"When I'm home I'm always thinkin' of the road, and when I'm on the road I'm dreamin' of my home."

Wise words from a wise man I once knew. Sung, not spoken, on his debut album, "Into Surrender." I love that album -- it was given to me as a gift, most of the songs just polished versions of compositions I'd heard hundreds of times each, from acoustic infancy to full scored adulthood. Chris Jamison is the one who so perfectly summed up the exact dichotomy of emotions that I myself have been experiencing without let up since I left for my trip almost two years ago.

When I'm home, all I can think about is the road: outdoor reggae festivals in Germany, running with the bulls in Spain, drinking rakija in Serbian kafana's, closing my eyes to savor the scent of the seaside in Istanbul, crossing my fingers as I put a sandwich of spicy, mystery organs in my mouth on the dirty sidewalks of Saigon...

But when I'm on the road, all I can dream about is home: the sound that a Louisville Slugger makes when it cracks a line drive into right-center from our seats at Minute Maid; a nice, greasy, Otto's double meat burger; my dad awake at his computer when I get home from a friend's house at 2 a.m.; my mom and her dogs; my little sister's friends and their refusal to divulge any information on her boyfriend situation.

I've been in Tanzania almost ten months now. And yet, aside from a quick dash to Dar in January, and a long weekend on Zanzibar for a music festival in February, I haven't traveled a bit. Nor have I felt at home, per se. I've been thinking of the road and dreaming of my home, often, since July.

I got to go back to Houston for Christmas/New Year's. It wasn't until this month, almost a year exactly since my first great adventure, Snooze Button Vol. 1, came to its tearful conclusion in April 2007, that I got back on the road.

Dreamin' of my home at Kaporgwe Falls, just a four hour hike from Tukuyu, TZ: UVa really was the last place I could say felt like one.

It's been refreshing for my soul, seeing the south of Tanzania. Arusha, in the upper northern tip of the country, right next to Kenya, is Babylon, straight up Babylon. The Southern Highlands are far from a New Jerusalem, but hey, at least they're trying.

Southerners in TZ, for some reason, are notorious for their proclivity for switching up the 'l' and 'r' sounds; kiandarua becomes kiandalua; hairuhusiwi become hailuhusiwi; "Dar mpaka Moro!" becomes "Dar mpaka Molo!" This woman is no exception.

We started a day after the NCAA championship game. Our destination was simply, "South." Our friend from our first year dorm, Marysunny, also a UVa kid, was doing Peace Corps down there. And we planned to meet my friend Sarah, living in Malawi (or is it Marawi?)

No plans, no shackles, just the road. Just the freedom of the road.

We started in Morogoro (or is it Molo?). One night there. We were still paranoid about the African city condition -- it's dangerous out there at night -- so we hid all of our food money for the month in the top compartent of the toilet, wrapped up in a Ziplock bag.

The bag had a hole in it, apparently.

Then it was onto Iringa ... but no one mentioned to us on the bus that we were passing through it, not even the driver, and since there are no signs alerting you to this fact -- (for Iringa, you get dropped off a few km outside of town proper) -- we just rode into Njombe, a quaint little town with a nice waterfall that was just what we needed, after the Arusha Nightmares of the past nine months.

But not before a lovely lunch at Al Jazeera.




We chilled for two nights in Njombe.

I met an Astros fan.




I laughed at the TZ equivalent of the "Got Milk?" ad campaign.

"Kunywa Maziwa Halisi Kwa Afya Yako" -- Drink Real Milk For Your Health (lots of TZ'ers drink powdered Nido)

And we let the receptionist at the Mwasia Guest House lose her picture-taking virginity.

It's always a little sloppy your first time, and you'd be crazy to expect head, especially in TZ.

But the best part about Njombe -- the thing that I will always remember about an otherwise forgettable transit town along the Dar es Salaam-Mbeya highway -- was the river that ran through it.

A waterfall greets you upon entering and leaving the town.




But to really see the dope spot in Njombe, you need to bushwhack down a bit to the river.




I love the sound of rushing water. Damn, do I love that sound.




It is very peaceful. Very conducive for contemplation.

Of course, "peace" and "contemplation" are luxuries that I am afforded as someone from the First World. I have the ability to see other people's lives in Tanzania -- it "fascinates" me (how quaint); they do not have this chance. Because for the vast majority of Wabongo, life is a hustle.

There is no maternity leave from celling fruit and cell phone credit on the street.

Tanzanians live in the present because they don't have any other alternative.




And the kids have very few rules to tie them down.

Some of them even led us over that log bridge to this spot, Kaporgwe Falls.




A little bit of heaven, if you asked me.




We stayed at a Peace Corps volunteer's house for free just outside of there in Tukuyu, the rainiest place in Tanzania.




(Njombe was the coldest place in TZ, so we're hittin' up all the superlatives.)

From there, it was on to Matema Beach.












Two nights there. Then back to Mbeya, for our fourth total night there.

"Sit with Peace."

And finally to Iringa. We made it this time. Thank God.

It feels like home.

Kaporgwe Falls.

The coolest waterfall ever.

Just one of many reasons that our trip through southern Tanzania, one we've been on since just after Kansas-Memphis, has refreshed my spirit.

Much more to come from the road.

Tom, our mchizi from UVa, who has been living in South Africa almost since college ended, a member of the Peace Corps down there, left TZ almost three weeks ago. His two-week visit went by in a flash. It was the first time I'd seen him since we said goodbye in May 2006; I was sad to see him go.

He might have been even more upset to go. Despite his best efforts, which included hammering out an episode from the front seat of our car his second to last day in Arusha -- he covered his head with a kitenge to block out the sun, being really courteous to the four of our students who were getting a ride home from school for the month -- he wasn't able to complete the objective he set upon arriving: watching every single episode of "The Office" currently available on DVD.

He didn't even make it halfway through Season 3.

But he did succeed in painting a non-connecting stache/beard onto Vumilia's face, just so he wouldn't be the only one.

It's like the negative film roll edition of TK ... in every way.

