Chris Chiozza seems like a nice enough guy. When we talk, the Nets guard is patient and polite, taking the time to thoughtfully answer my questions.
But Chiozza was the protagonist of one of the worst moments in my life.
“Anytime I hear somebody tell me they went to Wisconsin,” Chiozza said, “I just know they don’t like me.”
He’s not entirely wrong. Three years to this day, Chiozza hit a buzzer-beating, 3-point floater in the Sweet 16 — an absolute prayer, frankly — to knock Wisconsin out of the NCAA Tournament and send Florida to the Elite Eight.
I remember the moment well. At the time, I was a sophomore at Wisconsin on spring break in Puerto Vallarta, Mexico. At the end of a blurry week spent with my friends, I reserved the upper area of a sports bar to ensure we could watch the game. I was told the tight space could fit around 30 people; about double that amount showed up.
On that balmy night — with my red T-shirt covered in sweat and my eyes glued to a grainy screen — I was whipped around for two-plus hours before Chiozza eventually ripped my heart out. And for some reason, I chose to relive it with him over the phone a couple of weeks ago.
The game, from a neutral perspective, was incredible. A savvy Wisconsin team two years removed from a national championship appearance trailed by 12 at Madison Square Garden with roughly 5 minutes remaining and somehow extended the game to overtime. It was the quintessential tournament game, with countless blown opportunities seesawing the contest back in each team’s favor.
“It [was] just a whole bunch of haymakers,” Chiozza told The Post. “It wasn’t no jabs.”
Of course, the shot that got the Badgers to OT was a one-legged 3, maybe even more outlandish than Chiozza’s eventual winner that occurred after Wisconsin led by five with 1:09 left in overtime.
It’s the hope that kills you, after all. Had Wisconsin simply sleepwalked to a double-digit loss in regulation, there would be no moment to haunt me every March, no reason to call up Chiozza on a random Wednesday afternoon.
But that’s not what happened, and it doesn’t feel great now hearing Chiozza admit my Badgers blew the game.
“Y’all really should’ve won,” he said, referring to Khalil Iverson’s shot that was blocked with roughly 35 seconds left in OT that would have given the Badgers a four-point lead. “Y’all had a wide-open layup.”
Of course, what happened next is something that I’ll truly never forget.
Chiozza, having scored the tying layup on Florida’s previous possession, danced past Nigel Hayes in a race to the 3-point line.
“When I had the ball bringing it up, I didn’t hear anything,” Chiozza said.
I imagine there was an equally eerie silence thousands of miles away in that Mexican sports bar, before we experienced a vastly different sense of shock. With the game officially over — no, our faint prayers that his toe was on the 3-point line were not answered — my friends and I shuffled back to our rooms, forced to deal with the weight of the loss as we packed our belongings to go home the next day.
“I really don’t think about it too much anymore, “ Chiozza says now.
I don’t have the same luxury. Even with Wisconsin’s seemingly bright tournament hopes this season (they were a projected No. 4 or 5 seed before it was cancelled), I still found myself thinking about the moment as the middle of March creeped closer. I can at least laugh at its absurdity now, but I don’t think I’ll ever erase it from my mind.
Nonetheless, the current dearth of sports has made me weirdly fond of that moment. Remember what it was like to be that invested in a game?
As I toggle through old highlights and streaming services, it’s clear I’d choose that hurt over the post-sports world we’re currently living in.
It’s better to feel pain than nothing at all.