CollegiateLuggage.com - Where painful memories and happy times take turns.

Like many fans of collegiate sports I spent the past few weeks avidly watching the NCAA Men's Basketball Tournament, savoring the March Madness and marveling at the levels of pure athleticism evident in each game. This was, in fact, the first time that all four of the #1 seed teams at the beginning of the Tournament all made their way to the Final Four contest in San Antonio. So it promised to be yet-another fun ride. I didn't have a particular stake in the contests so I watched for fun as Kansas and Memphis played for the National Championship.

In the end, Memphis was undone not by a better team or better coaching, but by a bunch of missed free-throws during the final seconds of regulation play. This absolutely made me crazy. To fully understand my frustration, I must tell you an anecdote from my high school years (we are talking the 1960's) in a time before there was Gatorade.

I was the manager of our high school's basketball team. This meant that I took care of towels and equipment, made sure that the basketballs were all properly inflated, helped tape the player's ankles, got things ready before practice and cleaned up afterwards. All of the little stuff that helps make the team go. We had a great coach and a team that had won the New Jersey State Championship just one year earlier (prior to my starting high school).

So, imagine my dismay when our regular season record in my first year with the team was 12-8. And we lost all eight of these games by a combined total of 21 points. (That averages to less than 3 points per game). If a game went into overtime, we lost. If we had the lead going into the last 90 seconds, we lost. If we were making a legitimate comeback during the last 90 seconds, we lost. And the source of this awful, sad, frustrating, dispiriting sequence of disappointments was missed free-throws.

That's right, free-throws that weren't made were the difference between victory and defeat for one whole season. Our players easily shot 100 practice free-throws (also known as 'foul shots') each, every day. Most of them had been playing basketball and shooting free throws for 6 or more years by the time they stepped on the court in our team uniform. We didn't have any 'bad' free-throw shooters - just good and better.

Do the math with me: At least 100 practice foul shots per day times at least 300 days per year = 30,000+ practice shots per year. Multiply by an average of six years = 180,000 practice free-throws during their young lifetimes. I know they did the work because I was often the one spotting for them and keeping count. Every starter on our team could sink 10 for 10 with his eyes closed. But when the clutch moment came and we needed those couple of points to tie or (heaven help us) win, we got zilch, zip, nada, nathan. I used up every wish I had earned, I prayed to everyone and everything I could think of including the patron saint of comfortable sneakers and still we lost.

So, of course, watching the final couple minutes of the NCAA Championship Game last Monday evening I couldn't help but notice that the Memphis players were apparently having the same problem that my high school team did a scant 40 years earlier. As I mentioned before, I had no real stake in this game but by the end of regulation my heart was racing and my mouth was dry and for a short-but-seemingly-endless moment I was back in time watching the wheels come off. I was in basketball fan hell.

So, my condolences to the Memphis team and fans, my congratulations to the "Rock Chalk Jayhawks" and my fair warning to all of you: When life presents you with a free-throw, you had better make it count.