But I was happy knowing that we were also able to complete the much anticipated Nairobi-Moshi Rd. Pub Crawl before we parted ways once more.

It'd been a while since I saw the real Hot Dog Man in action.

"I mean, I have to wear the suit," he said. Tom was talking about the suit. With those words, the night became known as Hot Dog Man: TZ Pub Crawl Edition.

The hot dog suit has a long history. Too long for me to explain in proper detail. Suffice to say that all through college, Tom was known far and wide around Grounds as Hot Dog Man; but he never got the kind of international claim that I received during my three my appearances at the World Cup as Hot Dog Man: World Cup Edition. That remains, to this day, the greatest Hot Dog Man appearance of all time.

But the TZ Pub Crawl was pretty damn good as well.

Tanzania is not a place you go for the cafe scene. It's not Eastern Europe. Every single place has the exact same menu: ugali, french fries, white rice, fatty pieces of beef, some freshly killed chicken, greens, beans, blah. They all have the exact same, Coca Cola issued sign board, with the exact same, slightly italicized black font, all capped letters spelling out the name of the establishment, which is about the only thing that makes one roadside joint distinct from the others. Except, of course, for the pub/bar delineation.

Most of the watering holes on the Nairobi-Moshi Rd., a.k.a. "The Road of Death," the stretch of road that connects Arusha to our old village in Tengeru, and to our two schools in Usa River, are called [Blank] Bar. But some are called [Blank] Pub. Five, to be exact. And it was these five that formed the basis for the First Annual Nairobi-Moshi Rd. Pub Crawl.

Four of us went on the pub crawl in total. (A fifth, Katie, came along, but since she didn't adhere to the one Safari/one Konyagi shot minimum per pub -- in fact she had zero Safari's and zero Konyagi's, she didn't really complete the task). I made t-shirts for everyone -- four used American hand me downs that I bought that afternoon at the Tengeru sokoni and a little time with the Sharpie took care of it.

Hot Dog Man was clearly the star of the show. But for the supporting cast, there was Hunter.

(his photo got erased, and I don't have time to re-upload it, but you know what he looks like).

And Andrea, a girl who's been working in Arusha with cute puppies for a few months.

And me, the genius who thought of this idea in the first place, the scout who tracked down all the existing pubs on that stretch of road, and the organizer who invited/cajoled/manipulated everyone into participating.

I added "1st Annual," implying that this event will continue in the future. It will not.

Our first stop was the New City Garden Pub. It was about 3:30 in the afternoon.

"This is FOR SURE the first time this has ever happened," I kept saying, as if my repeating it would turn the declaration into a definitive fact.

"Oh, definitely," Hot Dog Man would always affirm. "A pub crawl? In Tanzania? With someone wearing a hot dog suit??"

"Unprecedented."

"There's no way, yeah."

"Yeah."

This is how I make myself feel important in life. Like I've really made my mark. Yeah.

I briefly mentioned the rules of the pub crawl. It was a one Safari minimum, or, for those members who didn't want to just fill themselves up with 5.5 percent, sketch Tanzanian beer that is called nondo ("steel") on the streets because of its high alcohol content, one shot of Konyagi (I'd rather drink rubbing alcohol) per pub. Normally, if I take down three Safari's (the bottles are way bigger here than in the States), I am chillin. The thought of taking down five made me giddy with excitement for what was to come.

Nothing to see here, just a 6'5" white boy in a giant hot dog suit and his blonde girlfriend walking the streets.

"I'm gonna impose a two Safari minimum on myself," Hot Dog Man said once we'd made it to Pub No. 2, Manchester Pub. In college, he was the kind of guy who could drink ten nondo's and be straight. Two years in South Africa with very little silliness, however, made me skeptical that guy, who we called "TK," was still alive.

"Dude," I warned, "you can't handle this kind of stuff like you once could. I'd calm down on that."

"I can do it, Bay-less," he said, with a hint of irritation. Not a hint. He was irritated.

"No, 'TK,' you physiologically cannot."

He narrowed his eyes, ever so slightly. Definitely irritated.

"Well we'll just let the Safari's be the judge of that."

When I say "crawl," I really mean "long walks on the side of the busiest highway in northern Tanzania, when just being white makes you stand out, to say nothing of the attention you get while walking with a 6'5" pasty Mzungu in a hot dog suit."

I got some really artsy photos of Hot Dog Man, too, just for you, Martha.

It's art because you can, like, see him through the glass.

Pub No. 3 was the last one we entered before the sun set.

Livin' in the past. How pathetic.

But it was at Pub No. 4, Arusha Pub, where things really started to get rowdy. We had to take a dala dala to get there. It was already dark.

Hunter was hustling the masela in pool; Tom was becoming TK; Andrea was falling asleep on people's shoulders; I was getting hounded by the owner of the place, "K.K."

K.K. is the one who looks like the black cousin of the assistant coach in "The Waterboy."

"Karibuni sana! Karibuni sana!" K.K. kept yelling when we first arrived. In Tanzania, it's almost seen as an honor when Wazungu show up anywhere. Funerals, weddings, parties, local bars, and local pubs, too: you are shown the red carpet more often than not. "Welcome to Arusha Pub! I am owner!"

K.K. is one of those Tanzanians -- and they are plentiful, trust me -- who likes to touch you when he talks. And by "touch," I mean grab, hard, and shake, even harder. I can't believe I didn't have arm full of finger tip sized bruises after Pub No. 4.

"You, me, we should work together," he implored, shaking, spewing his alcoholic breath into my face from but an inch away. "We do business. You come to my office; I take you to show you dini. Do you know madini?" He was talking about minerals -- TZ is chalk full of them, which explains why it is the current darling of Chinese firms. "We go, we make partner, we get madini. We become rich men!"

"Sounds good man," I'd say, always praying in vain that that would be the magic formula for unlocking his vulcan grip on my shoulder. Or at least for inducing him to move his face back a bit when yelling into my own, competing with the thumping bass beats of the Sean Paul CD filling his pub with music.

