we stand for. And now she’s showing us what leadership looks like—by telling the truth.”
But the path forward won’t be simple. For all of Dawn Staley’s accolades—multiple national championships, Olympic gold, and a place among the sport’s greatest leaders—navigating a program through internal turmoil is no small task. Especially when it comes from a voice as influential as Edwards.
When asked whether she’s spoken directly to Coach Staley about her feelings, Edwards nodded. “Yeah. We talked. It wasn’t easy. I told her I felt like we were slipping. She didn’t push back—she listened. She said it’s up to all of us to get this right. Not just her. Not just the captains. All of us.”
In a sense, Edwards is modeling herself after Wilson in more ways than just skill on the court. She’s stepping into a leadership role before many expected her to. She’s raising her voice for the sake of the team. She’s refusing to be silent in the face of complacency.
“I know people might say I’m too young to speak like this,” she said. “But leadership doesn’t have an age. If I see something wrong, I have to speak up. Because if I don’t, and we fall apart? I’ll feel like I let this place down.”
There’s an added emotional weight to her words because of how deeply she loves South Carolina. The native of Camden, South Carolina, Edwards grew up just 30 miles from Columbia. She often talks about watching Gamecocks games on her living room floor, screaming at the television when A’ja Wilson would hit a big shot or block a crucial layup.