What just happened.
It was all a blur.
The horn went off. The backboard was outlined with a bright red. I sat down.
I felt like crying but the gates never flooded. It was hopeless, too. Nothing was going to change.
It happened. I didn’t know what to do.
I wanted to scream and run but I was frozen like a deer in the headlights.
My hopes were high; as it was the first time I had picked UC to win my bracket.
But I should’ve known. It was too good to be true. Everything was too good to be true.
Cincinnati doesn’t get this lucky.
We never get the good draw, the relatively easy travel locations and hell, our path was cleared by Moses himself to get to the Final Four.
I was staring at my TV for hours.
That team was not as good as the Bearcats. They could shoot, but the number two defense in the nation swallowed them whole and pushed them out the rear. They looked tired and they weren’t ready us at all.
I was already booking flights down to Atlanta and called up an Uber.
But then, as if this tournaments nickname was “March Madness” or something – Nevada hit the shots that we couldn’t find if the hoop was lowered to four feet.
They were rebounding, scoring and we still had nightmares of the green noodles at Skyline Chili.
The sky came crashing down.
It looked for a second to be a clear path to the basket for Mr. Broome. But with speed comes consequences and Billy Hamilton can attest to that.
The ball started to spin as fast as my world.
The horn sounded.
It was like waking up with your alarm and having to face reality, knowing that it wasn’t all a nightmare.
It really happened.
This is our cross to bear as Cincinnati fans. We know it all too well. We expect it.
This one hurts.