"Eh." It was like the movie "Congo" every time he'd say that. "Eh." And then a blank stare, deep into my eyes, as if he was waiting for me to make my next move. But I never did. I just stared back into K.K.'s yellowed, blood shot eyes. "Eh."

"Feel as if you are at home!" he commanded, looking menacingly around the place. K.K. was missing a few teeth, I noticed. "Do not feel a scared." And with that, he pulled up his shirt -- the handle of a gold plated pistol rested in its holster.

As long as K.K. is my boy and not my enemy, I thought, I wouldn't. Must be nice to K.K.

When the power went out, he sensed that I might be scared of the dark. So he took the gun out and placed it in my lap.

"Feel at home!" he slurred. K.K. was really drunk. Drunker than Hot Dog Man, who was busy making strange noises and pointing at Andrea: "Eeeeee!" If K.K. actually had to use that gun, I wouldn't want to be anywhere near that home. The Memphis basketball team shoots better from the free throw line in the last minute of the championship game than K.K. could shoot after that many Safari's.

"Dada! Safari nyingine!" K.K. was insistent that we keep up with his pace.

This whole time, I doubt he let go of my arm for more than five seconds more than a couple of times -- and one of those was only because I escaped to go play pool in the back, Hunter having finally lost after two or three games of hustlin'. And his breath. Oy.

Finally, it was time to get the hell out of there. We'd been stuck in Pub No. 4 for what felt like five hours. It was definitely over two. And it was really dark at this point, not just "dark." We shouldn't have started at 3:30.

We had to take a cab to the fifth and final stop, Royal Pub.

At this point, I was on Safari No. 7. Hot Dog Man was on 11 or 12, no one really knows, especially him. Our cab driver, Burhani, was confused as to this strange American custom that we were having a really hard time explaining, seeing as my Kiswahili gets progressively worse with every nondo after that three-spot which, as I already said, is enough for me to be chillin' kabisa.

"Kama kutembea kwa watoto, kutoka pub mpaka pub." If you spoke Swahili, you'd be laughing at that attempt at a description: "Like walking for babies, from pub until pub." Oy.

The pub crawl technically ended then, when Burhani took us to our final destination, Masai Camp. The lack of the word "pub" be damned; we were trying to dance.

(and by that, I mean that we were trying to see Hot Dog Man dance).

The Safari's had been the judge. And I was wrong: TK was not dead.

He was as weird and socially ... unique as he'd ever been.

He even made a friend.

A lady friend.

And whaddyaknow? He even drew a crowd.

Shocking that people would stare at a love that was so pure.

"Dude, at one point during the night, I was doing like weird shit," Tom said the next morning, when he was asking about TK's exploits in the hot dog suit from those who may remember things a little better.

"Nooooo," I said, doing my best fake surprise voice. "You? Hot dog suit? Twelve Safari's? Weird?"

He continued as if I wasn't there. "Like, I'd go up to circles of people dancing, and I'd just stand right in the middle of them and hold out my arms," he said, putting on a display so we could get a better visual. And a visual we did get. You should try to picture it yourself.

"That's how my [Phillies] hat got stolen," he explained. "Someone just came up and ripped it off my head."

Those bastards. Where was K.K. and his gun when you need him?

Girls don’t seem to have the same level of desire to wake up at 4 a.m. for something as globally significant as the Kansas-Memphis national championship game.

A source.

Especially ones from neither Kansas nor Tennessee, who are not basketball fans. Jamie and Erin, the two girls who were staying in Tait’s house last Monday night – the house with ESPN International, and with a host that was out of town -- fit this mold.

“You don’t even care about either of the teams?”

“Not really.” I’ve missed not one, but two college basketball seasons in a row now. That’s like missing half of a professional athlete’s entire career. To say I’m out of the loop with college hoops is an understatement. “I would have preferred UNC-UCLA.” Because of familiarity.

Erin looked perplexed. “Then why are you getting up for this?”

Because of why I used to wake up to watch every game of the 2004 MLB Playoffs from Geneva, why I woke up for Game 3 of this year’s World Series from Tanzania, and ESPECIALLY why I woke up for the Super Bowl last February to see David Tyree make me giddy: because you never know when you might witness something that will be a source of goose bumps for the rest of your life.

As Larry David would say, “Kansas-Memphis is a source.”

I kept a running diary so I could show Erin why.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

4:17 a.m. – I’m awake, I’ve got a little espresso – (Asante, Tait, wish ya coulda been here) -- and Hunter merely shifted his bed from her guest room to the pillows on the floor of the living room. I feel bad trying to force him to stay awake. If the excitement of the championship game can’t do it, I don’t know what can.

Check out these stats for Kansas: 13 Final Fours, two titles. No ring since 1988 with Larry Brown.

And Memphis: three Final Fours and two title game appearances. Zero rings. In fact, no team from the state of Tennessee has ever won the Tournament. Now that is incredible.

4:18 a.m. - Bill, you can finally go to Oklahoma St. with your rep in check: “The last coach of Kansas not to get to the Final Four was William O’Hamilton in1919, so Self has got that monkey off his back.”

Kind of like a Bizarro UVa.

4:20 a.m.- I wish I was Jim Nantz. Or shall I say, “Mr. Marpril.”

What a great American.

March Madness, directly followed by The Masters. The man lives for this block of the year. Honestly, what does Jim Nantz do between mid-April and mid-March? Can anyone confirm that he actually does work during these months? Except for his shift at the Olympics, I think he probably just collects unemployment 11/12 of the year.

Unfortunately, we don’t have Jim Nantz, nor do we have Billy Packer. This is ESPN International. As long as Sterling Sharpe doesn’t make a cameo in the booth, we should be good.

The starting line ups (hometowns as I caught them from the arena’s loudspeaker):

Kansas Jayhawks (36-3)

Darrell Arthur (Dallas)

Darnell Jackson (OKC)

Russell Robinson (NYC)

Mario Chalmers (Anchorage)

Brandon Rush (KC, Mo) … does he count as a “Kansan”?

