UCLA vs. Gonzaga: 5 Years Later, 2006 Sweet 16 Memory Burns Bright

Where were you during the comeback that cemented UCLA's reemergence as a title contender under Ben Howland?  How did you react when you saw them slip to a double-digit halftime deficit? 

The No. 2 NCAA tournament seed they'd worked all season to attain was in serious (and near total capitulation) danger of coming up short against the third seeded Bulldogs and their scorer extraordinaire, Adam Morrison?

Did you remain cautiously optimistic, hoping upon unbridled hope that the Bruins might, just might muster another bit of March Madness magic that has come to define the program—most notably that brilliant full-court dash at Boise in '95 by the epic Tyus Edney against Missouri?

Did you shift your posture from one of slouched resignation to expectancy, perched on the edge of your seat as UCLA mounted a furious fight back from 17 points down?

Did your allegiance to the new breed of Bruins—the Farmars, the Afflalos, the Mbah a Moute's, coupled with your pride that the elder guard, who'd once been written off as castaways from the Lavin era—the Cedric Bozemans, the Ryan Hollins—were fighting side by side with the new guys in desperate fury to steal that game back from Gonzaga's clutches?

Did you begin to think that, however unlikely, as the deficit was cut from 13 to single-digits, to under five that, "Hey, we've got this"—like Jimmy Chitwood, of Hoosiers fame, was guiding UCLA to the promised land?

Did you abandon all pretense during that furious last 40.8 seconds, when the score had narrowed, somehow, to 71-68 in favor of Gonzaga? Did you channel your inner child, dusting off your rally cap to help push the Bruins over that steep, strain-inducing mountain of comeback?

Did those final seconds tick by like the coming of infinity, each passing moment a lifetime in passing, like that final sequence in Invictus?

Memories searing into your mind. Jordan Farmar, of all people, playing defense on Morrison, forcing the All-American and future No. 3 pick in the NBA draft, into a contested shot that the Zag missed front-iron.

The ball caromes to the far end of the court, where Hollins and J.P. Batista engage in a furious struggle for the loose ball.

Did your heart catch in your mouth when you heard the whistle blow? Loose ball foul on Gonzaga. These were cardiac-upsetting times.

Hollins, the 60 percent free throw shooter on the season, heading to the line for a one-and-one. The hesitant stroke, the knees bending surreptitiously, but both times: conversion. Ice in his veins.

The senior played the way he did before these nationally televised events. The conviction never fading—he simply did not want the tournament's journey to end. He didn't want to go home yet.

Seventy-one...seventy. Hollins then dashing off the court to make way for Darren Collison's defense. Mbah a Moute hustling to guard David Pendergraft, ready to inbound the ball for Gonzaga.

The inbounds pass lobbed in successfully to Morrison, immediately double-teamed by Afflalo and an arriving Mbah a Moute.

Morrison then lobbing a precarious cross-court pass to Batista in the backcourt, whereupon the normally conserved Len Elmore, doing color commentary for CBS alongside the combustible Gus Johnson, caught his words when Farmar reached and—did he? Yes he did—plucked the ball from Batista's flimsy grasp.

Farmar's pass inside to Mbah a Moute on the low block, who successfully avoided Gonzaga guard Derek Raivio's flailing attempt at a block to lay in the 71st and 72nd points of the night for UCLA.

Gus Johnson punching his one-way ticket to euphoria. The announcer unable to conceal his pervasive enthusiasm.

Raivio instantly collecting the ensuing inbounds pass and steaming upcourt. Only seconds remaining now for the Zags—he darts by Mbah a Moute before—wait, did Mbah a Moute just poke the ball loose? How did he recover that quickly?

The freshman forward, a Cameroonian prince, throwing his body to the floor to protect the ball. Not bowing, but sacrificing. In deference to the untold power of basketball. Even royalty abandons all pretense in its presence.

Gonzaga diving furiously to win it back. Jump ball. UCLA possession. Elmore and Johnson beside themselves in that singular stupor only March Madness can deliver.

Afflalo, UCLA's best free throw shooter, headed to the line with 1.9 on the clock.

Two shots beckoning. He...misses the first. Heart is back in mouth. Miss the second, Arron. No matter if UCLA's up by two, Gonzaga's only chance either way is a three pointer. Miss it and deny them the chance to run a set play. Make them heave a full-court shot.

No matter. I'm no coach, and Afflalo hits the second. 73-71. A full-court heave to Batista, who comes down with the pass just inside the arc. His last-second heave...caroms off the backboard. No good.

UCLA have, against the odds, won.

For a night, all is right. A team fighting back from the brink of despair, destined to embark upon a run to the final against Florida that no one could have predicted.

Unforgettable memories, seared into the mind. Howland's legacy had officially started. UCLA doesn't hang up Final Four banners, only national championships.

While the former Pitt boss has yet to win his first, it was games like that night in Oakland that go a long way toward warming the hearts of UCLA fans.

Bruins diving about the floor. The Hollywood egos so pervasive during the Lavin era are nowhere in sight.