The Definition of Madness
Each weekend provided close game after close game and upset after upset. It all started on March 18, 2005, when Bucknell took on powerhouse Kansas in the first round, in OK City. Kansas was a 3-seed, was the team that many pegged to give UNC their toughest task in the East Regional. Instead, the upstarts from Bucknell scratched and clawed their way to trailing 63-62 with 15 seconds to go. It was a close game throughout. At that point there were perilously few upsets in the tournaments first 1.5 days, and Craig Bolerjack said the infamous words, "Buckle up, it's finally March." Little did he know how true his words would end up being. Bucknell took the inbounds pass, dribbled the length of the court and with just over 10 seconds to go remaining in the neck-and-neck game, Bucknell forward Chris McNoughton banked a fall-away shot off the backboard. It cut through the twine perfectly, cut the hearts of Kansas followers and Coach Bill Self (a man who knows heartbreak in the tournament one too many time's), and started the 2005 March Madness Roller Coaster.
The NCAA Tournament needed a spark. 2003 and 2004 were boring years highlighted by very few close games or great moments. Sure, Carmelo Anthony's run in 2003, and the Duke-UCONN Classic Fina 4 game in 2004 were lasting, but overall the tournament was running dry of the one thing that fueled its rise to the incredible heights: drama. That would all change in three short weeks in late March 2005, and the tournament finally proved to be the 'definition of madness.' There were upsets, and comebacks, and shots that were reviewed for 10 minutes. There were heroes and villians, rises of programs and major losses, and to end it all, the tournament was whittled down to the two undisputed best teams who capped it off with a memorable final. The tournament was, in many ways perfect.
Later that night, with the shock of Kansas' loss to the Bucknell Bison still radiating across the country, in snowy Worchester, MA., the Vermont Catamounts took the court against the Syracuse Orangemen. After a lost season the year before, Syracuse had retooled and reloaded their team and as a 4-seed in the nation's most volatile region, were trendy Final-4 favorites. Vermont was, like its state that it represented, boring and white. The game played out just like Bucknell against Kansas, where Vermont was all the time in the game, but there was an eternal sense of "When will Syracuse finish them off?" It was a fair question, as Syracuse had to be able to stop Tyler Coppenrath eventually. Well, they did, but they looked off T.J. Sorrentine. In overtime, with the game in the balance, Sorrentine stood 28 feet away from the basket, dribbling, dribbling. He posed no threat at that location, Syracuse imagined, but Sorrentine knew the limits of his ability, he know the haunted spirits that rise every March, he knew that no distance was too far, no shot was too outrageous. Hell, March was for the outrageous. Sorrentine picked up his dribble and launched. The ball cleanly struck the net. Syracuse was gone. Just like that, the boring tournament had turned into the spectacular in one hour, and the best was yet to come.
The college basketball landscape was still getting over Kansas and Syracuse, the teams that met in the Title game just two years earlier, being knocked out each within an hour. They finally overcame that shot when the second round tipped off that night. There was no time to rest, as there was more magic to be seen. In Tucson, Arizona, Bob Knight stood on one side of the hardwood, gazing across the floor at Adam Morrison leading his Gonzaga team out of the tunnel. If Knight could construct a person who was his exact opposite, Morrison was it. Morrison was shaggy haired, Knight was straitlaced and clean-shaven. Knight had a legendary, fiery temper. Morrison had a calm, cool demeanor that seemed to fit a man riding the waves in Maui, not throwing up 15-footers against close pressure. Knight watched as his top protoge, Ronald Ross fought Morrison head-on, shot for shot. It was a sight to behold, two players essentially making the rest of the people, including Knight, in the stadium meaningless. One of those players would decide the game. Ross hit his final shot, Morrison missed his. Crashing to the floor in despair, Morrison and Gonzaga fell victim to Bobby Knight's final ride to the second week. Knight stared at the scoreboard, reading "71-69". Knowing he escaped, he quickly left the court and put on the TV to scout 2-seed Wake Forest and 7-seed West Virginia, his two possible opponents. Little did he know his night was just beginning.
