ITHACA, N.Y. -- There's a half-court setup in the basement of the Noard house outside Chicago — painted lines, real hoop and just enough room for a kid and his dad to chase a perfect jumper — and to build a mindset that would follow him all the way to the Ivy League.

That's where Cornell senior Cooper Noard learned the sound of repetition. His dad, Troy, still rebounds for him every summer, still reminds him of the same things: feet, balance, confidence. His personal shot doctor — a former college player at DePauw himself — drilled into his son that when a shot feels off, it's never panic. Just small adjustments.

That early rhythm — the patience, the precision — became the blueprint for how he handled everything that followed, shaping his four-year journey in Ithaca.

Freshman year wasn't easy. Noard came to Cornell confident, competitive and ready to help right away following a standout career at Glenbrook South HS. Then reality hit — Ivy League academics, the pace of college basketball, older guards and a defensive standard that wasn't negotiable. The adjustment wasn't just physical; it was mental.

"The reason I didn't play as much my freshman year was because I didn't hold our standard on defense," he said. "The coaches were honest about that. I appreciated it."

From the start, he loved the locker room, the road trips, the late-night hangouts after practice. That joy mattered when the minutes didn't.Instead of transferring or sulking, he worked - extra film, extra lifts, extra one-on-one defense after practice. He attacked the challenge the same way he learned his shot — through deliberate, focused repetition. The quiet gym became his reset button.

"Sometimes I just need to turn off my phone, get in a gym and shoot," he said. "Not necessarily working to get better — just enjoying the silence and the game."

He did it with the same stubborn competitiveness that's marked every part of his development — the same drive that now defines the way Cornell plays. The kid who used to shoot late at night in his family's basement gym back home now turned that same focus toward becoming an every-possession defender and a model of efficiency in Cornell's offense. And that investment paid off. 

The player who once struggled to stay on the floor became one of Cornell's most trusted guards — a sharp-shooting, high-IQ captain who defends, communicates and rarely forces anything. His growth mirrors Cornell basketball's system itself — fast, free and unselfish.

When Noard was being recruited, Cornell's staff made it simple: we play fast, we shoot threes, we share the ball. It sounded like freedom. But the real freedom only comes with trust.

"You earn your minutes here," he said. "Once you earn the coaches' trust, they let you play free. That's when I started to thrive."

Noard did more than thrive. He became one of the Ivy League's most efficient guards, a reliable scorer and steady voice, to go along with his well-earned reputations as one of the nation's top shooters. 

The Ivy League's leader in 3-point field goal percentage a year ago (.418), Noard earned honorable mention All-Ivy honors after averaging 13.2 points and 3.3 rebounds per game. He was the lone player under 6-3 in Division I to rank in the top 75 nationally in two-point percentage, a testament to his shot selection, shot-making and poise.

This past spring, like many players after breakout seasons, he entered the transfer portal. The calls came — from big programs, big names, bigger stages.

He listened. He thought about it.

Then he came back.

In a world where players chase minutes and transfer portals, he doubled down on a culture that asks for sacrifice.

"It was an easy decision," he said. "My teammates and coaches — that's why. I fell in love with this place through them. There's nothing I enjoy more than watching Jake (Fiegen) hit a three or Jacob (Beccles) have eight assists. It's easy to sacrifice when you love watching your teammates succeed."

That perspective traces back to home. His mom, Kerri, is the quiet glue in the story — the daughter of a college basketball star and NBA Draft pick. She and Cooper share a birthday — and a deep connection — and he talks about her with the same reverence he uses for basketball.

"She always did the hard things," he said. "Driving an hour to practice, making dinner when we got home, never complaining. That's where I get my work ethic."

The lessons blend together now — the balance his mom modeled, the competitiveness his dad sharpened and the self-awareness Cornell's culture demanded.

Now he wears the captain tag. He'll be one of the first names on the Big Red scouting report. He'll still sneak into a quiet gym after a long day, phone off, just him and the rim — like he's back in his basement in Glenview.

Because that's what Cooper Noard does best. He stays, he works, he shoots until the rhythm feels right again.

"Hoisting the trophy, going to the NCAA Tournament — that would be the best feeling ever," Noard said. "That would make everything worth it — the sacrifices, the work, all of it."