I need to tell you about an orientation video, a poem, three sheets of yellow paper, and the greatest night of my professional life.

See, thanks to (another) late tip time I spent my afternoon Saturday at the Muhammad Ali Center in downtown Louisville. As part of the tour, they have you begin on the fifth floor and work your way down to the various exhibits. You start by watching what they call an orientation video. In reality, it's something more akin to a 15-minute documentary on Ali's life. It's framed against the Rudyard Kipling poem "If."

Having written in this space just a few weeks ago about what March could mean for the Wahoos given not just last year but the potential for change ahead, something about the poem, its apparent importance to Ali personally, and its backdrop on the day resonated with me.

I thought of those words as Carsen Edwards was flexing the flamethrower attached to his right arm and the Cavaliers kept answering the bell over and over. It was just such an astounding game, easily the best I've ever covered. To see a player go nuclear and to watch UVa have an answer every time? It was unreal. It was made all the more astounding because of the backdrop of last year and the way that history has not only hung over this program but become a cornerstone of how they would—and had to—approach this season.

It's been said repeatedly how unique this run is, given that no one knows how it feels to be the No. 1 that lost to a 16 coming back as a No. 1. So much of the regular season narrative around UVa was something akin to "Yeah, but..." and though unfair, it was certainly accurate. Watching them in this tournament and seeing the way they've blocked out that noise—outside of the first half against Gardner-Webb when the pressure was clearly evident on their faces—has been impressive.

If you can keep your head when all about you

Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,

If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,

But make allowance for their doubting too;

With 5.9 seconds left in regulation Saturday night, I thought about that part of the poem. And I thought about three pieces of paper. Sheets from a specific legal pad I used for game tracking three years ago, on the night Virginia was leading Syracuse 51-37 with 10:02 left in the Elite Eight.

Many sportswriters are pack rabbits. Me? I rarely keep stat sheets and the like. But I've kept those three pieces of paper for a reason. I knew, even that night amid so much frustration and genuine confusion, that I'd want to know when last Virginia had led an Elite Eight game—5:49 to play, when Malachi Richardson's drive put the Orange up 59-58 in the midst of a 15-0 run, for those of you scoring at home—because at some point the Wahoos would be back. I thought last year that it would be then. Once they made it back to the Sweet 16, I decided to bring the sheets with me and it's the first time I've touched them since that night in 2016.

Letting go of that loss and the one last year and everything in between was cathartic for all of us and not until Kihei Clark whipped an incredible half-court pass to Mamadi Diakite to force OT did I truly feel it. I briefly thought Virginia had won (I didn't even have the luxury of blaming the play-by-play call for my error) and I own up to it only because for a second, I was going to cover a Final Four. And then I wasn't, or at least the outcome was once again back in doubt. And I wanted desperately for that feeling to return.

I knew what it was like to "know" it and I wanted it again.

If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster

And treat those two impostors just the same;

If you can dream—and not make dreams your master;

If you can think—and not make thoughts your aim;

Watching players and coaches celebrating on the floor in the Yum! Center, I thought so much about the game itself, how fortunate I was to be there, how thankful I am for this journey, but mainly how resilient these kids are and how they've dealt with both disaster and triumph. If anything in the last 12 months has stuck with me it's that good teams don't win championships simply because they are a good team. You need a few breaks, cliche as that is. And then you need a couple more.

With 10 minutes to play against the Orange, I thought for sure I was about to cover my first Final Four. With 5:56 left in regulation Saturday night and UVa up six, I thought for sure I was about to cover my first Final Four. A 7-0 run over the next two minutes didn't shake that feeling. A banked-in 3-pointer by Edwards with 1:09 left did. And then it all fell into place. Somehow.

Regardless of what happens this weekend in Minneapolis, watching this team "get a chance to rewrite the ending" of its story, as I said in this space a few weeks ago, has been the greatest ride of my professional life. Saturday night was by far the most memorable. ACC titles are incredible and I mean no disrespect here, but this was different. For them. For all of us.

I think we all knew that if they could put it together, they were good enough to get there. If they could keep the ghosts of the past at bay, they were good enough to get there. If a few things went their way for once, they were good enough to get there.

If.

"There's a relief they hope to achieve," I wrote last month, "and a true ascension they hope to secure."

Indeed.

Welcome to April, Wahoos everywhere.

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