Ian Eagle entered the Wolstein Center in Cleveland for the game between the West Virginia Mountaineers and the Wake Forest Deamon Deacons expecting the worst. On paper, this was not a very competitive matchup. Wake Forest was superior, and had arguably the best player in the country, in Chris Paul, on their side. The tournament is usually the playground for the stars, and Paul's star overshadowed the West Virginia team. It was playing out like Eagle had expected with Wake taking a 13 point halftime lead. However, the night was, as Eagle and Bob Knight found out, far from over. Mike Gansey, Kevin Pittsnogle, D'or Fisher, Patrick Beilein and John Herbert were far from the household names that Paul was, but they combined, with Paul's theatrics included, to stage one of the greatest college basketball games ever, and certainly the most forgotten one.
Everyone on West Virginia just started draining three pointer after three pointer. Gansey could not miss. Herbert's three sent the game into overtime, which then featured three more threes from Gansey and one from 6'11" center Kevin Pittsnogle. Of course, Paul did everything possible to get Wake Forest to tie the game at 97 to enter double overtime. Double Overtime games are the rarest species at the college level. College athletes are not used to playing those lengths of games, so the quality of play dips drastically as the games go longer and longer. No one told Gansey, who continued to hit three after three. Finally, after 1 AM, it was over. It was the latest finish for a March Madness game in 10 years, finishing West Virginia 111, Wake Forest 105 (2OT). Wake Forest has never recovered from losing that game, while that marked the ascendancy of the WVU program, which Bob Huggins has continued since taking over for Coach John Beilein. The first weekend was finally over, with 12 of 16 games decided by single-digits in round two. Everyone got a breather, because more madness was still left to unfold.
It was over, and Bruce Weber fell to his knees. Taking over the reigns from Bill Self was not easy for Bruce. Bill Self was able to ressurect the Illinois basketball program from perilous depths, and did it quickly and efficiently. But on this day, that connection became even stranger, as it was Roy Williams' move to North Carolina that allowed Bill Self to go to Kansas and eventually pave the way for Bruce Weber to take over a talented, bright Illinois team. Bruce Weber knew he was a lucky man, but also a man with great expectations thrust upon his shoulders, and in 2004-2005, he handled those expectations perfectly. Guiding his talented team through a near-perfect regular season, and then through a tumultuous, but finally terrific tournament run had led Bruce to the ultimate stage. After seeing his team replicate his own life, one where he was an assistant coach for a staggering 18 seasons at Purdue, fighting and clawing their way back into a 71-71 deadlock against the mighty Tar Heels, he saw the ulikeliest of players crush his spirits and seemingly his knees. However, it was more the strange situation he was in that made his drop down, as Bruce Weber would have to go congratulate the man that was indirectly responsible for hsi being at Illinois, but that was nothing in a tournament that was the definition of madness.
West Virginia would win another tense close game against Knight's Texas Tech team, again with Kevin Pittsnogle and Mike Gansey draining multiple three's each, but this time no headlines were written about the exploits of the Mountaineers. No, this time there were other classics to digest. Salim Stoudamire was known as the man with the amazing shot, but the man that could do nothing but miss at crunch time. It was a tough label to attain, but one that was deserved. Stoudamire entered his Seet 16 game against 2-seed Oklahoma St. knowing that he was the key to Arizona's chances. Down 76-72 with barely two minutes to play, Stoudamire knew that he had to rise to the challenge. Among great pressure, Stoudamire launched a three. He knew that it was going in from the second it left his hands. Stoudamire was finally confident of himself in the clutch. Joey Graham was confident too, as his back-to-back baskets put Oklahoma St. up 78-77 with twelve seconds left. Joey Graham thought it was all over, because Stoudamire would come up short as he always did. Stoudamire was left to wonder if his three pointer two minutes earlier was just a one-time deal, or if he could do it again. Stoudamire released a shot with three seconds left and turned away. He could not look. His teammates did, and saw it perfectly swish through the net. Stoudamire did close his eyes, but his ears were open and hearing the sound of the crowd, knew that he finally had done it.
