My dad is a basketball coach at a small NCAA Division II university in Ohio. He's had a great season this year, completely undefeated.

Last night his team played in an Elite Eight game for only the second time ever. Sarah and I were able to watch streaming video of the game in a tiny window on my computer. It was an intense game, nerve-rattling. They made it into overtime by the skin of their teeth, and then won (WON!) sending them to their first ever Final Four game.

Sarah: When's the next game?
Me: Tomorrow.
Sarah: That's awesome. We should have people over.
Me: And have them crowd around my computer?
Sarah: Oh. I guess not.

Tonight's game was even more stressful, my dad's team not playing quite as well, but staying in it, always trailing by just a few points. Sarah had an improv show (March Madness themed) so I was alone in the apartment. I had to get up and walk away from the computer a few times to settle my nerves, remembering why I stopped watching basketball in the first place.

I'm not up to the writing challenge of conveying the last insane seconds of the game that flashed by in that tiny streaming video player, but... well... they won. By them I mean we. We won. My dad is going to the championship game this weekend. The national championship game.

This one will be televised by CBS, so I'll be able to watch it on the big TV.