Sam Merrill used to walk away from the clay houses, another promise to him broken, and usually his imagination would attempt to comfort him in the same way.

In a few years, after his Mormon mission in Nicaragua was finished, he would be a college basketball star at Utah State. The Aggies would reach the NCAA tournament, and his clutch shot would lift them to just their second victory in the event in 40 years. His teammates would encircle him, and they’d all run off the hardwood together with their hands raised, a shining moment played on a loop forever.

That fantasy was often enough to push him through the heat, the isolation, the frequent rejection when a villager had committed to join him at church but then disappeared.

“Every time I’m in a tough situation,” Merrill said this week, “I always think about my mission and how difficult that was. Because of that, the joys came; when things get tough, just keep working hard.”

Last week, of course, the NCAA tournament was canceled amid fears of the coronavirus outbreak. Neither Merrill nor Utah State nor any other would-be participant will collect those shining moments, and just as relevant to their futures, fringe NBA prospects such as Merrill won’t get to have the kind of unforgettable March showcase that can leave an impression.

Not only will there be no tournament, the NBA hasn’t made a final decision on whether it will hold its annual draft lottery or scouting combine, both of which are scheduled for late May. Merrill, a 6-foot-5 shooting guard who averaged 27.7 points during the Mountain West Conference tournament, could’ve announced himself as a star worthy of attention, or perhaps even a lottery pick — as did Brigham Young’s Jimmer Fredette in 2011 and Davidson’s Stephen Curry in 2008.

Without it, ESPN basketball analyst Seth Greenberg said, Merrill could fall to the end of the second round or out of the draft entirely. He’s an accurate shooter with decent size, but Merrill — who’ll turn 24 on May 15 — started his college career later than most players and would therefore be older than most NBA rookies.

“When you get that moment taken away from you, you can never get it back,” Greenberg said. “He probably could’ve helped himself there, and he’s an ‘if.’ But if he had that moment — if he had a matchup against a guy who’s higher on someone’s draft board and absolutely kills it — who knows?”

For now, reality has a feel similar to what Merrill imagined years ago. He doesn’t know when, or if, certain events will take place. The draft itself is scheduled for June, but Merrill said he’s uncertain whether it’ll be delayed. After his career abruptly ended, Merrill said he gave himself the weekend off to begin processing the shattering of his expectations and hopes.

“We had all been anticipating that it was gonna come; just like that, my career was over,” Merrill said. “That was probably what hit me the hardest. It was a very unorthodox.”

After attempting to make sense of the nationwide uncertainty along with his own future, he returned to the weight room and basketball court this week to resume training and conditioning. He began researching agents, who would negotiate his first professional contract and perhaps find creative ways to promote him. Staying busy, the now-former Aggies player said, was all he knew to do.

“At the end of the day, I’m a fringe guy anyway,” he said. “So whether I played well in the tournament or not, I’m going to have to prove myself in these workouts and in the combine. My mind-set has been the same: I’ve got to get into great shape, and hopefully I can prove that I’m good enough.”

Greenberg pointed out that, if there’s ever a year to be an in-between player with high NBA hopes, it’s 2020. There are few obvious lottery picks, and zero sure things. Whenever the draft happens, teams nonetheless will select 60 players over two rounds.

“An ‘if’ is pretty good,” Greenberg said. “In this year’s draft, it’s hard to get to 60. It really is.”

Though Merrill said he is disappointed by the past two weeks’ impact on his future, Nicaragua conditioned him to become well-versed in frustration. Each day he and his companion would go door to door, sweating through their trousers and white shirts, and invite the residents to church. And every day, those residents would say yes; of course they’d be there Sunday morning.

Just to be sure, Merrill occasionally would stop back by throughout the week, just to check in and reaffirm that commitment. It remained unchanged, though as the months passed, Merrill had taught himself to be a realist — determined and hopeful, but a realist nonetheless.

“You work so hard to help those people,” Merrill said, “and teach them what you believe to be right.”

Then on Sunday, he’d stop back by the clay houses and knock again. No answer. He knew the residents were home, but for the first time all week, the door wouldn’t open. Eventually, the missionaries would leave, and Merrill offers no apologies for feeling frustration or even anger.

He just kept moving forward, heading to the next house to fulfill a mandatory duty, hoping it’d be the next door that opened — no matter the disappointment he’d just walked away from.

“Those are the moments where you have to decide what kind of person you’re going to be,” Merrill said. “We’d just say we’ve got to move on and go talk to the next person we’d see and invite them. Those are the moments that you have to decide if you’re going to be tough, or if you’re just going to give up.”

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