Lady Griz Orientation :: Rae Ehrman

It hits him hardest first thing in the morning, the sense of loss, a feeling of emptiness, the joy of what had been and will no longer ever be again, at least not like that, the latest sacrifice to the passage of time, the life cycle of a father, shepherding children through life, only to one day let them go.

That had always been their time, up early, before school, off to the local Lifetime Fitness, a hoop all their own, the hustle and bustle of pre-work adults getting their sweat in, huffing away, but that hoop, where daughter shot and dad rebounded? That was their world. Their time. For him, the best of times.

She was mostly there for the shooting, this girl who refused to let a day pass without getting her shots up, who feared what might happen if she went – gasp! – even one day out of 365 without feeling the ball in her hands, without seeing it arc through the air, so often right through the hoop, nothing but net.

"She didn't want to go to Cabo last year for spring break," Rick Ehrman says, meaning his daughter Rae's need to shoot was stronger than the pull of the sun and the beach. Yeah, she's that kind of girl with that kind of wiring. They came to an understanding. If he found a court, would she go? She agreed.

"It's great. It's what's really helped her become the player she is, but good athletes can be superstitious. They can overthink things. It's been a little bit of a joke in our house. You won't lose your touch in 24 hours." They found the court with the chain nets. She only shot every other day. She somehow survived.

He'd already sent two other daughters on their way, Olivia and Harrison leaving the family home to take on the world, then the boy, Caiden, who headed off the Creighton, a sophomore and a practice player for the women's basketball team at the school, sticking with the sport as long as it will have him.

But this one was different, father and daughter gifted with the same heart, the kind whose beat sounds like the pounding of a basketball on a hardwood floor, the EKG looking like the rhythm of daughter shooting, dad rebounding. SHOT, rebound, pass, SHOT, rebound, pass, SHOT, rebound, pass, SHOT.

It hasn't been the same since June, when she left home in Eden Prairie, in the hub of Girls Basketball Central, the Twin Cities of Minnesota, and headed for Missoula and the start of her first year with the Lady Griz. It's been quiet at the house.

The first day he was back home after moving his daughter to Montana, his alarm clock went off and he no longer had the shooter under his roof. It wasn't the same. It won't ever be the same, not like it was.

"It opened up about two hours of my day every day," he says. "I'd been rebounding for her for the last 10 years. That's been a big gap in my life. I miss it because it was great father-daughter time. You're talking, laughing, hanging out. It became a part of my life."

It was a shared passion, this sport he was born into simply because he was raised in southeast Indiana, his dad a high school coach, basketball worshipped in the state like few sports anywhere, his parents still there, a brother, a grandmother who just turned 105.

And isn't it fun to picture her, the Indiana Hoosiers playing on the television, the volume turned up a little too loud, scolding the players on the screen for not boxing out on the weak side on a 3-pointer from the wing? That never happened when Coach Knight was here!

It was Hoosiers of movie fame, Indiana still a one-class tournament, Ehrman playing for Batesville High, in 2020 getting inducted into the Ripley County Basketball Hall of Fame, playing on a travel-ball team that included Shawn Kemp, Eric Montross, Matt Painter, a young Damon Bailey playing up an age group.

"It was probably because my dad was a coach. I didn't deserve to be on that team at all," says Rick, who is asked if he's ever dunked, because his daughter doubts it and won't believe it until she has proof. She's of the generation that it's not true unless she witnesses it on her phone.

He claims he has, that he has photographic proof, of that day the stars aligned, the day the earth's gravitational pull was just light enough that he got ball and wrist all the way over the rim and rocked it, when he crossed the line from wanna-be dunker to the real thing.

"I never claimed to have dunked in a game," he says. "I think it had more to do with long arms than a good vertical. I have proof, not in a game though, that would be a fabrication. It's different dunking in a game and dunking in a lay-up line. I was right on the cusp of that."

His dad would become an AD, would oversee a boys basketball coach by the name of Rick Bowen, son of the former Indiana governor, the coach one day leaving for the head job at NCAA Division III Wisconsin-River Falls but keeping those Indiana ties, a pipeline getting turned on.

It's how Rick Ehrman became a Falcon, where he studied business, where he jumped into the world of finance right after graduation, landing in the nearby Twin Cities, he and Heather having five children, Rick becoming a single father a half dozen or so years ago when Heather passed away.

Amid the chaos of that new world, five kids all looking now to him instead of them, it was basketball that brought a sense of stability, that grounded everyone, Rick, Caiden, Rae and the last of the line, Brody, turning to the sport for some normalcy in their lives, the place where nothing ever changes.

"I grew up in a basketball family and that's kind of trickled down to my family. We're all in," Rick says. "Rae's mom passed away when she was 12. Basketball became like a sanctuary for us, for her, for me, for her brothers.