He would need that confidence one round later, as Arizona would face pre-tournament favorite Illinois. The Illini had finished an incredible regular season with a 30-1 record. They had a three-headed hydra at guard, with three fleet, sharp-shooters in Luther Head, Dee Brown and Deron Williams. They were a perfect college team, with three juniors, experienced and savvy. Arizona was different. They had the talent, but not the chemistry. But in March, talent is often the great divider. In a packed, intimate setting in cozy Rosemont, Illinois, in a relative home game for the orange-clad Illini, the teams traded punches back and forth for 30 minutes. Arizona's talent and size against the genial guile of Illinois. Tied at 46, the teams entered the under 16 timeout with the feeling that the game would go down to the wire, that something special was in the air in Rosemont. They weren't wrong, but when the game entered the under 6 TV timeout, with the game at 75-60 Arizona, the Wildcats lost all thought that this ending would be anything but routine.
Meanwhile, in Albuquerque, Lousville and West Virginia, playing far, far away from home, the game was the complete opposite. West Virginia, like they did in each of their last two games, were just not able to miss. Gansey was hot, Pittsnogle better, as West Virginia raced to a 32-13 lead. Rick Pitino, Louisville's dynamic head coach, was completely puzzled. He was a man who was once the best coach in the land, leading mightily talented Kentucky teams to back-to-back title games. Now, eighty miles away from Lexington, Pitino felt helpless, something he hadn't felt since he knew that "Larry Bird was not walking through that door" in his time in Boston. Pitino called a timeout, switched Francisco Garcia to point, and Louisville was able to cut the lead to 13 by halftime. At that point, thirteen seemed like a huge deficit to overcome. Pitino did not know that in a couple of hours, he would be able to have a celebratory beer watching another team overcome a greater deficit in one quarter the amount of time.
Meanwhile, in Rosemont, Illinois, Deron Williams looked to the ceiling, seeing his and his teammates amazing season go to ruin. They were the perfect team, and now they were being outplayed, they were inferior. Deron Williams went over to coach Bill Weber and put his arm around him, an obligatory thank you for an amazing season. Deron Williams walked back onto the court, sullen but prepared to fight out the last 4:55 of his season and his college career. Fight was everything the Fighting Illini were about, and the Arizona Wildcats were about to find out just how right their thoughts were about this game being down to the wire.
It was steal after steal, lay-up after lay-up and three after three. It was the greatest barrage in college basketball history. The Illini in a matter of mere minutes unleashed the most vicious fury in tournament history. Even as it was happening, as Luther Head was hitting threes, and Dee Brown stealing balls from point guards, the Wildcats were sure that there was just too little time left. As they did all throughout their 31-0 start, the Illini did what they did, refuse to lose. When Deron Williams nailed the fourth three in the comeback, blazing to a 20-5 run, the game was tied at 80. It was the perfect game at the perfect pace of one basket per minute, and it left the Wildcats declawed. The Illini had completed the most desperately insane comeback in March Madness history, and there was no better way to describe it but that, just pure madness. Overtime awaited.
The furious finish in Rosemont made the happenings in desolate New Mexico seem just normal. Pitino, in that great whirling mind of his, conjured up the simplest of switches, going to a zone defense, and it killed off the last vestiges of West Virginia's epic run. The Mountaineers were finally shooting bricks, finally just missing. Louisville, spurred by the motivation from their beloved coach, starting hitting shots. It was the exact opposite of the first half. With 11 minutes left, Louisville made it a three point game. West Virginia was stunned, puzzled, how a team missing their best player, Taquan Dean, was able to make a comeback. Whatever the reason, it happened. It was now West Virginia's time to throw the next punch. Their lanky, ebullient center did just that, as Kevin Pittsnogle hit two threes to extend the lead back to 10. Pitino was utterly dismayed. Basketball is a cruel game built almost entirely on momentum, and dispite Pitino's best effort, and the great run that made the game a one possession affair, after 14 minutes, Louisville was just three points closer than what they were at halftime. However, there was one last punch to be made, and like the one made by Deron, Dee, Luther and crew, it was a haymaker that reverberated from New Mexico all the way back to Kentucky. Louisville went an a run that was all too Illini-like. It was more defensive, as they held West Virginia to just two points in the final six minutes, forcing a off-balanced West Virginia attempt at the win to miss the basket completely. Somehow, someway, Good 'ol Rick had done it again. Lousville and West Virginia were deadlocked at 77, and overtime awaited.