Coach: Bill Self (141-32 in five years at KU)

Memphis Tigers (38-1) (Elite Eight back to back years)

Robert Dozier (“Labonia, Ga”)

Joey Dorsey (Baltimore)

Chris Douglas-Roberts (Detroit)

Antonio Anderson (Lynn, Ma)

Derrick Rose (Chicago…No. 23!!)

John Callipari (Forever the UMass coach to me)

So I’m glad there’s not a single person from either school’s home state on either team.

4:24 a.m. – Memphis is shooting 70 percent from the line in the last five games of the tourney, and that’s a huge improvement over the regular season. KU is just 65 percent for the tournament.

Memphis grabs opening tip. Dorsey banks it in for the first two points. They have not trailed yet in this tournament.

I know nothing about either of these teams. This is my first game, remember? I remember some names, and The Bob told me all about “the freshman, Derrick Rose,” which sounded pretty badass.

That's a pretty bold move to be from Chicago and wear No. 23.

My dad also told me that Memphis is gonna kick KU’s ass, and that Rose, who torched D.J. Augustin in the Houston Regional Final – which The Bob was unable to attend due to a flare up of the gout -- is even better than Douglas-Roberts.

4:26 a.m. - “The best free throw shooter Kansas is at 78 percent.” – on Brandon Rush, as he misses his team’s first shot from the line.

4:27 a.m. – “Here’s Rose. Here’s Dozier! (Swish from the key). Silky smooth.” Memphis is looking great, 6-3 lead.

4:29 a.m. – Sasha Kaun? Is that really this Kansas guy’s name? It just makes me think of some Chechen separatist.

4:30 a.m. - “I don’t remember a national championship with this many athletes on the floor.” Nice.

Four minutes in, and you can still see the nerves on the part of the Jayhawks, who are facing a team favored by two, but that is swarming all over the court.

“Everybody who plays Memphis is rattled.”

Couldn’t have put it better myself.

4:32 a.m. – 15:36 to play in the first half. First time out of the game. Memphis up 9-5.

Brad Shamm (sp?) and Fran Franchilla (sp?) are the announcers on the international feed. Sure beats Sterling Sharpe.

4:37 a.m. - Why am I not surprised that Callipari picked up Rose, a badass from the Chicago public leagues? Four words: the movie “Blue Chips.” Callipari is Nick Nolte; Rose is Penny. There is zero doubt in my mind that Derrick’s mom, too, got “a new house, with a LAWN!” as a reward for her son signing with Memphis, which is where Anfernee Hardaway played as well, back when it was called Memphis St.

Lil' Penny

Chris Douglas-Roberts (henceforth known as “CDR,” both because it’s easier to type, and because that’s what the announcers are saying) has a tattoo on his right shoulder that looks like he got mauled by a Memphis Tiger with ink-filled needles for claws.

Which you can not see in this picture, but trust me.

4:39 a.m. – All I wanna see is the token red head, No. 54 for KU, take off his warm ups. Let’s see those pasty white, good GPA-getting arms, just one time.

“The Memphis players are so long, they deflect passes.”

That was pretty close to what The Bob also told me on the phone before the game started: “Everybody on Memphis, ya know it’s like they say, ‘They’re not tall, they’re LONG.’ Every dad gum one of ‘em has arms down to their knees.”

And yet, Miguel, who texted me the start time, is picking KU.

4:41 a.m. - No. 1 for Memphis has the name “Kemp” on the back of his jersey. Seeing as the man who made that name famous once served as the centerpiece of an SI feature story on pro athletes fathering children out of wedlock – what was it, six kids with four women or something? – I’d say that mathematically, the odds are high.

With 12:05 left in the half, the game is tied at 13.

“Kansas looking for its first lead of the game … oh what a feed, what a wraparound!” Collins makes a great pass from the baseline to Kaun, but the Chechen turns it over on the travel.

Still, Memphis has never trailed in the tournament.

4:44 a.m. – Nice, first Sportscenter commercial! Wait, it’s the Richard Simmons one again, which we saw five or six times during the Super Bowl.

“Type those stories, type those stories! Check those sources, check those sources!”

Still, it never gets old.

“KU is 5-of-11 from the floor, Memphis, 5-of-12,” in the first eight and a half minutes. Even Steven.

Sharron Collins and Derrick Rose, a battle of Chicago point guards. Again, the Penny Hardaway “Blue Chips” analogy. This is getting a little creepy.

4:46 a.m. - Rush puts KU up for the first time; it’s 15-13 with just under 11:00 to play in the half.

4:48 a.m. - KU opponents are shooting 35 percent from the field in the tourney; only 22 percent from three. I love teams that play defense.

“Right now, it’s Memphis that’s a little rattled,” after a 7-0 KU run makes it 18-13 with 9:42 left in the half. Miguel’s looking pretty good right about now.

Mario Chalmers has got quick hands. My goodness. Just stripped Rose for the easy lay up, then swatted the next ball out of bounds on the penetration.

No. 4 on Memphis, Aaron Miles – wait, did they say Aaron Miles? Are we talking about the wrong team? -- is a biiiiiig boy. “He’s AT LEAST 370 pounds,” Shamm says. “At least.”

How often do you hear of a player being listed as “at least”? Don’t they know? Do they not have interns whose job it is to hand them scraps of paper with this type of information printed on it? Or are they just assuming that he’s in a consistent state of weight gain, and assume that their six-month old, Memphis Tigers media guide must be out of date.

Memphis is so ghetto. There hasn’t been a single time down the court without some kinda behind the back dribble.

4:53 a.m. - “And now, another World’s Strongest Man Minute!” Wow, I’m lucky.

ESPN International sure does know how to keep you entertained during the commercial break. Right now, I’m watching a 60-second highlight clip of a bunch of 1970’s era ‘roid heads bending pieces of rebar over their heads/necks. The espn2 graphics are a great addition to the original footage, too. Kind of a past meets present thing they got going.

Question: whose job was it to go through this old footage from the 1972 CBS archives and add in those espn2 graphics?

