So there I was on Monday night at 10:30 p.m., sauntering down Broadway, away from the Dome, about 20 minutes removed from the most anticlimactic moment in my life.

That's right, folks, the predictions came to fruition. On Monday night, my beloved Fighting Illini fell to the North Carolina Tar Heels by a score of 75-70. As I plodded down the street toward the Metrolink, all I could think about was how I had been waiting for this night for the last 22 years, and especially the last five months; and it came down to one missed three-pointer. At that moment, I felt like a freight train had just plowed straight through me.

As I waffled into Marchetti, still adorned with five strands of orange beads and my Illini shirt that had not been washed in a month, I ripped into a 12-pack and pondered the end of my life.

Then I woke up on Tuesday morning. Perhaps I was being a bit over-dramatic, I thought to myself. After all, the Illini could have easily packed it in at half-time. Two separate times in the second half, they erased double-digit UNC leads to bring the game to a tie. Under the guidance of coach of the year Bruce Weber and point guard Deron Williams (perhaps playing in his last game for the orange and blue), the Illini looked like the team that had rolled over opponents all season. In the last few minutes, it looked like there would be a thriller equaling last Saturday's elite eight game against Arizona.

It was not to be, as those last three-point attempts by Luther Head drew nothing but iron, and this season's team of destiny was derailed.

It would be real easy right now to pick on Luther, but I'm sure he's already beating himself up enough, because he'll never get another chance.

Something just did not seem right with the Illini on Monday. A friend told me to call up Bruce Weber and tell him that it is okay to send the ball inside the three-point arc. Illinois shattered the record for three-point attempts in a game, with 40, only hitting on 12. All night the Illini were too scared to go inside; even 6'10" forward Jack Ingram spent too much time at the three-point line.

But Sean May was the problem. He had James Augustine flummoxed all night. Within the first few minutes, Augie already had two fouls, and from then on the Illini could not go after May (which explains Augustine's abysmal stat line of nine minutes, two rebounds, zero points and five fouls).

I really do not like pinning any blame on officials, but they gave May the Shaquille O'Neal treatment, which means giving him the benefit of the doubt because he is a colossal fat-ass. The birthday boy was able to run roughshod over the Illini all night.

However, it is impossible to put the blame on the officials.

Going 12-40 from three will not win games. The two looks that Luther Head had in the final minute could not have been better, and after going forever without committing a turnover, they made one in the final minute, which gave the Illini no choice but to foul.

It is impossible, however, not to think about how much fun I had, and how much fun it was to watch. For one more night, I got to watch Deron Williams take over a game, Dee Brown run circles around his defenders and Bruce Weber stand 10 feet outside the coach's box. And for one more time, that ignorant "One Shining Moment" song is playing in my head.

It is not time to sit back and think about what could have been. Even though it will be a while before I wear my T-shirt, being at the Final Four was an amazing experience. Seeing tens of thousands of passionate basketball fans converge on one city and celebrate, for the most part, in a fashion that would make John Wooden proud was great. Watching a man painted in Michigan State green and white led chants of "I-L-L…I-N-I!" was good sportsmanship personified. Seeing that man made up for the UNC fans who told me I needed to "make way for the real fans."

I should have said something, but I would have looked like a tool after the game.

I am especially glad that I did not tell John Edwards he was going to experience his second big loss in the last six months. My "Hey! John Edwards!" was good enough.

So congratulations to the Tar Heels and Roy Williams on being national champions.

You worked your asses off to get to this moment over the last few years. I hope you were proud of the Illinois fans exiting gracefully, while you and your fans got to revel in cutting down the nets and accepting the trophy. I know that you would have done the same for us.

I wish I could say that I am looking forward to Illinois football, but I think we all know better.

So for right now, I'll just sit back with that insipid song going through my head and picture the moment when the Illini beat Wake Forest to take over the number-one ranking Deron Williams, sinking that three to send the Arizona game into overtime and Bruce Weber with tears streaming down his face when he realized he was taking his team to the Final Four.

Next season should be a blast as well-I cannot wait to buy my season tickets. Thanks for the ride boys. Oskee-wow-wow.