They would play with no fear, which is the only way you play Kentucky, and they would play to win, from one end of the court to the other, for all 40 minutes. They would play with their hair on fire, play as if John Calipari and Karl-Anthony Towns and Willie Cauley-Stein had stolen their lunch money, play as if their lives were on the line, and not only their college basketball lives. They would rattle Kentucky, wear them to a frazzle physically and spiritually with their vulture press.
Sometimes, once in a while, heart will beat talent, and a lesser team that dares to fire a slingshot into the heart of March Madness can captivate the country and pull off one of those forever Villanova upsets.
But sometimes, an awakened, enraged Goliath, his machismo questioned, will sneer at the romance that the NCAA Tournament can give us, and mercilessly swat away the swarming bees buzzing all around him, trying in vain to sting him and send him home distraught without a perfect season and without a national championship.
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