In Austin, TX, another outpost of basketball not totally conducive to the media maw that generall followed the tournament, Pitino's old team would try to knock off Tom Izzo's Michigan State Spartans, trying to make their fourth Final Four appearance in 7 years. It was the polar opposite of both the other Elite Eight games, as it was close throughout. The biggest lead was Michigan State by 6 with six minutes to go, but even then, there was not the feeling that the game was too far gone like in both the previous cases. This was just a rugged match between College Basketball's preeminent grinders. However, the finish would have the flair for the dramatic.
Shannon Brown stepped to the line, readying his body as he nervous dribbled echoed his ever loudening pulse. These were the moments that college kids lived for, in all reality. The game clock literally frozen in time, waiting on him to finish off the game. However, like so many other games have taught us, there is nothing more imprisoning and haunting than a "free" throw. Brown needed to make two free throws to assure that Michigan St. would not lose. Up by one, with twelve seconds to go, Brown cocked his left arm and arched the right, and released. Softly and gently in flowed in an arc right through the net. The second was the copy of the first. Brown exhaled, knowing that on the most pressurized of stages, he was able to be the hero. Patrick Sparks, Kentucky's senior lunch-pail player, looked on in dismay, as he, just moments ago, was not able to deliver with the same preciseness, as his missed free throw cost Kentucky the chance to tie the game. Sparks just wanted one last chance. Luckily for him, the weekend had one more miracle left. With barely a tenth of a second on the clock, Patrick Sparks launched a desperation heave up to the basket. It was an ugly shot, rotating curiously and floundering on its way to the cylinder, but got the prettiest of bounces. It hit nearly every part of the rim, seemingly playing hot potato with the iron, but it refused to bounce off. After what seemed like five seconds to itself, it calmly rolled into the middle of the net. Kentucky was safe, Sparks was the hero again. Overtime awaited.
Nothing more can describe the unbelievable nature of the 2005 March Madness like these three overtime games on Elite Eight Weekend. They were just, to a word, perfect. They each had their respective flaws and differing beauties. None of the overtimes were totally able to live up to the highest of standards their regulation times set, but in each their own, they were fitting codas. In Rosemont and Albuqueraue, Arizona's Hassan Adams' last gasp three missed, sending Illinois into the Final Four, and the game into the halls of history. In New Mexico, Louisville, after finally breaking the most resilient of hearts in that of the West Virginia Mountaineers, finished their comeback by cruising over a broken team to a comfortable overtime win. Finally, bucking the trend that the team that gives up the lead heading into overtime is done, Michigan St. led by Tom Izzo who has made a hall of fame career and numerous millions by bucking trends, was able to muster enough energy to dispatch the peskiest of Wildcats. The Final Four was set, but really, the drama had climaxed in a two day buffet of basketball. Desert was all that was left, and it was delightful.
It was over, and Sean May stood watching the confetti fall on him like a White and Baby Blue blizzard. He was the man of the evening, with a game for the ages. His team, talented and tenacious, had finished off the perfect but equally pesky Illinois Fighting Illini. North Carolina had won it all, but May was not completely celebrating, he was remembering. Remembering what had just transpired, what had just taken place. It was a great final, to be sure, one that saw the talent of North Carolina and the resolve of Illinois, but moreso, it was a great tournament, a perfect tournament. It was, the definition of madness.
Each weekend provided close game after close game and upset after upset. It all started on March 18, 2005, when Bucknell took on powerhouse Kansas in the first round, in OK City. Kansas was a 3-seed, was the team that many pegged to give UNC their toughest task in the East Regional. Instead, the upstarts from Bucknell scratched and clawed their way to trailing 63-62 with 15 seconds to go. It was a close game throughout. At that point there were perilously few upsets in the tournaments first 1.5 days, and Craig Bolerjack said the infamous words, "Buckle up, it's finally March." Little did he know how true his words would end up being. Bucknell took the inbounds pass, dribbled the length of the court and with just over 10 seconds to go remaining in the neck-and-neck game, Bucknell forward Chris McNoughton banked a fall-away shot off the backboard. It cut through the twine perfectly, cut the hearts of Kansas followers and Coach Bill Self (a man who knows heartbreak in the tournament one too many time's), and started the 2005 March Madness Roller Coaster.
