Comparison may be the thief of joy, but somehow I find myself overjoyed comparing the two chapters of my life. Back in India, I played basketball through school and college. I was a starter, won a few trophies, and loved the game. But the court was outdoors, tucked into a corner of a park, baking under the sweltering Mumbai sun. The scores were modest, if both teams combined for 40 points, it was a good day. And even fewer than the field goals attempted were the people in the stands.

College sports just didn’t matter much in India.

So, the idea of tens of thousands of fans rallying behind a college name, millions tuning in on national television, and tens of millions of dollars at stake? That genuinely stunned me. Sure, I’d followed the NBA and knew the hype around certain college players before the draft. But watching it unfold up close, that was something else entirely.

On the flight to San Antonio, the only program I really knew was Duke, its history and its roster. But I was there to cover the Florida Gators and the Auburn Tigers. I started doing my research, taking notes, and the more I read about Florida, the more impressed I became. I never let that admiration seep into my coverage, but it was not easy. As the days passed, the basketball knowledge sunk in deeper, and my excitement for tipoff hit a fever pitch.

I asked questions. I spoke to the players. I lived in the locker rooms and breakout rooms. And I loved every second of it. Little did I know, this was just the calm before the storm.

I came in with no expectations of being immersed in the NBA world I adore. But by the end of the weekend, after the Hall of Fame press conference and all the surrounding festivities, I felt like I could name a full, competitive NBA roster of future stars that I met. And that was the beauty of the experience: As the event went on, the shine of stardom faded, and what remained was the clarity of professionalism.

Back to the Final Four, with a renewed love for the game and an even greater thrill knowing where I’d be watching from. Floor seats for a tournament like this would cost thousands. But for me, they were priceless. Sitting beside the very people I hope to one day compete with, on the court, in the media room, and at the U.S. Basketball Writers Association luncheon, I felt nothing but excitement for the road ahead.

What unfolded on the court felt like a fever dream. Every game was competitive, every moment electric, every performance historic. Being just a few feet from the action made me feel like I was a part of the history books. I saw the love for college sports, the reverence for student-athletes, and the pure, passionate embrace of the amateur game.

My favorite moment — the one that replays in my mind like a highlight reel — was watching Walter Clayton Jr. drop 34. It felt like he couldn’t miss. The rim looked like it was on fire. That moment will stay with me as he continues to carve out his career.

The city was incredible. The weather was kind. The food? Even better. And knowing we narrowly missed a storm in Indianapolis made me savor this experience even more.

I’m leaving Texas with a heart full of memories, a notebook packed with stories, and a sharper pen. I tip my cowboy hat and pull on my Gators T-shirt as I head back to reality, knowing I’ve just lived a dream.

By Joshua Miranda