Forty minutes.

That’s all they have to play out their dreams — just 40 minutes.

The… Forty minutes.

That’s all they have to play out their dreams — just 40 minutes.

The montages shown as CBS returns to its coverage of March Madness bring back the afternoons, nights, weekends and work nights spent at friends’ houses, bars, restaurants, offices, dorm rooms, bedrooms and hotels watching the NCAA tournament.

The highlights make March worth the wait: Bryce Drew hitting a shot he had dreamed of taking since childhood; Texas Western starting five black players and winning a national title while the world around them allowed racism and hate to rule their ways of life; Christian Laettner and his turnaround jumper that started a Duke dynasty.

I hear the voice of Gus Johnson call the shocking upset of Kansas by Bucknell in 2005:

“Simien…No! No! He missed it! Bucknell wins! Bucknell wins!”

I see the teardrops of delight — pure, unequivocal delight — stream down Thomas Hill’s face as time runs out and his Duke Blue Devils take a title.

I see the eyes of elation, euphoria, ecstasy, enjoyment, excitement and exhilaration.

Eighteen-year-olds, 19-year-olds, some players even in their mid-20s, all reaching the highest of all highs, the goal of all goals while never knowing quite what to do.

I see Jimmy Valvano sprinting around the court after his North Carolina State Wolfpack shocked the ranks of college basketball, the nation, the world, the critics and even their supporters. I see unparalleled joy in his eyes.

In a world filled with anger, barbarism, death, divorce, fighting, grief, hatred, murder, racism, rape, robbery, resentment, road rage, sexism, suicide, terrorism and war, we are searching. We search for an escape, a chance to let go and let other people create history. Amid the pain that consumes everyday life, there’s one month.

One month that takes all that pressure, all that chaos and all that confusion and produces the greatest competition in sports.

Selection Sunday shows us a bracket we will look at for the three weeks immediately following its release.

We look at it, memorize it, compare it, contrast it, tear it up, frame it, black ink for the predictions, blue ink for the right ones, red ink for the wrong ones, the bracket consumes our thoughts and minds.

Some might call that an obsession, an unhealthy love of something that ultimately has no real effect on our lives.

But it is something. It is something that gives escape, that break from the woes of the world.

Basketball is on from noon to midnight, Thursday through Sunday, forcing us check our bracket predictions with the hope that maybe, just maybe, we can win our office pool and the bragging rights that come with that victory.

We watch 10 student athletes, fighting for the right to stay alive in the proverbial battle to recognize their biggest dreams on a worldwide platform.

All they have is 40 minutes.

Forty minutes to make a mark on life, change memories, shape the future or simply ruin someone’s ride home.

Like the young boy named Bryce Drew dreaming about taking that last second, game-winning shot outside his house in Valparaiso, Ind., we all dream of heroics and fame.

Where else can a young man with nothing but his dreams and aspirations driving him find his place in history?

It’s everything people need to get through the troubling times. It’s watching a 20-year-old kid live out his dream of playing just 40 minutes on that floor.

It’s watching people make history, break records, forge the future or even challenge the norms of society.

It’s March Madness, and I’m glad it’s here.

Jeff Greer is a staff writer for The Pitt News. E-mail him your favorite NCAA Tournament moments at [email protected].