The NCAA Tournament needed a spark. 2003 and 2004 were boring years highlighted by very few close games or great moments. Sure, Carmelo Anthony's run in 2003, and the Duke-UCONN Classic Fina 4 game in 2004 were lasting, but overall the tournament was running dry of the one thing that fueled its rise to the incredible heights: drama. That would all change in three short weeks in late March 2005, and the tournament finally proved to be the 'definition of madness.' There were upsets, and comebacks, and shots that were reviewed for 10 minutes. There were heroes and villians, rises of programs and major losses, and to end it all, the tournament was whittled down to the two undisputed best teams who capped it off with a memorable final. The tournament was, in many ways perfect.
Later that night, with the shock of Kansas' loss to the Bucknell Bison still radiating across the country, in snowy Worchester, MA., the Vermont Catamounts took the court against the Syracuse Orangemen. After a lost season the year before, Syracuse had retooled and reloaded their team and as a 4-seed in the nation's most volatile region, were trendy Final-4 favorites. Vermont was, like its state that it represented, boring and white. The game played out just like Bucknell against Kansas, where Vermont was all the time in the game, but there was an eternal sense of "When will Syracuse finish them off?" It was a fair question, as Syracuse had to be able to stop Tyler Coppenrath eventually. Well, they did, but they looked off T.J. Sorrentine. In overtime, with the game in the balance, Sorrentine stood 28 feet away from the basket, dribbling, dribbling. He posed no threat at that location, Syracuse imagined, but Sorrentine knew the limits of his ability, he know the haunted spirits that rise every March, he knew that no distance was too far, no shot was too outrageous. Hell, March was for the outrageous. Sorrentine picked up his dribble and launched. The ball cleanly struck the net. Syracuse was gone. Just like that, the boring tournament had turned into the spectacular in one hour, and the best was yet to come.
It was over and Deron Williams lowered his head, and quietly sobbed. His college career, his college life, his amatuerism, taken away in one quick put-back. Illinois, as they had done so many times in that magnificent 36-1 season, had not accepted defeat lost, but it was useless against North Carolina whose reign was to be crowned. Down by 13 at halftime, he knew the game was far from over. Not totally because he knew his team had enough ability and energy to make the comeback, but seeing what had just happened in the past month, he knew anything was possible. Just the fact that they were playing in this game, although very feasible coming into the tournament, was amazing. He knew that there was a chance to fight back, and he was right. They started hitting threes again and again. They were playing like the champion team they were, and in the championship game, coach Bruce Weber thought, hey there have been crazier comebacks just last week, why not us? And it was a crazy comeback, fought off the craziest way, with a 6'5" sixth-man putting back a rebound that lifted hearts in North Carolina, and crushed them in Champagne, Illinois. The fact that a sixth-man made the biggest play would usually be considered strange, but in 2005, it was just another ride on the definition of madness.
The college basketball landscape was still getting over Kansas and Syracuse, the teams that met in the Title game just two years earlier, being knocked out each within an hour. They finally overcame that shot when the second round tipped off that night. There was no time to rest, as there was more magic to be seen. In Tucson, Arizona, Bob Knight stood on one side of the hardwood, gazing across the floor at Adam Morrison leading his Gonzaga team out of the tunnel. If Knight could construct a person who was his exact opposite, Morrison was it. Morrison was shaggy haired, Knight was straitlaced and clean-shaven. Knight had a legendary, fiery temper. Morrison had a calm, cool demeanor that seemed to fit a man riding the waves in Maui, not throwing up 15-footers against close pressure. Knight watched as his top protoge, Ronald Ross fought Morrison head-on, shot for shot. It was a sight to behold, two players essentially making the rest of the people, including Knight, in the stadium meaningless. One of those players would decide the game. Ross hit his final shot, Morrison missed his. Crashing to the floor in despair, Morrison and Gonzaga fell victim to Bobby Knight's final ride to the second week. Knight stared at the scoreboard, reading "71-69". Knowing he escaped, he quickly left the court and put on the TV to scout 2-seed Wake Forest and 7-seed West Virginia, his two possible opponents. Little did he know his night was just beginning.