Another question: aren’t there any products that you could market internationally, instead of "World's Strongest Man Minutes?" Products that basically dominate every inch of the earth? Like Coca Cola, or … Coca Cola?

In case you’re curious about the winner of that “World’s Strongest Man Minute,” it was Lou Ferrigno, around 35 years ago.

4:54 a.m. - CDR doesn’t even register that a hand is in his face; if you give him an inch, he’ll take a bucket.

And how much more badass is it to watch a scrappy left hander than a smooth right hander? It’s hard to find a smooth lefty – Sam Perkins’ don’t grow on trees. They just seem to always be able to will the ball into the basket. I’ve never seen one who has a shot I’d want my kid to imitate, especially The Bob. Their release is too hasty.

Also, I feel like lefties should always wear the no. 7.

BOOM! Memphis goes up two on CDR’s three, making the score 26-24.

“After you get CDR, you need CPR!” screams one of the announcers. (I cringe).

Those are the kinds of non-spontaneous puns that simply insult our intelligence when veiled as a spur of the moment urge.

4:56 a.m. – Chalmers with the excellent baseline cut and dish to the Chechen Sasha Kaun, waiting in the lane for the dunk.

“You get the feeling that every play of the game is gonna be critical when you get down to the last five minutes,” Fran says.

CDR makes another three, with people in his face. “Oh, what a good game!” Shamm screams. Thirteen for the junior All American already, which is half of Memphis’ total output. Game tied at 28 with 4:30 to play.

“Dorsey says he’s got an old man’s game.” CDR, that is. As in, scrappy, left handed.

5:02 a.m. – I was gonna sit this game out on the running diary after I realized how much harder it is to follow basketball while constantly typing than baseball or football. But the thought of completing the trifecta on the year – staying up all night for a World Series game, the Super Bowl, and the NCAA title game, and recording my thoughts – made me continue.

I love that I live in an age where I can travel halfway across the globe, but still be able to watch the big sporting events, so long as I’m willing to wake up early enough. Because I'm willing.

5:04 a.m. - Seriously, CDR does not jump.

5:05 a.m. – On Brandon Rush: “This is a guy that suffered an ACL injury in late May…and he’s playing the best basketball of his career. He’s really helped his NBA status. He’d be a mid-first round pick if he came out this year.”

Well thank God at least ONE Rush can make it. JaRon, who played half a season at UCLA before getting snubbed in the draft, is only good at throwing it all away. And Kareem … what ever happened to Kareem Rush? After he got cut by the Bobcats, I never thought I’d see him again … until, that is, I turned on the TV one day in Belgrade to see him playing for a team with Cyrillic characters on the fronts of their jerseys.

He’s like the Bizarro Vlade Divac.

5:05 a.m. - “They’re doing as good a job on Rose as anyone in the entire tournament.”

“How ‘bout Kaun!” (the Chechen grabs the rebound, much to the delight of the announcers). Something tells me that’s not the first time someone has yelled that at the TV screen; you always feel like yelling, “How ‘bout [blank]!” when [blank] is an overachieving white boy.

If every play is important, Arthur’s baby hook to put Kansas up five with 1:20 to play in the half will be the possession we should all look back on. KU got about three offensive boards and a steal before he finally put the ball in the hoop.

5:08 a.m. -- 33-28 KU, 1:02 to play; Callipari calls timeout.

“If you’re Kansas right now Brad, you’re feeling pretty good.” Slash, Miguel.

The Jayhawks are shooting 14-of-27 from the field, and they’re winning the battle of the boards, 19-10. And they’ve got the ball.

5:09 a.m. – I gotta give a shout out to Mandy, my former roommate in Patandi, who goes to KU. She left us a Jayhawk basketball towel, originally white, now the color of an Alabama mud puddle. What a year she’s had. Not only that freak football season, but an appearance in the title game in the sport at her school.

That’s nothing compared to the Florida kids, though, who got to experience back-to-back basketball championships and the national title in football within a one-year period. That was almost as prolific a run as “Philadelphia”/”Forrest Gump”/”Apollo 13” Tom Hanks.

Fun fact: “Both of these coaches were young assistant coaches for Larry Brown at Kansas in the 1980s.”

“Memphis got a break there.” A long rebound after a heave by Rose with four on the shot clock. Memphis is getting smothered up top. No wonder other teams are shooting so poorly from the field against Kansas in the tournament. All they’re doing is dribbling around the three point line or forcing penetration kicks.

5:12 a.m. – HALFTIME

“And how about the Kansas Jayhawks? What a job, what balance. And they lead the Memphis Tigers at halftime of the championship game, 33-28.”

5:15 a.m. – Uh oh! Another “World’s Strongest Man Minute!” This time the world’s strongest man is the legendary Vidas Blekaitis. He is pulling a train car with a rope attached to his waist.

Showcasing his dynamism, Vidas also excels at carrying really big shot puts.

“Extremely explosive,” the announcer for “World’s Strongest Man” screams. You’ve gotta think he tried out for that same position on the new “American Gladiators.” I notice that Vidas has quite a bit of shoulder hair.

“Vidas Blekaitis is no caboose in this event!” Hi-ohhhh!

“Unbelievable, Vidas Blekaitis! He didn’t want to stop!”

I feel for the announcers who had to put in their dues for the MetRx World’s Strongest Man competition. I really do. I wish them luck in life.

5:15 a.m. - PLAYS OF THE WEEK! Ryan Zimmerman!

It’s the second time I’ve seen this now. The first time it came on, last night as Hunter and I were watching ESPN to see what time the game would start, we both lept up from the couch at the same time. Erin was startled.

“He was in our first year dorm in college!” I explained, excitedly.

“Really?”

“Yeah, we lived two doors down from him.”

She didn’t seem that impressed, but she still raised her eyebrows to pretend.

It was a clip of the walk off homer Zim hit in the first ever game at the Nationals’ new stadium.

“In the first game of their beautiful new ballpark, Ryan Zimmerman, with a game ending home run!”

