It wasn't supposed to end this way. Not with Charlie Bell almost taking a semifinal oh-fer, or Jason Richardson nearly bruising the backboard on his way to a 2-for-11 night, or Tom Izzo covering his eyes in disbelief as Michigan State took a long, asphyxiating pull on Arizona's exhaust.

Of course, it could have been worse. The rest of America had to watch the Spartans' 80-61 loss and the 148 CBS promos for David Copperfield: Tornado of Fire.

Izzo and the fellas needed a burn unit after this one. Arizona went on a second-half runs of 14-0 and 10-2. Arizona scored 21 points off 15 MSU turnovers. Arizona put the glove on Bell, Richardson and Marcus Taylor (a combined 6-for-30). So much for defending your national championship.

"We picked the worst night to have our worst game," said Spartans freshman center Zach Randolph. Or as MSU forward and philosopher Aloysius Anagonye said: "In this tournament, it is do or die. We died today."

It isn't often that the Spartans play like a pickup team from the East Lansing YMCA, but that's what happened Saturday. Then again, it isn't often they face a team and a coach inspired by a memory, or a player -- Richard Jefferson -- whom Bill Walton says has MJ-comparable athleticism, or a big lug -- Eugene Edgerson -- whose heart is as big as his 'fro. And let's face it, Michigan State maxed out with a team that lost Mateen Cleaves, Morris Peterson and A.J. Granger from a season ago.

Izzo did what he could. He always does. After the Wildcats opened the second half with nine consecutive points, Izzo calmly called for a timeout, waited for his team to encircle him, and then pumped his fist so hard that his pen flew out and over the huddle. It did a triple somersault with a twist before before settling near the halfcourt line.

Later, after yet another crummy Spartan pass, another Jefferson steal, another dunk, Izzo yelled to one of his players. "You want to play, right?" he said.

And still later, with a chance to cut Arizona's lead to eight, Izzo watched in horror as Gilbert Arenas picked off another MSU pass and fed it to Jefferson. What could have been eight became 12, then 14 ... 15 ... 17 ... 18 -- and after that, who really cared? That's when Izzo, the walking aneurysm, brought his hand to eyes.

Meanwhile, Arizona coach Lute Olson looked as if someone slipped him placid pills. He paced a bit, crossed his arms, but that was it for public displays. During one timeout he kneeled in front of his team, talked a bit and then, with chin on his hand, patiently listened as Arenas and Jason Gardner took turns explaining how they wanted to run something. Imagine that, a basketball democracy.

Olson has never rattled easily, and even less so these days. When your wife of 47 years dies after a long, ferocious and dignified battle against cancer, you tend not to sweat the small stuff, such as Final Four semis.

This will be Olson's second national championship game (the Wildcats won in 1997) and as you might expect, the most bittersweet. The last time he had Bobbi there for a postgame hug. This time he has his family, but it isn't the same thing. How could it be?

"Everyone knows that this season is dedicated to Mrs. Olson, but we've been talking about it for a long time," said Jefferson. "We haven't said anything different since the whole situation happened."

Moments after the final horn sounded, and Michigan State's grinder-of-a-season had come to an end, Izzo made a beeline for Olson. There was a handshake, but this one lasted a little longer than usual. There were congratulations offered, but Izzo added a little something extra. So did Olson, who told the MSU coach what a wonderful job he did this year.

Who knows what Izzo said, but you could tell it was heartfelt. Better yet, you could tell Olson appreciated every private word of it.

I've got no clue which team is going to win this thing (my office pool sheet is resting comfortably in my hotel room garbage can), but I'm all for happy endings.

Olson hoisting a trophy would work.

Gene Wojciechowski is a senior writer for ESPN The Magazine. E-mail Geno at gene.wojciechowski@espnmag.com.