Ian Eagle entered the Wolstein Center in Cleveland for the game between the West Virginia Mountaineers and the Wake Forest Deamon Deacons expecting the worst. On paper, this was not a very competitive matchup. Wake Forest was superior, and had arguably the best player in the country, in Chris Paul, on their side. The tournament is usually the playground for the stars, and Paul's star overshadowed the West Virginia team. It was playing out like Eagle had expected with Wake taking a 13 point halftime lead. However, the night was, as Eagle and Bob Knight found out, far from over. Mike Gansey, Kevin Pittsnogle, D'or Fisher, Patrick Beilein and John Herbert were far from the household names that Paul was, but they combined, with Paul's theatrics included, to stage one of the greatest college basketball games ever, and certainly the most forgotten one.
Everyone on West Virginia just started draining three pointer after three pointer. Gansey could not miss. Herbert's three sent the game into overtime, which then featured three more threes from Gansey and one from 6'11" center Kevin Pittsnogle. Of course, Paul did everything possible to get Wake Forest to tie the game at 97 to enter double overtime. Double Overtime games are the rarest species at the college level. College athletes are not used to playing those lengths of games, so the quality of play dips drastically as the games go longer and longer. No one told Gansey, who continued to hit three after three. Finally, after 1 AM, it was over. It was the latest finish for a March Madness game in 10 years, finishing West Virginia 111, Wake Forest 105 (2OT). Wake Forest has never recovered from losing that game, while that marked the ascendancy of the WVU program, which Bob Huggins has continued since taking over for Coach John Beilein. The first weekend was finally over, with 12 of 16 games decided by single-digits in round two. Everyone got a breather, because more madness was still left to unfold.
It was over, and Bruce Weber fell to his knees. Taking over the reigns from Bill Self was not easy for Bruce. Bill Self was able to ressurect the Illinois basketball program from perilous depths, and did it quickly and efficiently. But on this day, that connection became even stranger, as it was Roy Williams' move to North Carolina that allowed Bill Self to go to Kansas and eventually pave the way for Bruce Weber to take over a talented, bright Illinois team. Bruce Weber knew he was a lucky man, but also a man with great expectations thrust upon his shoulders, and in 2004-2005, he handled those expectations perfectly. Guiding his talented team through a near-perfect regular season, and then through a tumultuous, but finally terrific tournament run had led Bruce to the ultimate stage. After seeing his team replicate his own life, one where he was an assistant coach for a staggering 18 seasons at Purdue, fighting and clawing their way back into a 71-71 deadlock against the mighty Tar Heels, he saw the ulikeliest of players crush his spirits and seemingly his knees. However, it was more the strange situation he was in that made his drop down, as Bruce Weber would have to go congratulate the man that was indirectly responsible for hsi being at Illinois, but that was nothing in a tournament that was the definition of madness.
West Virginia would win another tense close game against Knight's Texas Tech team, again with Kevin Pittsnogle and Mike Gansey draining multiple three's each, but this time no headlines were written about the exploits of the Mountaineers. No, this time there were other classics to digest. Salim Stoudamire was known as the man with the amazing shot, but the man that could do nothing but miss at crunch time. It was a tough label to attain, but one that was deserved. Stoudamire entered his Seet 16 game against 2-seed Oklahoma St. knowing that he was the key to Arizona's chances. Down 76-72 with barely two minutes to play, Stoudamire knew that he had to rise to the challenge. Among great pressure, Stoudamire launched a three. He knew that it was going in from the second it left his hands. Stoudamire was finally confident of himself in the clutch. Joey Graham was confident too, as his back-to-back baskets put Oklahoma St. up 78-77 with twelve seconds left. Joey Graham thought it was all over, because Stoudamire would come up short as he always did. Stoudamire was left to wonder if his three pointer two minutes earlier was just a one-time deal, or if he could do it again. Stoudamire released a shot with three seconds left and turned away. He could not look. His teammates did, and saw it perfectly swish through the net. Stoudamire did close his eyes, but his ears were open and hearing the sound of the crowd, knew that he finally had done it.
