The other side of the equation

What a championship game. The best one since … well, since the last time Kansas repped half of the last pair standing. In a tournament full of boring blowouts, where the average margin of victory was in double digits, where the only surprise in the Final Four was that there were no surprises, this is what we all were watching for, waiting for.

Or was it?

I was not incredibly excited for the 2008 NCAA championship game. (That is an incredibly severe understatement.) I didn't have any affinity for either team left standing, both coaches reminded me of the child-jacking cop in Gone, Baby, Gone, and I was still bitter about the fact that another ACC team had - shocker - officially exterminated my bracket. (Food for thought: I had Kansas losing in the Sweet 16. I think I was still bitter that they beat Boston College in December, which I now realize was a great rationale for judging the best team in the nation.)

But still, I watched. Not gonna lie, I wasn't ready to sacrifice The Hills for Derrick Rose and Mario Chalmers, so I did miss a little bit of the game, but I caught the important parts. I saw Memphis seize control as the clock wound down. I saw Joey Dorsey foul out in crunch time but remain completely unfazed, like he knew that his last appearance in a Memphis uniform would be a satisfying one. I saw the Tigers go up by nine points with a little over two minutes remaining.

Then, something weird happened.

When Chris Douglas-Roberts missed a free throw with about a minute left in the game, I saw this flash of Eli Manning dropping back, searching the field, and somehow escaping the grasp of Richard Seymour and Jarvis Green. Then, as Rose bricked the potentially game-winning free throw with 10 seconds left, I saw David Tyree wide open, downfield. And when Mario Chalmers hit the game-tying 3, I saw Plaxico Burress catch the touchdown that stole history from the New England Patriots.

It was obvious to me, from that point on, that there was a 100-percent chance that Kansas would win that game, and I couldn't enjoy it. For a split second, I was happy for the Jayhawks. For a split second, I was thinking what the rest of the neutral college basketball world was thinking: What a great comeback. What a shot. Roy must be peeing his pants over there.

But then, the camera panned to Derrick Rose, to John Calipari, and I heard those words that still haunt me, two months later: "When you think about how close they were to making history …"

And just like that, there was no possible way I could enjoy Kansas's comeback. Not when I thought about what's in store for those Memphis players and Memphis fans over the next few months.

Sports are strange. For every exhilarating win, there must be a debilitating loss. There is no way to win big - 2004 Red Sox style - without psychologically annihilating another team, another fan base.

I've been on both sides of the equation, and I can honestly say that Super Bowl XLII took away my ability to enjoy the Greatest Comebacks of All Time, forevermore.

Bill Self slept for about an hour the night after that game. Think about how much John Calipari slept. Think about how much he'll sleep for the next two, three months, thinking about what he could've done differently. Think about how many Sour Patch Kids Derrick Rose will be eating for comfort. Think about how Joey Dorsey walked off the court of the Alamodome a national champion and left San Antonio a national disaster.

I know it's the Tigers' own fault. Kansas deserved to win. There's no question about that. But Memphis had no right losing that game, not when they were so tragically close. They got done in by their own Achilles' heel that they were too stubborn, too smug to address. They made themselves cry, thinking about what they did, as Spencer Pratt would so intelligently point out.

But that sure doesn't make it suck any less - not for them or their fans.