The scene on Sunday afternoon was a familiar one: thousands of Iowa fans who paid hundreds of dollars to see an Iowa women's basketball game in Carver-Hawkeye Arena. The wrinkle? Most were there to see Caitlin Clark’s jersey retired in the CHA rafters.

Fans knew going in that they wouldn’t see Clark hit a logo three or execute a jaw-dropping pass. The game itself—Iowa's matchup with #4 USC and star Juju Watkins—was almost an afterthought, at least until Iowa's play made everyone buy into the upset.

Why? Why were so many willing to pay so much to watch in-person a celebration they could more easily watch on TV?

The first component is greatness. Plenty of athletes are great for their time. A select few transcend time.

Clark is arguably the greatest college basketball player in history. Her WNBA career is off to an incredible start. She is undoubtedly great. But greatness alone doesn’t drive demand like this.

Just over sixty-four years ago, Ted Williams had one of the most memorable sendoffs in sports history. Playing in his final game at Fenway Park, Williams famously hit a home run in his final at bat. John Updike poignantly captured the moments that followed in his Hub Fans Bid the Kid Adieu:

It's easy to see why someone might call Williams a god. His life reads like fiction. Arguably the best pure hitter in baseball history, Williams is still the last player to hit .400 in a major league season. He might have challenged Babe Ruth's all-time home run record but for his military service in World War II and Korea, which cost him nearly five full seasons.

Williams didn't just take an easy assignment in the military, though. He became a fighter pilot who flew combat missions. His wing mate during part of his service? Future astronaut and United States senator John Glenn.

Williams' final game and home run have been mythologized in baseball and sports lore, but those myths hide a more difficult fact: 10,454 people attended Williams’ final game. That’s just a fraction of Fenway’s 33,368-person capacity in 1960.

In Williams’ case, greatness alone didn’t make people show up to give him a big sendoff.

Williams’ poorly attended final game was partially a victim of circumstances. All great events need good timing, and Williams didn’t have it.

His final game was played on a Wednesday afternoon when many were working. Weather conditions were poor and the Red Sox were terrible.

The timing of Clark’s jersey retirement, by contrast, was much better.

Human beings crave closure. Graduation ceremonies are a tradition at every educational institution. Retirement parties are an expectation in many workplaces. And in athletics, beloved athletes always get one final moment in front of their home crowd.

Usually that moment comes in the form of a final game like Williams. The event itself becomes a celebration. Everyone in attendance wants to see one final act of greatness from the athlete.

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Last March, everyone knew Iowa’s second round NCAA Tournament matchup with West Virginia would be Clark’s final game in Carver playing for Iowa. But the game itself never turned into a celebration. The score was too close. The ghosts of Creighton two seasons ago were too fresh.

With two and a half minutes to play, West Virginia had the ball with a shot to take the lead.

Even in the final minute when Iowa had seized control of the game, the atmosphere in Carver wasn’t celebratory. Fourteen thousand people were sighing with relief.

The closeness of that game denied Iowa fans their closure. They didn’t get to celebrate a team and a moment that became something more. A Golden Era became The Era. A star that transcended a sport.

Clark’s jersey retirement ceremony, then, was needed. One final chance to say goodbye. The timing was right.

But timing also doesn’t fully explain Sunday. It takes something more.

Updike’s story hints at another issue Williams had: throughout his career he had a difficult relationship with his fans. He didn’t make them a priority.

The relationship a player has with their fans is a big part of why a final game or ceremony is so special. Fans feel a need to say goodbye to the athlete they’ve cherished for years. When they feel that need, they find a way to say their goodbye. No matter the cost or difficulty of attendance.

On that Wednesday in late September 1960, Red Sox fans resoundingly decided that seeing Williams one final time wasn’t important to them. They didn’t need to say goodbye to a god.

Not all star athletes keep their fans at a distance like Williams did. By now, most know that Maya Moore was Clark’s favorite player growing up. Everyone has seen her reaction to just being in Moore’s presence again last year.

Moore’s impact on Clark was significant, but took just a small moment of her time.

When Clark was 12, her father took her to a Minnesota Lynx game. After the game, Clark got to meet Moore on the court. She didn’t ask for an autograph. Or a picture. She just wanted a hug.

"Ten seconds can go a long way in somebody’s life," Clark said of her first meeting with Moore. "That’s a good lesson whether you play sports or don’t play sports, how you treat somebody matters."

Clark has taken Moore’s lesson to heart.

There’s a ritual now at Caitlin Clark games. It started at Iowa and has continued with her time with the Indiana Fever. Home or away, it doesn’t matter.

In the minutes leading up to Clark taking the floor, little girls and boys will line the railings of the player entrance. They will cram as close to Clark’s bench as they can get.

In the game’s final minutes, the ritual begins anew. Stadium security relents, and the little girls and boys flood to the railings and the bench.

Most chase autographs. Others hope they might be lucky enough to get one of her shoes or jerseys. Others still are just happy to be close to their idol for a few minutes.

The reason this ritual happens is because Clark gives generously of her time. She stands in the line to sign autographs or take photos with the kids. No matter how she performed and regardless of whether her team won or lost.

Each game, Clark forms a small but meaningful connection with dozens or hundreds of fans.

Clark’s generosity is no small gesture. In those autograph lines, Clark is swarmed. A dozen different people could physically touch her at any given time.

In light of recent news, that access to Clark is a little more chilling. It’s why she’s had security near her in public now for over a year.

Despite the risks, Clark continues to give. She knows the connections are meaningful.

On Sunday near the end of Clark's jersey retirement ceremony one final video began. A little girl in an Indiana Fever jersey thanked Clark for teaching her to love herself. Two women from Brazil and South Africa talked about the impact Clark had on them, even from so far away. A cancer survivor told of how watching Clark play helped her through treatment. Multiple families talked about lost loved ones and how much joy Clark brought to their families towards the end.

These stories are the fruit of Clark’s actions. The connections she has made now with fans all over the country and the world but especially in Iowa where it all began.

So why did so many pay so much to watch a jersey retirement? Because of greatness, yes. Clark is undoubtedly a great and transcendent player.

Because of circumstances, yes. Fans needed a moment to say goodbye to Clark and her era.

But most of all because of Clark the person and the connections she has made to inspire so many. Fourteen thousand Iowa fans needed to see Clark one more time and were willing to pay a price to do so.

Gods might not answer letters, but Caitlin Clark does. Her reward to the thousands that showed up in Carver-Hawkeye Arena on Sunday afternoon (as well as the large audience watching on TV) was one more special Sunday in Carver.