He would need that confidence one round later, as Arizona would face pre-tournament favorite Illinois. The Illini had finished an incredible regular season with a 30-1 record. They had a three-headed hydra at guard, with three fleet, sharp-shooters in Luther Head, Dee Brown and Deron Williams. They were a perfect college team, with three juniors, experienced and savvy. Arizona was different. They had the talent, but not the chemistry. But in March, talent is often the great divider. In a packed, intimate setting in cozy Rosemont, Illinois, in a relative home game for the orange-clad Illini, the teams traded punches back and forth for 30 minutes. Arizona's talent and size against the genial guile of Illinois. Tied at 46, the teams entered the under 16 timeout with the feeling that the game would go down to the wire, that something special was in the air in Rosemont. They weren't wrong, but when the game entered the under 6 TV timeout, with the game at 75-60 Arizona, the Wildcats lost all thought that this ending would be anything but routine.
Meanwhile, in Albuquerque, Lousville and West Virginia, playing far, far away from home, the game was the complete opposite. West Virginia, like they did in each of their last two games, were just not able to miss. Gansey was hot, Pittsnogle better, as West Virginia raced to a 32-13 lead. Rick Pitino, Louisville's dynamic head coach, was completely puzzled. He was a man who was once the best coach in the land, leading mightily talented Kentucky teams to back-to-back title games. Now, eighty miles away from Lexington, Pitino felt helpless, something he hadn't felt since he knew that "Larry Bird was not walking through that door" in his time in Boston. Pitino called a timeout, switched Francisco Garcia to point, and Louisville was able to cut the lead to 13 by halftime. At that point, thirteen seemed like a huge deficit to overcome. Pitino did not know that in a couple of hours, he would be able to have a celebratory beer watching another team overcome a greater deficit in one quarter the amount of time.
Meanwhile, in Rosemont, Illinois, Deron Williams looked to the ceiling, seeing his and his teammates amazing season go to ruin. They were the perfect team, and now they were being outplayed, they were inferior. Deron Williams went over to coach Bill Weber and put his arm around him, an obligatory thank you for an amazing season. Deron Williams walked back onto the court, sullen but prepared to fight out the last 4:55 of his season and his college career. Fight was everything the Fighting Illini were about, and the Arizona Wildcats were about to find out just how right their thoughts were about this game being down to the wire.
It was steal after steal, lay-up after lay-up and three after three. It was the greatest barrage in college basketball history. The Illini in a matter of mere minutes unleashed the most vicious fury in tournament history. Even as it was happening, as Luther Head was hitting threes, and Dee Brown stealing balls from point guards, the Wildcats were sure that there was just too little time left. As they did all throughout their 31-0 start, the Illini did what they did, refuse to lose. When Deron Williams nailed the fourth three in the comeback, blazing to a 20-5 run, the game was tied at 80. It was the perfect game at the perfect pace of one basket per minute, and it left the Wildcats declawed. The Illini had completed the most desperately insane comeback in March Madness history, and there was no better way to describe it but that, just pure madness. Overtime awaited.
The furious finish in Rosemont made the happenings in desolate New Mexico seem just normal. Pitino, in that great whirling mind of his, conjured up the simplest of switches, going to a zone defense, and it killed off the last vestiges of West Virginia's epic run. The Mountaineers were finally shooting bricks, finally just missing. Louisville, spurred by the motivation from their beloved coach, starting hitting shots. It was the exact opposite of the first half. With 11 minutes left, Louisville made it a three point game. West Virginia was stunned, puzzled, how a team missing their best player, Taquan Dean, was able to make a comeback. Whatever the reason, it happened. It was now West Virginia's time to throw the next punch. Their lanky, ebullient center did just that, as Kevin Pittsnogle hit two threes to extend the lead back to 10. Pitino was utterly dismayed. Basketball is a cruel game built almost entirely on momentum, and dispite Pitino's best effort, and the great run that made the game a one possession affair, after 14 minutes, Louisville was just three points closer than what they were at halftime. However, there was one last punch to be made, and like the one made by Deron, Dee, Luther and crew, it was a haymaker that reverberated from New Mexico all the way back to Kentucky. Louisville went an a run that was all too Illini-like. It was more defensive, as they held West Virginia to just two points in the final six minutes, forcing a off-balanced West Virginia attempt at the win to miss the basket completely. Somehow, someway, Good 'ol Rick had done it again. Lousville and West Virginia were deadlocked at 77, and overtime awaited.