How cool is it to hear Jon Miller say that about a kid I used to watch Jon Miller broadcasts with during the 2002 Giants World Series run?

Zim was clearly pumped as he rounded the bases. As for that wholesome boy image he’s got going for him, I don’t think we need a professional lip reader to translate the words that came flying out of his mouth as he raced down the first base line: “F*** yeah!”

Hunter and I both yelled it right back at the screen at the exact same time.

"F*** YEAH!"

5:17 a.m. – Nice, Hakeem. Hall of Fame. Congrats.

Dick Vitale wins my vote for “Canniest Resemblance To His Madame Toussaude’s Wax Statue While Still Alive.” I mean, if someone brought you a basin of hot water and a razor, you could shave using his scalp.

No, I love it, baby.

Pat Riley was drafted by the Dallas Cowboys?!?!?!?!

5:24 a.m. - Yes, Bill Russell, you can win ten championships, but you still pick your nose from time to time. I saw you. We all saw you.

At the half:

KU: 52 percent from the field

MEMPHIS: 38 percent

Arthur (KU): 10 points

CDR (MU): 13 points

5:25 a.m. – “Another World’s Strongest Man Minute!” Never gets old.

This time it’s two men running through a shallow pool carrying barrels. The announcers, my favorite part of the whole string of 60-second ads, are giving strategic tips, as if they’ve competed in a World’s Strongest Man before.

One of the behemoths is in a Speedo; the other is in some extra tight bike shorts. The winner in this round is a man named Jarik Dimik.

Not too many ‘roid heads named “John Smith” in World’s Strongest Man Minute’s, I’ve noticed. Maybe because all the American meat heads get paid more to hit baseballs and quarterbacks than to pull giant barrels through a swimming pool.

5:32 a.m. – Just saw a stat that says Self is 69-9 in his last two seasons. And he just beat the crap out of UNC to reach the final.

Damn, I bet they miss Roy Williams in Lawrence. Not.

Why would Self even consider the move to Oklahoma St.?

“At the end of the day Brad, I do not see him leaving the storied KU program. I do think he’ll be in line for a raise.”

I agree.

MAN I LOVE THE SOUND OF THE BAND IN COLLEGE BASKETBALL. That is why I wake up for this stuff, Erin.

5:33 a.m. – SECOND HALF

It’s the first game in which Memphis has trailed throughout the tournament. The last time I did a running diary of a sporting event I stayed up all night to watch, I wrote that same thing about the Patriots. We all remember what happened then.

Dozier with a quick dunk, followed by a KU turnover. Suffocating defense on CDR leads to a dish to an open Anderson, who sinks an NBA three. And just like that, it’s all tied up.

Memphis had the first five points of the half before KU even got the ball past half court.

5:36 a.m. - “Ed Hightower has been one of the very best officials in college basketball for a very long time.”

And, he dyes his hair.

5:37 a.m. - What are the odds Mario Chalmers isn’t boys with Trajan Langdan and Carlos Boozer? The basketball community in Anchorage can’t be that big.

They’re really starting to run now.

“Here we go!”

(Dunk makes it 38-37 Memphis).

“Dozier!”

“Rose has got a big grin, ear to ear.”

“Put your seatbelt on.”

I love sports. This is why I wake up for stuff like this, Erin.

5:40 a.m. - Joey Dorsey picks up his third foul with 16:00 to play, hacking the Chechen.

“That’s a problem Memphis doesn’t want.”

“Kansas back up by one, 15:30 to play. This, is championship stuff.”

5:41 a.m. - “Now it’s time for another, World’s Strongest Man Minute!” I hear the enthusiastic British voice announce during a commercial break. And still, it never gets old.

The latest clip shows just one man this time, as he is walking in a giant circle with what look like Robin Hood era barrels of ale rested on each end of a long pole. He is Latvian, say the announcers -- still not American, say my inner thoughts. The flags of a bunch of Scandinavian/Baltic nations are flapping proudly in the wind.

He collapses after traveling 810 degrees around. “Oh my goodness, what a finish!” But it actually looks kind of serious. He’s not getting up. “The medic should be there as quickly as possible,” says a suddenly somewhat subdued “World’s Strongest Man” announcer. And then that’s the end. That’s where they end the commercial.

Hold up.

Was he….. okay? Did Little John live? Did he go into massive organ failure? Throw out his back?

Who is the man who signed off on this commercial going to air? It’s a highlight; is there nothing better they could come up with? It’s just not a good idea.

But at least the background music somewhat distracted me from how the Latvian was keeping up in the few seconds it showed him in severe pain, crouched on the ground. It sounded like it was made by one of those cheap programs you put on your PC to make hip hop beats.

As a side note on these “World’s Strongest Man” shows: I love how completely arbitrary all of their accomplishments are. How are we supposed to know that 810 degrees on the Robin Hood barrel walk is good or just mediocre? How are we supposed to know how fast we could drag really heavy stuff through a shallow pool of water? Can you say that this generation is “tainted” because they use the Clear, while the old school crowd had to resort to boring old dexabolin (I just made that word up, it sounds like an old school type of steroid).

5:43 a.m. - Why is ESPN International’s broadcast of the Champions League “not available in Israel?” Just Israel. Nowhere else. What does that mean?

Is UEFA protesting the wall, the Israeli government’s policy towards Hamas, the continued construction of illegal settlements in the West Bank, or is it just an anti-Semitic organization?

5:43 a.m. – Nice Sportscenter commercial with the text messages and Teddy the Cockatoo dunking a basketball. Never seen that one. We don’t have TV normally in Tanzania.

5:44 a.m. – Back to the actual game.

“Excuse me, I’m going here.” It’s the second time the play by play man has spoken in the first person to describe a move made by one of the players on the court.

5:45 a.m. – Hunter awakes from his slumber on the floor, only to move directly to the couch … where I give him a minute before he falls back asleep.

Memphis is shooting just 38 percent from the field with 13:45 to play, and down one. Terrible.

5:46 a.m. - Now they’re down three, after the Darnell Jackson baseline jumper.

