Magic:

Seconds ticking by, counting down. The minutes become seconds become tenths of a second. As each increment falls, time inches close and closer, moving inexorably towards the conclusion. Fans are on their feet, screaming, shouting, unsure of where or when they are. Time doesn't matter here. Seconds become minutes, each digit on the many-bulbed clocks becomes an eternity itself.

The ball flys forward in an exquisite arch, hopes rising as the ball spins slightly backwards. Hopes fall to dismay as the ball ricochets off of the right side of the rim with the dull clank of air-filled rubber on flexible steel.

A white jersy jumps, and hopes dig out of the foxholes of dispair, rising with the athlete, timed, poised, he catches the ball. Air catches in anxious throats, ready to burst forth in screams of jubliation, or cries of agony. The ball goes up again, surely this time the shot will sing true. Seconds tick away.

It misses off of the back of the rim.

Out of the fray comes the last hope, a sparkling white and blue jersey escapes the mahem of the key with the ball and suddenly without any warning he turns and sets his feet just outside that majestic three-point line as the clock ticks down and lets fly a hesitant shot of desperation mixed with surety in his ability to put the ball through the hoop. The arena quiets down as hopes fly in either direction.

The ball bounces once, unsure of where it wants to land.

Fighting to push it this way and that are the wills of thousands, millions. Fall in! Bounce out! A season's hopse hang in the balance of a simple question of physics and geometry. Some scream loudly, others stare in amazement, some cannot bear to watch.

The ball bounces again, off the front of the rim, unsure still of where it wishes to go.

Amid white jersey's anguish carves itself in the brows of young men, while arms hold heads or swing down by waists. Green jersey's look on in quiet desperation, pleading with the metaphysical to nudge the ball just wide. Houses are divided, people on the edge of their seats. The poor young fellow who took the shot looks on, his future hanging in the balance. Across the land fans are poised, some to cheer, some to cry, all anxiously shouting at the ball in silence...

The ball goes in! And after careful review, anciety has reached a critical mass, WE MUST KNOW NOW!!!! The referees make their signal...

Another five minutes in won.

In the end one team goes home happy, another must live with defeat. But for the fans sitting and watching across thousands upon millions of screens, there is no magic like March Madness.