CP ALWAYS – Remembering Connor Peterson ’19
The Light That Never Dimmed: Remembering Connor Peterson
He didn’t just change games; he changed people. Connor Peterson’s story is one of joy, loyalty, and a light that still guides those who knew him.
The first time Connor Peterson walked into the gym, nobody quite knew what to expect. He wasn’t a mystery exactly—his highlight tapes had already made the rounds—but there was something different about him in person. He had that rare combination of intensity and ease.
The team he was joining—Mass Elite’s upperclass group—was in a rough patch. They were talented but inconsistent, the kind of squad that could play brilliantly for ten minutes and unravel in the next five. They needed someone who could steady them and consistently win games against high level competition. Connor did that instantly.
He came from a sneaker circuit program, one of those high-visibility teams where players are evaluated, ranked, and recruited. But when he arrived at Mass Elite, he didn’t bring ego—he brought energy. Within days, he had teammates laughing again, competing harder, and believing that they could win.
“In a world where people too often bring others down,” said Coach Polli, “Connor lifted everyone around him up. He made those near him not only better players, but better people—and happier ones. His smile could light up any room, and his spirit was unmatched.”
He was the first player in that class to earn a college scholarship offer—a benchmark not just for his own achievement, but for what was suddenly possible for everyone else.
The shift was immediate following Connor’s arrival. Games that used to feel tense became fun again. The team’s huddles got louder, practices got sharper, and wins started coming. Connor didn’t just score points—he changed the air that all his teammates breathed.
Evan Cook still remembers the first game Connor ever played for them.
“I missed an open layup,” he said, laughing. “Out of nowhere, he came flying in with this back-scratcher put-back dunk to save me. I thought to myself, oh, this is going to be fun. We went on to win a lot of games after that—mainly because of him.”
Casey McLaren recalled staying after practice one day just to watch.
“He was throwing down some of the craziest dunks I’ve ever seen for someone our age. But it wasn’t just the athleticism—it was the joy he brought with it. His enthusiasm and spirit lifted the whole gym.”
Jack Skrzypiec remembers
“Connor’s impact on me will always go further than just being my teammate. He was everything you wanted in a friend, a brother—doing whatever was called upon him. Watching him help his family while we were all seventeen, eighteen years old, while simultaneously pursuing his dreams of playing basketball and football at the next level, was inspiring to see. We shared so many laughs on and off the court that will always stick close to my heart. I’ll make sure that in whatever I do, Connor’s energy and passion for life is right there with me. Blessed to have crossed paths with him.”
Panayiotis Kapanides remembered something deeper.
“From the moment we met, he felt like a brother. His energy was contagious; you couldn’t help but smile or feel at ease when he was in the room. Off the court, he had this rare gift of making people comfortable in their own skin—he encouraged everyone to be themselves, no matter what. He was one of the most unselfish people I’ve ever played with, always putting the team before himself and finding ways to lift everyone around him. What I’ll remember most is that you always got the genuine CP, every single day. He was real, consistent, and full of heart, and his impact will always stay with me.”
One of the defining stories of Connor Peterson isn’t about the points he scored—it’s about the ones he shouldn’t have been able to.
That July, during the live recruiting period, Connor injured his shoulder badly. For most players, that would have been the end of the season. He had already secured college offers. The smart thing—the safe thing—was to sit out. But that wasn’t who he was.
When the team gathered for its final tournament in Orlando, Connor showed up with his bag packed. He taped his shoulder, practiced shooting left-handed, and when the games began, he went out there—playing one-handed, against doctor’s advice, just to be with his team.
“None of us even realized it at first,” said former teammate Brandon Wiercinski. “He just kept going. Eventually we noticed he was shooting left-handed, and we were like, what are you doing? But that was Connor. It was never about him—it was always about us.”
That trip to Orlando became part of team folklore. He didn’t need to be there; he chose to be. For him, loyalty mattered more than pain.
It was the kind of story you tell years later to explain character—to show what heart looks like.
When Connor graduated, he could have easily drifted away, like so many players do. But he didn’t. He came back—often. He showed up to the annual reunions. He became a living reminder of what the program was supposed to be: hard-working, humble, joyful, and loyal.
“After watching his highlight film, we knew he’d make a tremendous impact on the court,” said Coach James Mott. “Our only question was whether he’d embrace the family culture that defined our team. Our motto was always ‘We Are One,’ and every huddle closed with one word: Family. Connor not only met those expectations—he elevated them.”
Connor Peterson’s story isn’t tragic because it ended too soon—it’s beautiful because of how brightly it burned while it lasted.
He wasn’t the kind of athlete who needed attention. He didn’t chase the spotlight. Instead, he brought his own light and shared it freely. He showed his teammates how to love the game, how to show up for each other, how to play with purpose.
“We will forever celebrate Connor’s legacy in our program,” added Coach Polli. “We’re grateful he believed in us—coming from a sneaker team, he didn’t have to, but he trusted us anyway. That trust, that belief, and that energy will live on forever in everything we do. We love you, Connor, and we will never forget you.”
In every sense, he flew. Not just when he rose for those dunks that seemed to defy gravity, but in the way he lived—lifting everyone around him higher, helping others find joy even in struggle.
There are players who score, players who win, and players who lead. But every once in a while, there’s someone like Connor—someone who changes the temperature of the room just by being in it.
He was, and always will be, family.
Fly high, CP. We’ll see you in the air.