Where Did Those March Madness Legends Go?

Ahh, good old March Madness. I remember as a kid filling out my bracket and praying I'd pick that upset to impress my older brother, and losing my mind when some kid I'd never heard of buried a buzzer-beater? Those were good times.

But ever wonder what happened to those legendary players who lit it up during March Madness and then suddenly disappeared? Spoiler alert...they did not vanish. A ton of those heroes packed their bags and headed overseas. They're still grinding, still balling, and chasing that paycheck halfway around the world...you just didn't know.

I should know...I've been one of them.

The NCAA Tournament feels like a lifetime ago, but those memories never fade. It was a wild ride. Then immediately going from March Madness stardom to playing in countries most people can't even point to on a map can feel just as crazy. Trust me, the journey is worth talking about.

Here's an excerpt from my book Overseas Famous, where I dive deep into what it felt like to step onto that big stage in March:

We took that attitude into the following season and finished with 21 wins; the most regular season wins in school history. We rolled through the playoffs until the championship game. That night we played St. Francis (NY), with an NCAA tournament bid on the line. You might have watched it on ESPN. It was the game with no fans. We played in front of a raucous crowd of about 200 people. A powerful snowstorm blanketed the east coast making travel conditions a little shaky. Or at least that was the excuse my roommates gave me.

As the game wound down, we found ourselves in a deep hole. Down by over twenty points with less than fourteen minutes remaining, we started to mount, what has now been known in Monmouth inner circles, as “The Comeback”.

Little by little the lead was chipped away until it was 61-59. That is when our two leaders took over. Rahsaan Johnson, our point guard and one of the best players in school history, drove into the middle of the lane and kicked to Gerry who buried a three putting us up by one, and we never looked back.

In the NCAA Tournament, we drew quite possibly the best Duke team in school history. Shane Battier, Mike Dunleavy, Jay Williams, Chris Duhon, and Carlos Boozer filled out their starting five, making them a tough draw for anyone, let alone one whose starting five weighed a combined 600 lbs. Coach Ron Krayl, our eldest and most experienced coach, wore many hats. He was a defensive specialist, high school gym teacher, and father to teammate Jay Krayl. Coach Krayl stood at midcourt breaking down the Duke roster, in a way you can imagine breaking down a scouting report consisting of two First Team All Americans and six future NBA players, would be. Especially when the man tasked with anchoring our matchup zone defense, yours truly, resembled Slenderman. “Starting at guard will be Jason Williams. Try to force him to his left, as he is less explosive attacking the basket with his left hand. But don’t think he won’t put you on a poster if he drives that way.” Coach Krayl said. Good start, I thought as he subsequently went on delivering scouting reports of Shane Battier, Chris Duhon, Carlos Boozer, and Mike Dunleavy, each riddled with the perils of their capabilities on the basketball court. We all listened enthusiastically, hoping we could be the first 16 seed to take down a giant while I swallowed the fear that sat in the pit of my stomach that we would be destroyed on national television.

Later that day our starting five sat on a large stage answering questions from the national media. Questions like, “Are you guys excited to be here?” as if we were a charity case who won a trip to Disney World. Gerry tilted his head and responded, “We didn’t come here to get run over, we came to play, and we’re going to go out there and give it our best shot.” Another reporter who had homed in on my height, and was looking for a sound bite, asked us, a team who plays only a matchup zone, who was guarding Shane Battier. We looked around at each other confused before all eyes locked in on me. I slowly raised my arm. “I guess that would be me,” I answered while the crowd had a good chuckle at my expense. I guess they thought I was joking about the responsibilities of guarding, or in this case, matching up with the NCAA Player of the Year. But I was ready to give him my best shot.

The morning of the game I awoke from a bad dream. I was trying to help my childhood dog who was sniffing around the edge of a steep cliff. I did not want to make any sudden movements, as Pepper was prone to running away. I crept up very slowly, and as I reached for her collar, she darted off the cliff. I jumped to stop her, but it was too late. As I laid with my outstretched arms dangling off the cliff heartbroken, my body slowly began sliding towards the edge. I was paralyzed and could not stop this momentum. I tried to reach for help, but there was nothing to grab onto. I began plummeting towards the distant ground. Maybe it was the apprehension of the impending game, or the near-death experience as our plane nearly fell out of the sky on our flight to North Carolina, but I wasn’t waking up. I could see the ground getting closer and closer. I closed my eyes, lowered my shoulder and BOOM! I sprung up from my sleeping position like the Macallisters after they overslept in Home Alone. I did an appraisal of my surroundings and, while grateful I was in a hotel bed and not dead, I was shook.

