Walla, Walla, Walla, Walla, Walla and Walla linked together by arm and hand at the NWAACC Tournament in Kennewick, hoping for the comeback as the scoreboard clock ticks down.
Photo by Jeff Horner.
A championship tournament is like a mythical beast.
It shimmers, shakes and flies.
It rumbles with hundreds of stomping feet and clapping hands.
Its voice roars.
From the outside looking in, determination might be mistaken for aggression, enthusiasm for a taunt, and hope for a last-second comeback as nothing more than the faulty workings of a dreamer’s unreasonable mind.
But this creature breathes the magic of post-season upsets and fosters the support of crazy thoughts and the impossible win. The mind-set of the “only if.”
Dressed in chameleon’s skin, its colors are too bright to linger long. Ever-changing with each school that fills the arena, the hues pulsate with life linked to past tradition, moving as a collective unit to wave as one, displaying its plumage with bright and noisy pride.
Green and gold.
Orange and black.
The black and gold of a Warrior’s uniform. Knights and Tigercats, Pirates and the Fighting Irish.
Much like the mythical Phoenix that rises from its own ashes, March carries the good kind of madness-scenario gene. It shines brightly, burns with fiery passion and — as long as basketball teams are willing to test their skills against one another — this crazy creature and its court will come again.
Nothing is impossible. Nothing out of reach until the last nanosecond has vaporized from the clock and the reality of the scoreboard finally settles in.
And even then — with lessons learned — there’s always another year.