Nostalgia operates very differently as a framework in the NCAA tournament than it does in the NBA.  For college hoop heads, the past is a way to legitimize and dignify the system.  Every underdog could be “this year’s (small school upset),” and the biggest names and games are compared favorably with the grandest moments of yore.  Every year is simply an extension of the mythos of the tourney; an added chapter that by nature will conjure up memories of the greatest tournament moments without fear that the current product will be overshadowed.

In pro ball, the dynamic between past and present is very different.  The titan statues of Jordan, Bird, and Magic tower over the league, casting a seemingly inconquerable shadow of both brilliance and overglorification.  Today’s feats of strength can’t even measure up to Jordan’s jock, much less his jumper.

I’d wager the difference has something to do with legacy and longevity.  In the college ranks, personal achievements are coopted by the system itself.  It’s not because the NBA is an inherently more selfish game, but rather because even the brightest of college stars are products of the tournament and their laundry.  The greatest moments in NCAA history are great tournament moments (or great team moments), not great Michael Jordan moments or Christian Laettner moments or Carmelo Anthony moments.  Because the NBA at the very least creates the illusion of consistency and longevity (though in reality, the frequency of players switching teams might counter that idea), the focus is on the players, who are an establishment unto themselves.  The maximum career length is far longer, and thus each player has a sustained opportunity to create their own lasting importance.  Naturally, we’re still able to single out the greatest college players, but how could a student-athlete’s influence even begin to rival that of a pro?  Kevin Garnett and Dirk Nowitzki, two players who never enrolled in one of America’s fine collegiate institutions, revolutionized the power forward position forever.  MJ redefined greatness not because of the system-imposed limits at North Carolina, but because of his sustained greatness in Chicago.  Shaquille O’Neal and Wilt Chamberlain forced the game (and its rules) to change to specifically address their dominance at the pro level, not in college arenas.  The most significant basketball change has and will always take place in the professional sphere.  If not simply because the players are bigger, stronger, and outright better than their college counterparts, then because the ability to remain relevant for more than a few years allows players the proper avenue to demonstrate their brilliance.

This year seems different.  A season of instability in college basketball has turned out quite predictably, with the sweet sixteen consisting of four 1 seeds, four 2 seeds, four 3 seeds, two 4 seeds, one 5 seed, and traditional power Arizona.  UPSET ALERT!  Here’s my singular hope: that when all is said and done, with the slightly gimmicky tournament format turning in predictable match-ups, the nostalgia that runs in the veins of the tournament will turn from lifeblood to acid.  Without the excitement of the upset lingering in the air, casual basketball fans the world over will pine for the tourney’s more exciting days; the day of the underdog, the day of the tournament legend, and the day where all of the above created an artificial, temporary importance on the basis of singular, great performances.