This anxiety became far more intense after my third cup of coffee. I was rarely exposed to caffeine growing up as the caffeine-free Pepsi we bought by the case load was there to give just a jolt of sugar and carbonation while not stopping my parents from getting a solid night of sleep. This was the game day of all game days. I would be seen on national television that day and had to make sure my body was as energized as possible. I think I’ve made a big mistake, I thought as I walked down the grand stairway of the hotel while trying to stop my hands from shaking uncontrollably as I headed to the bus.

Unbeknownst to us at the time, our pep band and cheerleaders had taken over the lobby of the hotel loudly playing our fight song as we made our way to our bus. This was not just a thrill for us, but an unexpected thrill to the rest of the hotel patrons, who probably didn’t realize this repetitive noise would be echoing throughout the building when they booked the room. This noise pollution added to the growing pressure and excitement I was already feeling. All of these stimuli culminated on the bus ride over. My hands were shaking, my knees were shaking, and my mind was a jumbled mess. I needed to calm down, but how? I had never been in a situation like this before. All the pre-tournament pomp and circumstance was fun and exciting, but now it was time to perform. I was two seconds away from a full-on panic attack when my teammate Jay Dooley walked by me.

“O-Dog,” he said, which was my nickname at the time. “Last night, I did some crazy shit to that girl. I’m pretty sure she’s coming; I’ll point her out to you.” I laughed nervously and looked at Dools (his nickname at the time), who had no care in the world. It was calming. I was thinking strictly about the game and not remotely about just being a kid and enjoying this experience. This was the greatest basketball experience of my life thus far and I was wasting it worrying about what could go wrong. I took a deep breath and smiled. I was not going to waste another minute being scared. Not now, not ever. My hands slowly relaxed and I took the floor to the sold-out arena.

This was a surreal experience. I had played in packed high school gyms exceeding fire code occupancy, and occasionally Boylan Gym at Monmouth University would be packed, but nothing like Greensboro Coliseum. The occupancy for the arena was about 24,000, and since we were playing Duke and book-ended before and after were large programs like UCLA and Ohio State, it was at max capacity.

I walked to half court for the tip off and stood face to face with Shane Battier. He was a senior and I was only a sophomore, but he looked like a grown man. He walked around the half court circle exchanging pleasantries with us and looking each one of his teammates directly in the eyes, before saying, “It starts here!” He walked up to me, nodded his head and said, “Good luck.” Our journeys were wildly different. To us this game was the biggest of our lives. To them we were the initial speed bump on the way to the goal of a National Championship. It was my job to make sure their journey ended here. I had taken responsibility for Shane’s success during the previous day’s press conference, and I had to go out and give it my best.

The ref entered the circle with the ball, we both bent our knees, extended our hands and prepared to jump. 𝅘𝅥𝅮The ball was tipped, and there we were. I was running for my life, I was a shooting star. And all the years, no one knew, just how hard I worked, but now it shows.

In one shining moment, it was all on the line. One shining moment, there frozen in time. 𝅘𝅥𝅮 Luther Vandross’ voice replayed over and over in my head. I was focused, as we raced up and down the court trying to keep up with the best team in college basketball history. Finally, the ball came to me just a few feet from the basket. I took a step, squared my shoulders and laid it in. I was exhilarated. I fought off a smile as I ran down the court. This feeling was fleeting as I glanced at the scoreboard; Duke:16 Monmouth:3.

While I gave it my all, trying to defend a future NBA lottery pick, Shane’s final stat line still read 21 points and 10 rebounds, which I blame more on the kinks in the zone, which ironically, I was also primarily responsible for. Although we lost, I still maintain that the game was much closer than the 95-52 score indicated.

Next time you're watching some kid become a March Madness hero, remember his basketball journey might be just getting started, even if it's thousands of miles away from the bright lights of the NCAA.

Cheers,

Kevin