Baileigh Sinaman-Daniel didn’t set out to make history, she just took the open shot. From near the three-point line, the ball left her hand and snapped cleanly through the net. Then came the whistle. Her coach called a timeout—not to draw up a play, but to pause the game and honor what had just happened. In that moment, surrounded by teammates rushing in to celebrate, Sinaman-Daniel became the first one-armed NCAA women’s basketball player to score in a collegiate game.
That moment, as she tells it, didn’t feel historic at all. It felt routine, like any other shot she’d made in practice. It wasn’t until later, after a text from her coach and a wave of media attention, that the weight of it began to settle in. The path there had been anything but inevitable: a high school cut, a moment of realization while sitting in her car, and a decision to email hundreds of college coaches in search of a single opportunity. At Lesley University, she found more than a roster spot—she found a team, a rhythm, and a place where she could simply be seen as a basketball player.
Now, as her story reaches far beyond the court—from a 2024-2025 playoff run that helped redefine her program to an accessibility campaign with Apple—Sinaman-Daniel is part of a broader shift in how athletes with disabilities are understood. Not as exceptions, but as competitors, teammates, creators, and thinkers.
“I really started liking basketball when I was around seven or eight,” she says. “At first, it was because I had the biggest crush on LeBron—I thought he was the best-looking man alive.” That early admiration grew into a genuine love for the game itself. She spent years watching, studying, and immersing herself in both the NBA and women’s basketball before officially joining a team her freshman year of high school. “I was just observing for a long time—living vicariously through other players,” Sinaman-Daniel says. “So when I finally got the chance to play, it meant everything. I had loved the game for years at that point.”
More than anything, basketball gave her something deeper than competition—it gave her belonging. “In the game of basketball, nobody saw me as someone with one arm,” she says. “They just saw me as a basketball player. And that meant everything to me.”
The sense of normalcy set the stage for Sinaman-Daniel’s historic shot. It came during her junior year at Lesley, in a game against Fitchburg State. She received a pass near the three-point line and, without a second thought, let it fly.
“Honestly, in the moment, I didn’t think much of it,” she remembers. “It just felt like another shot that I had made. I make those all the time in practice, so it didn’t feel any different. I was just thinking, get back on defense. It wasn’t until later, when everything started to settle, that it really clicked. That’s when I realized this was more than just a shot…this was something bigger. Something historic.”
It was the kind of moment Sinaman-Daniel could hardly have dreamed of as a kid growing up with limb difference. “Back then, it just felt so far-fetched,” she says. “I had never seen anyone who looked like me on TV playing sports, so it was really hard to picture myself in that kind of environment. I was just watching—living through other people on a screen. That was the closest I felt to it.”
She was justifiably proud when she found herself actually playing at the NCAA level and being noticed by adaptive basketball players who she considered role models (including Hansel Emmanuel). Even so, the magnitude of that first bucket didn’t hit Sinaman-Daniel right away.
“Even in that moment, when the timeout happened, I still didn’t process how big it was,” she says. “I just thought my coach was excited that I made my first shot. It didn’t really click until later that night, when he texted me and said he was glad he got to witness history. I remember being confused—I was like, ‘What do you mean?’ And then the interviews started, and people were saying, ‘You’re the first one-armed woman to score in the NCAA.’ That’s when it finally hit me.”
Sinaman-Daniel has always tried to blend in with her teammates, and she never wanted to stand out because of her limb difference. As much as possible, she wants her adaptations to be invisible to the average spectator. One way she has adapted is by wearing a chest plate. Basketball coaches teach players to pass straight to the chest, and Sinaman-Daniel used to get the wind knocked out of her sometimes because she couldn’t absorb the force of those passes with both arms. The chest plate enabled her to receive passes the same as any other player.
“It was easier for me to accommodate myself in basketball without interfering with anything,” she says. “I could make adjustments and still fully be part of the game.” Even so, she sees adaptation as a deeply collaborative process. “I’ve had to explain little things, like angles on passes,” Sinaman-Daniel says. “If I’m on someone’s right side, they might need to bring the ball back a second instead of leading me too far, because I don’t have that right arm to extend for it. My teammates have told me they sometimes forget I only have one arm—because I play like I have two.”
The attention surrounding the historic basket took Sinaman-Daniel by surprise. She was even more amazed by what followed: an opportunity to partner with Apple in a media campaign focused on accessibility. That, she says, was the most fun she’s ever had.
“From the moment they told me I’d be on set to the second I left, I enjoyed every part of it,” she says. “It was the biggest thing that could have happened to me at the time. I was just so happy. Being around people with disabilities—especially physical disabilities—was something I had never really experienced growing up. I always felt like I was the only one. It was the first time I felt like I didn’t have to hide anything. I could just show up as myself.”
Sinaman-Daniel never expected people outside of her college to know her story. So the idea that she might now be able to set a positive example for other young people with limb difference feels incredible. After completing her psychology degree at Lesley, she wants to become a forensic psychologist working with kids. Unless, that is, she gets the opportunity to extend her basketball career. She’s headed to Portugal this summer to play in some exhibition games, and European pro scouts will be in the stands. “It’s really about who might pick me up,” she says. “I’m just going to go out there, play hard, and show what I can do.”
What she’s already shown on the basketball court will be long remembered. But Sinaman-Daniel doesn’t believe her historic basket will be a one-off. “I’m really happy to be the first, but I really hope I’m not the last,” she says. “I hope there are more people who look like me playing sports. I don’t want it to end with me.”
