Phoenix, AZ — The final horn didn’t sound like triumph. It sounded like relief.
Florida 65, Houston 63. A national championship decided not by a buzzer-beater or a scoring barrage,...
It wasn’t a game. It was something older. Something harder. Something elemental. It was two teams not just playing basketball but dragging legacy across the hardwood, gripping it with bloody fingers, daring the other to blink. It was 40 minutes that felt like a novel written in heartbeats and erased in free throws.
It was Houston 70, Duke 67 — a score too modest to capture the immensity of what had just unfolded.