"That's a place we could always go and hang out, play 2-on-2 or just rebound. It provided some levity at a time that was really tough trying to raise five kids by myself."

As the family went down by one, it grew smaller but tighter, stronger. The center had to hold or the whole thing could have unraveled. "All of us siblings have a super-close relationship with him," says Rae. "When you have one parent to go to, you kind of have to be closer to them."

She was born Remington Rae Ehrman, was soon known as Remy, (then Rae Baby to her dad, then Rae Rae), finally just Rae since this was a family that was resistant to anyone going by their official birth name, even the dogs getting nicknames, "inside jokes that no one understands but us," says Rick.

Maybe it was because she was raised in Minnesota, where the best high school players every season become household names in the Twin Cities, are chosen to join the top programs in the country, become role models to little girls with a dream of their own, more of them than lakes in the state.

She tried other sports but even at the age of third or fourth grade recognized a heart within her with pebbled texture. "Anytime I was doing any other sport, I was thinking it was taking away from time I could be getting better at basketball," she says. Yeah, this one was going to be a hooper.

But did she have the necessary competitiveness, something that would take a love and turn it into a winner-take-all passion? LOL. "Everyone loves to win. That's something I think we all share," says Rick. "Hating to lose is more important and she absolutely hates it. I've been on the receiving end of that.

"I don't know if you can really teach that. I knew at an early age how competitive she was. It could be soccer, it could be a game of Monopoly, it could be hopscotch. I knew she had the it factor. I knew fourth or fifth grade she was built a little differently."

What a place to grow up for a girl who loved basketball, who wanted more of it, more practice time, more games, more everything. "Girls basketball is off the charts at all levels," says Rick of the local scene. "The organization of it, the seriousness of it."

She spent a few years with North Tartan, one of the state's two major club programs, moved in eighth grade to Minnesota Fury, the other big dog, knowing if she kept making the top team in her age group, she was going to reach her dream of playing college basketball. That's just how it worked.

"You see the older girls all committing to Division I programs, so you know if you follow through with the program, that's where it gets you," she says.

It wasn't a farfetched dream, it was a simple formula. If I do this, then I'll get that, but she wanted to tilt that formula in her favor, adding more and more to the If I do this side of the equation. Then I'll get that would have to balance its side of things.

She began shooting at Grace Church, its simple name belying its size, seating for 4,500, a campus on 62 acres, pastor Troy Dobbs going about his godly business in one part of the building on a summer day while Reid Ouse trained players in the church's gym, Ehrman's place of repentance if she missed a day.

Later, when she realized she needed another workout, it was dad and daughter once again, off to Lifetime Fitness, Rae, only needing to text her dad to get him there, going through her routine, shots close to the basket, 3-pointers only coming later, when she was dialed in.

"She drove that," says Rick. "I never put a program together. I'm not an X's and O's guy. I just want to spend time with my kids."

Eden Prairie High had more students than Rick's hometown in Indiana, and his daughter was called up to the high school team as an eighth grader, even though the varsity had five starters who would go on to play Division I basketball, the youngster both intoxicated by the idea as much as overwhelmed.

But she had it, this skill she had already put in hundreds and hundreds of hours not perfecting – basketball won't allow that – but honing, her percentages from distance going up, up, up even as her range extended out, out, out.

"That's when I noticed that I stood out," she says and that's when she vowed she would never let up, even if it meant getting her shots up on Christmas Day. Or any other day of the year. "I feel the most confident when I shoot every day. When I take a break, even two days off, my shot isn't as confident."

It's not perfect, this form of hers. Her release is quick but her feet – by her own diagnosis – are too close together, not properly balanced. When she tries to correct it, even a little bit, her shot doesn't feel the same, so she sticks with the original formula, call it Classic Rae, New Rae getting tossed.

And why mess around with what works so well, when she had her first scholarship offer roll in her freshman AAU season, when she game after game heard that sweetest of urgent, fearful calls coming from the other team's coaches when the ball landed in her hands. "SHOOTER! DON'T LET HER SHOOT!"

She is slight of frame but was wise beyond her years when it came to college recruitment, the young player listening intently when those older Eden Prairie players came back, many of them having gone through the transfer portal, what they thought they were getting not matching up with the actual thing.

"A good team culture and coaches," she says when asked what topped her wish list, the lesson learned from her basketball-playing elders. "I talked to a lot of them and they said, 'It wasn't what I thought.' Everyone tries to show you the best things on your visit. You really have to talk to people."

She visited schools all over, her skillset – SHOOTER! – in demand by pretty much any Division I program, but she wondered when going to places like Rutgers, which trends toward big, strong and physical, how her game would fit in, what kind of role she would have and how long would it take to get one?

