VACAVILLE, Calif. (AP) — One day last fall, Ray Woodfork found himself being challenged to a fight by a fellow inmate half his age on the grounds of Solano State Prison.
Woodfork would have been tempted not so long ago. The Golden State Warriors have helped turn him toward a different way of thinking.
This time, the once-aspiring college basketball player, who was serving as referee for the prison football league that day, immediately made it clear he had no interest in an altercation. Woodfork said he chose to walk away and return to his dorm.
He acknowledges had he fought there’s no way he would now be part of a peer mentoring program or have a chance for the governor to review his case.
And Woodfork certainly wouldn’t be a certified basketball coach either if adrenaline and anger had won out.
“I was just like, ‘That’s not who I am, that’s not what I’m about,’ and I walked away,” Woodfork recalled. “It’s hard to do, because the flesh wants to do that.”
The incident happened before Week 5 of a six-week program run by youth coaches from the Warriors Basketball Academy as part of the Twinning Project that is teaching incarcerated men at Solano coaching skills and showing them there is the chance for meaningful transformation.
Woodfork successfully utilized a skill learned in the program: palms down.
With palms facing down, it allows someone to move forward and focus on the next moment or play, forgetting whatever trigger might be right in front of them or something that already happened.
Ray Woodfork, a graduate of Twinning Project’s collaboration with the NBA’s Golden State Warriors and the California Department of Corrections and Rehabilitation’s cohort 1, middle, performs a rap song in front of cohort 2 participants and Warriors Basketball Academy members at Solano State Prison in Vacaville, Calif., Tuesday, Feb. 11, 2025. (AP Photo/Jeff Chiu)
Woodfork began writing rap lyrics about his experience with the Twinning Project, which started in the UK by pairing professional soccer teams like Arsenal and West Ham United of the Premier League with prisons to contribute in the rehabilitation process. U.S. clubs such as D.C. United, Angel City FC and Miami FC have become involved — and other NBA teams are showing interest.
“Golden State will be a hard act to follow,” Twinning Project CEO Hilton Freund said.
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“With my palms down, I calm down, next move is on them.”
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Several months later, Woodfork grabbed a mic and began rapping those very words in celebration as his 15 basketball teammates danced alongside him and hugged one another.
It’s graduation day.
That means a stroll in front of the group to receive a certificate and Warriors jersey with each man’s last name on back. The hope is these graduates will now use their skills to teach other incarcerated men not only how to coach but to be positive influences.
When Warriors academy coach Ben Clarfield circles up the group at midcourt to give the men and instructors a chance to provide feedback, there is a common theme.
The Twinning Project has provided these men a sense of self-worth and purpose, a break from the isolation of prison. Many of the participants expressed feeling loved and seen — often for the first time in years.
Daniel Lopez performs a basketball drill with other Twinning Project cohort 2 participants during the project’s collaboration with the NBA’s Golden State Warriors and the California Department of Corrections and Rehabilitation at Solano State Prison in Vacaville, Calif., Tuesday, Feb. 11, 2025. (AP Photo/Jeff Chiu)
This has been about grace and forgiveness, inclusion and acceptance. Oftentimes, those ideas have had to be learned or re-learned — and the Twinning Project played a crucial role in that process.
“It reintroduced me to my love of basketball, that people on the outside haven’t given up on us,” former Fresno State student Jonquel Brooks said. “It’s wanting to coach but not knowing how to coach, then now being given the tools to have the opportunity.”
Jeff Addiego, vice president of Warriors Basketball Academy, and his staff have also been changed by the outreach. They beamed and fought tears at the same time, overjoyed to see these men finding meaning in their new roles.
The way this program works, the Warriors players and coaches aren’t participating as some of the European professionals are, though former Golden State big man Festus Ezeli has been a regular visitor.
“We’ve gotten to know each and every one of these guys. If one of these guys was anywhere else I would give him a hug the first time I saw him,” Addiego said.
“It’s amazing. We don’t pry or ask them anything it, but what they’ve been willing to share with us, it’s powerful stuff.”
Woodfork’s mentor, Viet Kim Le, took part in the second coaching cohort. He has observed the commitment by Woodfork to show remorse for his crime and better himself while serving a life sentence without the possibility of parole for murder.
“His beliefs have changed,” Le said, “so he looks at life through a different lens.”
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“I don’t react, I respond, I take a breath and I move on.”
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Spanning four hours each Tuesday, some of these men felt like actual basketball players again. They stepped into a changing area in the Solano gym and traded their prison blues for jerseys featuring the Warriors logo on front and Twinning Project on back before making their way to the court for drills like shooting, dribbling and defense. There was also mental training to find strategies for every situation they might encounter in prison or, for some perhaps eventually, life on the outside.
Twinning Project cohort 2 participants gather before performing basketball drills during the project’s collaboration with the NBA’s Golden State Warriors and the California Department of Corrections and Rehabilitation at Solano State Prison in Vacaville, Calif., Tuesday, Feb. 11, 2025. (AP Photo/Jeff Chiu)
They backpedaled with extra self-confidence, they high-fived, dishing out good-natured trash talk here and there, but more than anything they cheered each other on — through every great shot or errant pass.
Many might never have mixed otherwise.
Community-building is a big part of it.
Freund launched his charitable foundation in 2018, and he and his wife attended the Feb. 11 graduation of the second group of 16 men at Solano receiving coaching certificates. He is thrilled the Warriors became involved.
Freund references a study from the University of Oxford published last year showing the program’s “wholistic benefit” for the incarcerated leading to “better behavior, less propensity for violence, improved relationships amongst themselves and improved relationships with their prison officers.”
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“Making coaches out of convicts, we’re taking over cities … coaching with a passion, that’s how we set the tone.”
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The palms-down approach is about having the power to choose a response. That message and other learning tools came from mental skills coach Graham Betchart, who works regularly with the UConn men’s basketball team.
On his first drive to Solano, Betchart came up with the rhyme “let it go, give it back, next play I attack.”
He had no idea Woodfork would soon begin turning those words into rap.
“Inspiring to the world,” Betchart said, “and it comes in a way that I’ve never seen anybody deliver it the way that he does. … And everything he’s saying is PG-13 but it’s delivered in a way that’s so powerful you don’t even realize that you’d want your 9-year-old kid listening to this.”
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“I let it go and get it back, the next play, you know I’m going to attack.”
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Woodfork was arrested at age 20 for killing a man during an attempted robbery. He had expected to start playing college games in a summer tournament mere days later.
“So I was right there, right there,” Woodfork shared.
Now he is hopeful his hard work will be considered by Gov. Gavin Newsom.
A former gang member both outside and inside prison who once had dreams of playing in the NBA, Woodfork has trained to be a peer mentor — a program requiring he have five “clean” years without trouble in order to participate.
The Warriors’ program has filled a major void.
“That’s an understatement,” Woodfork said, “due to the fact my aspirations were to play in the NBA one day, as a kid that was my end all, be all, that was my identity. Basketball was everything.”
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“It’s deeper than the game and that name on your shirt, it’s the Twinning Project, where real men put in work.”
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It brings Addiego and the others to tears at times witnessing the progress — like Woodfork deciding not to fight that day.
“I talked myself off the ledge by speaking out loud about what happened,” said Woodfork, now working as a drug and alcohol counselor.
“This is an opportunity to show the world I’m not the person I was. It doesn’t define me. I feel like I’ve outgrown prison, I feel like a fish swimming upstream, a salmon.”
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