While banished to Bracketory, which is a weird hellhole combo of Championship Week, Bristol and Purgatory where they shove you deep inside a dark studio, hook a microphone to your tie and stick an IV in your ear -- oh, somebody just told me it's an IFB; sorry -- a bewildering array of thoughts somehow seemed to just dribble out.

Why didn't Lubbock, Texas always seem the perfect landing pad for basketball's favorite maniac? Old friend Gerald Myers, a former coach, for godsakes, as a boss. All that huntin' and fishin' and rural stuff -- the better to strangle the stragglers when nobody's lookin'. All that red. All those rock 'n roll bars. The birthplace and final resting home of another great American Tragedian, the late and very great Buddy Holly. But is our Fair Knight really going to sign on Texas Tech's dotted line this quickly? To quote the immortal Buddy: Maybe, baby. Ah, but to quote him again: That'll be the day. If Knight's own bosom buddy, Bill Parcells -- who coached with him at Army and has strong ties to UMass -- can bend his ear enough, look for Knight to look long and hard toward Amherst before he alights anywhere.

The media boys in the Bluegrass have had a picnic analogizing Benedict Pitino's alleged new position at Louisville: It's like Colonel Sanders admitting he whipped up his greasy recipe in Tennessee; Ronald McDonald suddenly hawking Whoppers. (But what's with the hang-ups on fast food?) My girl from Alabama says it's more like Bear Bryant rolling out from the grave to emerge at Auburn. I say at least get an Italian riff in there somewhere. Tony Soprano, say, taking over the partnership at McBeal and Fish.

Speaking of TV romances we'd like to see, did anybody realize both James Gandolfini and Calista Flockhart were once students at Rutgers? (Same time, we hope. E-mail me if you know.) Meanwhile, if Rutgers AD Bob Mulcahy, who in his former life basically invented the Meadowlands, is serious about upgrading his school's basketball profile, don't be surprised if he turns to his Baltusrol golfing crony, P.J. Carlesimo. Isn't it about time P.J. left the Bay area, sheared that so-over beard and came back home to the New York bridge-and-tunnel life where he belongs? In other Joisey noise, it's heartwarming to watch Seton Hall make this late run after nice guy Tommy Amaker had to put up with all those egos and entourages all season. But when it's finally over, who's going to bail on the Hall faster -- Eddie Griffin to the NBA or Amaker to Michigan?

Worst outfit of the pre-Big Dance? No surprise, Denny Crum. Truly shocking that DC didn't horrify us one last time with that pitiful red blazer. But that lapel boutonniere was way too senior prom. And that band-collar shirt? (Cardinal-ugh-red, of course.) Denny, bro! Band collars went out with Pervis Ellison.

Remember that troika of New York freshman point guards -- Omar Cook of St. Johns, Andre Barrett of Seton Hall and Taliek Brown of Connecticut -- who were supposed to ignite the Big East? While Cook (thuggo), Barrett (midget) and Brown (Connecti-Who?) end the season as footnotes, St. Joseph's Jameer Nelson, from the Philly suburb of Chester, is the absolute truth. Nelson and his braided backcourt mate, Marvin O'Connor, are as good as any backcourt in America. If anybody can get past Phil Martelli's clown act -- which ESPN (The Network and The Magazine) plans to plunge into during the first week of the NCAA tournament -- they will discover that the Hawks may be the best team in the East. And besides, this year's Hawk is, hallelujah, a girl.

Cinderellas? If St. Joe's wins the first two rounds, Martelli will be the talk of the tournament. Or if George Mason does, George Evans will be. That would be Cinderella in combat boots, of course -- Evans being the 30-year-old Army veteran who went from battling atrocities in Haiti, Somalia and Iraq (during the Gulf War) to three-time Colonial Athletic Association player-of-the-year. Can you imagine what CBS would do if the Masons could win a couple? Hopefully, get General Schwartzkopf on air to do the color and order my guy Armen Keteyian to "drop and give me twenty." Of course, the alltime Cinderella in history is Oklahoma State, which will very quickly become America's Team. Seriously now, what with the plane crash and the suffering this team has fought through, does anybody think the tournament committee could have the gall not to pick the Cowboys. Or the insensitivity ... stupidity ... inhumanity ... ? Oh, right. They are the NCAA.

Favorite post-season coaching strategy so far. Steve Barnes in the San Jose State huddle as his team was losing to Tulsa in the WAC tournament: "WE NEEDED A BASKET AND YOU AIR-BALLED IT? HELL, NO!"

Favorite ESPN anchor comment over highlight. The terrific Jim Frazier (a part-time R&B saxophonist) unleashing a hilarious scream as Okie State's Maurice Baker lights up Texas Tech. "SOME PEOPLE CALL ME MO-REESE!"

Favorite emotional meltdown capsulizing the trauma of defeat. Canisius' Darren Fenn, a 3.9 GPA senior biology major, absolutely weeping in the press conference after losing the Metro Atlantic championship to Iona in Buffalo: "A lot of people talk about the city and say things I don't agree with. I love Buffalo. I wanted it for the city." Tell it to Marv Levy, kid.

Favorite-names team still alive: George Washington, with Attila Cosby, SirValiant Brown and Antxon Iturbe. Don't Antx me why.

Favorite-names team now dead: TCU, with Greedy Daniels, Bingo Merriex and Nucleus Smith. Losers by 20 to Hawaii? Book 'em, Dan-o. Billy Ball -- aloha.

Oscar candidates. Gladiator: UAB Coach Murry Bartow, running on the court, shouting at the refs: "THAT'S BULLS---! THAT'S BULLS---!, trying his damndest to get ejected at the end of his team's crushing defeat to Cincinnati. Erin Brokovich: Is it my imagination or is Ruth Riley of Notre Dame the most fetching hoopster since Cheryl Miller? Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon: Would that Clemson and Drexel could get good enough to get it on. Traffic: Blue Devils at rush hour behind the arc. Without, of course, the cocaine. Chocolat: Illinois, a sweet fable in which a comely outsider (well, Bill Self) wins over a rigid French (well, Champagne) village with the power of candy (well, PT). Co-starring Lucas Johnson as the sexy pirate (well, bizarre headcase) who falls in love and lives happily ever after (well, if they can beat Michigan State again).

Game of the Year. Duke and Maryland can play out all the dramas and throw all the soda cans they want. Arizona 75, Stanford 74 was as emotional, loud, heroic and spectacular a contest as one could wish for. An enthralling night in Palo Alto -- Casey Jacobsen curling everywhere for Tree baskets; the Cats' Richard Jefferson not blocking but positively punching a Stanford shot into the seats as he leaped totally over his victim -- culminated with Loren Woods passing up a 12-footer to bounce the ball inside to Michael Wright, who muscled up between the Collins twins to flip in the winner. Afterward players from both sides embraced, coaches Mike Montgomery and Lute Olson warmly congratulated each other, everybody realizing that -- as the cliché goes -- this was precisely what it is all about. It was a moment that defines this marvelous time of year in this marvelous sport and one that left everybody thirsting for more the rest of this week ... and the next ... and the next. Said Lute to Mike. "We'll see you in Minneapolis."

The Final Four couldn't ask for anything more.

Curry Kirkpatrick is a senior writer for ESPN The Magazine. E-mail him at curry.kirkpatrick@espnmag.com.