In Austin, TX, another outpost of basketball not totally conducive to the media maw that generall followed the tournament, Pitino's old team would try to knock off Tom Izzo's Michigan State Spartans, trying to make their fourth Final Four appearance in 7 years. It was the polar opposite of both the other Elite Eight games, as it was close throughout. The biggest lead was Michigan State by 6 with six minutes to go, but even then, there was not the feeling that the game was too far gone like in both the previous cases. This was just a rugged match between College Basketball's preeminent grinders. However, the finish would have the flair for the dramatic.
Shannon Brown stepped to the line, readying his body as he nervous dribbled echoed his ever loudening pulse. These were the moments that college kids lived for, in all reality. The game clock literally frozen in time, waiting on him to finish off the game. However, like so many other games have taught us, there is nothing more imprisoning and haunting than a "free" throw. Brown needed to make two free throws to assure that Michigan St. would not lose. Up by one, with twelve seconds to go, Brown cocked his left arm and arched the right, and released. Softly and gently in flowed in an arc right through the net. The second was the copy of the first. Brown exhaled, knowing that on the most pressurized of stages, he was able to be the hero. Patrick Sparks, Kentucky's senior lunch-pail player, looked on in dismay, as he, just moments ago, was not able to deliver with the same preciseness, as his missed free throw cost Kentucky the chance to tie the game. Sparks just wanted one last chance. Luckily for him, the weekend had one more miracle left. With barely a tenth of a second on the clock, Patrick Sparks launched a desperation heave up to the basket. It was an ugly shot, rotating curiously and floundering on its way to the cylinder, but got the prettiest of bounces. It hit nearly every part of the rim, seemingly playing hot potato with the iron, but it refused to bounce off. After what seemed like five seconds to itself, it calmly rolled into the middle of the net. Kentucky was safe, Sparks was the hero again. Overtime awaited.
Nothing more can describe the unbelievable nature of the 2005 March Madness like these three overtime games on Elite Eight Weekend. They were just, to a word, perfect. They each had their respective flaws and differing beauties. None of the overtimes were totally able to live up to the highest of standards their regulation times set, but in each their own, they were fitting codas. In Rosemont and Albuqueraue, Arizona's Hassan Adams' last gasp three missed, sending Illinois into the Final Four, and the game into the halls of history. In New Mexico, Louisville, after finally breaking the most resilient of hearts in that of the West Virginia Mountaineers, finished their comeback by cruising over a broken team to a comfortable overtime win. Finally, bucking the trend that the team that gives up the lead heading into overtime is done, Michigan St. led by Tom Izzo who has made a hall of fame career and numerous millions by bucking trends, was able to muster enough energy to dispatch the peskiest of Wildcats. The Final Four was set, but really, the drama had climaxed in a two day buffet of basketball. Desert was all that was left, and it was delightful.
It was over, and Roy Williams raised his hands in well-deserved celebration. After losing a memorable title game with a pre-tournament favorite two years earlier, his life's work as a college coach was finally complete. For years, Williams was the coach who 'Could Not Win the Big One', and finally that was all over. All the demons he contained in his closet, the dark memories of Syracuse's Hakeen Warrick blocking Lee Miles tie-attempt, and his crushing loss at the hands of Mike Krzyzewski in 1991, were all forgotten. Roy had finally reached the mountaintop, and for a guy that was crucified for failing to do so for so many agonzing years, that was the prefect way to cap off a tournamet that was a definition of madness.
One Shining Moment, 2005