“Douglas-Roberts, like Inspector Gadget! His arm grew about three feet on that play.” Please don’t say stuff like that.

Rose and CDR just play together like they’re on the playground. It’s fun to watch; it’s infuriating to watch.

5:49 a.m. – Ya know those omnipresent, black-and-white, “Most of us go pro in something other than sports” NCAA commercials? They’d be 20 times cooler if you could see the old white judge get up and throw down a dunk, don’t you think?

5:52 a.m. - “Kansas has done a better job on Rose than anyone else in the entire tournament.”

Hunter is asleep again, by the way. Looks like he’s been so for a while, like, say, since 5:46 a.m.

What was even the point of him taking a nap? I had the same problem last year in Belgrade during the Final Four games; even with a fresh pot of Turkish coffee, I couldn’t keep my eyes open through either game.

I wanna see “at least 370 pounds, at least” guy -- Aaron Miles, was it? -- come back in.

BRANDON Rush. “Used to be just thought of as a jump shooter.” Not on that move.

KU by three with 9:00 to play. Great game.

5:55 a.m. – The Chechen is all over Dozier in the paint, but the Memphis big man still finds a way. “Oh! And he got the roll!” Gives Dozier a chance to tie it at the line. He’s a 67 percent free throw shooter, though.

Brick.

MU has missed last three free throw attempts, and they’re down one. Remember that stat – it could be important later on.

“Again Memphis looks for the lead.”

5:57 a.m. - Rose! The NBA three from the top of the key. Memphis goes up 49-47 with 8:08 left in the national championship game.

Self calls KU’s second timeout.

The token red head is still wearing his warm ups.

Stats flashed across the screen for three pointers:

KU: 1-for-8

Memphis: 5-for-13

This is the last year the college three will be this close; next year it moves back a foot. Which is a good thing.

“In terms of the trapezoid lane – I know we have a lot of people all over the world listening – I don’t know that it will [be introduced to the college game].” Good to have people talking directly to me, NGO workers in TZ included as “people all over the world.”

5:59 a.m. - Shot to the Memphis bench: every single player is black. Shot to the Memphis fans: every single one is white. Ladies and gentleman, the United States of America!

6:00 a.m. - Rose won two of the three match ups with Collins in high school, when both starred in the Chicago public school leagues. And now they’re playing against one another in the NCAA championship. What are the odds! (This is maybe the ninth time we’ve been reminded of it, so I figured I’d write it again.)

6:03 a.m. - “Do you miss the hard hitting action of American football?” a cheesy “MAN!” voice asks to the backdrop of the hard hitting action of American arena football. “It’s got all the intensity of NFL football and twice the speed!”

ESPN International can throw all the ads it wants at me, but I’m never going to be interested in Arena Football.

6:04 a.m. - “Boy, here he goes.”

Nine in the half for Rose, 12 in the game. He’s picked up five quick points in the last few minutes. You can’t stop him; you can only hope to contain him.

Memphis by four with just over 7:00 to play.

“Both teams know they’re gonna win,” Fran says. You tend to trust former coaches more than career broadcasters on statements like that. “They don’t think they’re gonna win; they know they’re gonna win.”

I love sports. For stuff like that. Both teams know they are gonna win. Not think. They are going to win the national championship. This is a culmination of not even just one season, but a lifetime of hard work. And the ultimate prize is right there for the taking.

This is why I stayed up, Erin.

6:05 a.m. - “Hunter, you might wanna watch this, it’s a really good game. Six minutes to play, four point game,” I say at maximum whisper volume.

John Callipari is rubbing that hair do because he saw an opportunity to take a six point lead, and Kemp did not connect. I wonder if the oil gets on his hand when he does that.

Does he look at all alike?

“He did not like Kemp’s judgment leading that break.” Hmm …. a Kemp, with bad judgment. Shocking.

CDR waiting to check back in with less than 5:30 to play.

HUGE board by Dozier on the forced three by Rose! Rose, AND ONE! Six point lead with 5:10 to play, and Rose has got one shot coming.

6:08 a.m. - Rose “has basically said, ‘It’s my team,’” in the tournament. You pressure CDR, and look out for the freshman.

6:09 a.m. - “Three point play the old fashioned way, and now it’s a seven point Memphis lead with five minutes to play!”

MU’s biggest lead of the game.

CDR back in the game with the high dribble.

Hunter is asleep again. He doesn’t deserve to watch a game this exciting.

6:10 a.m. – DERRICK ROSE !!!!!

“OH NO NO NO!” one them yells.

“YES HE DID!” the other shouts out.

“Thats the highlight reel shot of the night.”

"Maybe the shot of the tournament!”

THIS IS WHY I WOKE UP AT 4 A.M., ERIN! As the buzzer sounds, the freshman banks it in from three.

“Derrick Rose, in the second half. ‘A child shall lead them.’” (Is that some sort of reference to Jesus Christ?)

57-49 Memphis. It sucks not being allowed to yell.

6:11 a.m. – “Strikeforce” on ESPN. Some sort of UFC competitor. Bring back the “World’s Strongest Man Minutes.”

6:12 a.m. – The birds have started chirping.

Butt shot of the refs at the scorers table. Am I giggling because I’m delirious, or because it is funny to see Hightower place his hand on the other guy’s lower back as they bend over, only to really go over the top when the third official comes up and places his hand on Hightower’s back?

6:14 a.m. – Turns out Rose’s foot was on the line. No three. 56-49 Memphis. Seven point lead.

Free throws are now crucial. Arthur puts in the first to cut lead to six, then the second to cut it to five.

“We’re a long way from done here.”

3:30 to play.

Two-three zone to slow down the penetration of Memphis … risky.

ROSE! What a player. Almost put the dagger in with that three that rimmed out, but Dozier with the board, again. (AGAIN). Taggart ends up putting it in, and it’s Memphis back up by seven.

Dozier with a huge block, and it seems like the Tigers may be running away.

“They’re startin’ to boogie on Beale St.!”

KU is already in foul mode. That means the game is winding down. Disappointing. I wanted a close finish.