It wasn't until near the start of her senior year that Montana finally got involved and whispered sweet nothings into her ear: freshmen can play here and we love to shoot the 3-point shot. Does that interest you? They had her at we love the 3-point shot, but what about that whole culture thing?

"The coaching staff was fantastic, we loved the facilities, but it's when she met the girls on the team, that's when she knew they were her kind of people," says Rick. "She came back to the hotel and said, Dad, these girls are just like me! They have a dog at their house. They hang out and like each other.

"We had just come from some trips where it was more cutthroat. Outside of practice, they did not hang out with one another, they did not help each other. It made the decision easy for her. I didn't know anything about (Montana) but you learn pretty quickly it is a special place."

When she got home, she canceled the rest of her visits.

She will play as a freshman at Montana because her range knows no bounds and the basket is 10 feet off the floor inside Dahlberg Arena – obligatory "Hoosiers" movie reference – just like the gym at Eden Prairie, for which she once scored a school-record 38 points, at Grace Church, at Lifetime Fitness.

"Some games don't translate into college. She is a deep, deep 3-point shooter, so she'll have no problem transitioning into college because she's always five to six feet behind the high school line anyway," says Rick.

"It's her shooting style. It's a little bit like Steph Curry, where you start it a little bit lower and it gives you so much more range."

Of course, being pigeonholed as a shooter can be an affront to any basketball-loving girl. Like she can't shot-fake and take it strong to the basket? Like she can't take two dribbles and hit an open mid-range jumper? Like she can't handle contact? The kid's not a shooter. She's a baller.

And there is the conundrum. First-year Lady Griz coach Nate Harris says Ehrman's role as a freshman will be a big one if she accepts being pigeon-holed, at least for now. That's what this team needs most from her this season.

Maggie Espenmiller-McGraw didn't mind in her one year as a Lady Griz. So, you want me to hover around the 3-point line, catch it as a shooter and then I have the green light to fire away if I'm open? And you don't need me to do any more than that? Is this a joke?

And she did that as a fifth-year senior, when she hit a program-record 83 3-pointers and was voted the Big Sky Newcomer of the Year and second-team all-league, all for being a shooter.

"Rae has this unique talent," says Harris. "If she'll rely on that, the more simple she makes her game, the better chance she has to have a really big role.

"If you make shots and are in the right spot defensively, you'll play more because there is a lot of value in people who make shots. You have this really unique talent that you earned through countless hours in the gym. Not many people can do what you do. Make it rain out there."

In that way, the name Heather bestowed on her third daughter fits, for now, the more well-known Remington a one-role shooter itself, aiming straight and true since 1816. This Remington is just carrying on the tradition.

"I chose my battles and chose not to battle that one with my wife," says Rick, who knew Harrison didn't exactly scream GIRL! Now he had a Remington. "At the time I thought everyone was going to think she was a boy. Now I think it's awesome. She owns it. She's a confident young lady who can pull that off."

It won't be that long until you can see her in person, her first game as a Lady Griz, against Seattle Pacific on Nov. 4, the season opener, the day you'll first catch yourself saying, WHAT IS SHE DOING SHOOTING IT FROM WAY OUT THERE? before that quickly changes to YEAH, RAE! DO IT AGAIN!

It's a shooter's life.

Her dad? He's a business wedgebuster according to his bio, in venture capital, helping with mergers and acquisitions for software companies. He also, according to that same bio, aspires to be the life of the party, so there's that.

He's just taking it day by day now, embracing this new life, one final boy at home, Brody, a junior in high school. "The only one left in the house is a golf junkie," he says. "He works at a golf course, he eats there. I never see the guy."

It's a semi-empty nest before it becomes fully empty, though his life is full, Rick and April recently getting married, bringing her three children into the picture, making it eight kids in all, spread out over six states.

He's been approached about becoming the commissioner of a Division I conference but couldn't entertain it given the timing. Maybe one day. Or an AD. He's got the experience for those things the job requires in 2025 and beyond.

It's the evolution of a guy in his mid-50s, eyeing his upcoming release from those things that have kept him tethered mostly in place. It's an exciting time. Grandkids, maybe (c'mon kids, let's get rolling here, time's a-wasting). A professional pivot to something new, maybe.

"My daily routine has changed so much. I'm grocery shopping once every two weeks instead of twice a week. I'm carrying one bag of garbage to the end of the driveway instead of four cans. Man, this is different," he says.

It's that time with his shooter that he misses the most, the sport they loved together, daughter thinking he was simply rebounding her shots when what he was really doing was simply trying to stay in her world for as long as possible.

"I was most nervous when Rae left," he says. "She is the one I spent the most time with." And not a minute of it wasted.

University of Montana Athletics

Players Mentioned

Rae Ehrman

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