Seven point lead with 2:13 to play. One and one time.

“Rick Barnes did this in the game last week, and Memphis was near perfect.”

Dozier is 68 percent from the line, but 0-for-1 tonight. Makes first on the one and one.

“It’s not how many, it’s when.”

Huge. Makes ‘em both. Callipari’s team is up nine with just over 2:00 to play.

6:18 a.m. - Arthur cuts it to seven. KU has one time out remaining.

Memphis is taking Dorsey out to keep the free throw shooting up.

6:19 a.m. - Steal by KU on the inbounds! And the three!

“Oh my God, WAKE UP HUNTER.” I’m trying not to yell; Jamie and Erin are still sleeping down the hall.

“Now it’s a two possession game!”

Four point lead with 1:40.

6:20 a.m. – CDR, over 80 percent from the line in the tourney, sinks both for Memphis. Self did not want that foul.

The lead is upped to six: 62-56, Tigers.

6:22 a.m. – 1:23 remaining.

Dorsey has fouled out for Memphis. Hurts defensively, but he is only 40 percent from the line. And it’s all about free throws now.

“Remember what we said at the very beginning:, in the NCAA Tournament, KU has shot 65 percent from the line. Although tonight, they are eight of nine.”

Now nine of ten, after Chalmers’ shot. He cuts it to four with 1:21 to go.

Here comes Memphis.

“Bill Self is mad because you don’t wanna foul Douglas-Roberts.”

Antonio Anderson had the ball -- he’s 65 percent from the line, the man you want -- and they didn’t get him. CDR, on the other hand, is perfect on the night from the stripe.

Until now -- he just missed first end of the one and one!

“He’s been so good in this tournament!”

Arthur makes it a two point game!

“Two, point, championship game.”

I’m pulling on my hair; I still can’t scream!

KU almost steals it at mid court. That would have sent me over the edge.

6:24 a.m. -- Time out Memphis. They need it. 0:44 to go in the season. A solid 19 seconds on the shot clock. Callipari has watched his team squander a seemingly insurmountable nine-point lead in less than a minute and a half.

It’s 62-60. KU just might end up winning this thing.

“Everybody all over the world who follows this tournament, we’re happy to have you with us, in Africa, in….” I stopped listening, and just pumped my fist.

“Did you hear that shout out?” I turned to ask Hunter, whose eyes were open as he laid prostrated on the couch. He barely acknowledged me.

“The longest 40 seconds of the Memphis Tigers’ lives.”

Collins stripped by Rose! Collins stripped by Rose!

That’s how they do in Chi-Town.

Now CDR at the line for two. He has the chance to make it a two possession game.

Misses the first.

MISSES THE SECOND. That is three in a row after starting 4-of-4.

“Ohh, he didn’t have any legs in that one.” Who is this guy, Nick freaking Andersen!

But Memphis gets the rebound! Dozier, of course.

Somehow CDR grabs hold of the ball and slams it to the floor in frustration for such“Douglas-Roberts furious at himself, and then he turns around to look at Hightower and say,’I’m sorry, don’t call a technical on me.’”

Wow, had CDR given the hair-dyeing Hightower a chance to call a tech on him, that could have been Webber-esque. CDR would have needed a little CPR on himself if he’d screwed that up – hiohhh!

6:29 a.m. – Token red head still in warm ups. He is not getting in the game, I’ve conceded to myself.

Rose is now at the line with ten seconds left. He’s 2-for-2 tonight.

First shot rims out. I mean rims out. Memphis has missed its last four, maybe five shots from the line. Still up two. 10.8 seconds to go. KU out of time outs.

Rose sinks second shot. Tigers up three.

This is the game, folks.

“They’re trying to foul him!” But the ref’s don’t call it!

OH MY GOD! WHO WAS THAT ! WHO WAS THAT! WHO WAS THAT! CHALMERS! THE ALASKAN! OH MY GOODNESS! THAT IS WHY I STAYED UP, ERIN! OH MY GOODNESS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Chalmers!

6:32 a.m. -- Memphis takes their seats on the floor for a break before OT. You can see the dejection in their faces. Kansas is going to win this game. OH MY GOODNESS.

“It’s not how many..”

“It’s when.”

“It’s when. And it cuts both ways.”

FREE THROWS, BOYS. FREE THROWS.

“Obviously, KU has the momentum, the emotional edge.”

6:33 a.m. - “Overtime in the national championship!”

KU takes the two point lead early in the extra period.

Memphis is going to miss Dozier, the man who grabbed every big offensive board tonight. He fouled out in regulation.

“Brandon Rush shouldn’t be here. He should be in the NBA, except for an ACL injury.”

6:35 a.m. – Kansas is going to win this game.

It’s light outside.

“This is the first championship overtime since 1997, Arizona and Kentucky.”

“Miles Simon, Mike Bibby, Lute Olsen and Rick Pitino.” Ironically, that Arizona team knocked off the heavily favored Kansas Jayhawks in that year’s tournament. It was arguably the best team Roy Williams ever had in Lawrence.

“They’ll be talking about this one just as long.”

6:37 a.m. - “CHALMERRRRRS, to Arthur!” There’s something about the alley oop that is just fun for an announcer to saw.

KU is now up four. Memphis hasn’t scored since that Rose free throw at the end of the second half, the one that gave them the three point lead. FREE THROWS.

6:38 a.m. - Jackson lays it in for the six point lead.

Memphis looks completely deflated. Half of overtime is gone. 69-63 Kansas.

6:39 a.m. - “The specter of that dark cloud, the free throw shooting, looming over their heads from the end of regulation.” - Fran

6:45 a.m.– “Douglas Roberts has no legs under him.” Misses the wide open, left handed lay up. And he is left handed. “Douglas Roberts is exhausted.”

“And he should be, Brad. He gave his heart and soul tonight.”

Hunter was fully awake at this point. “Gave his heart and soul and he lost the f***ing game,” he said. I agree.

6:49 a.m. -- “Memphis has 38 wins, Brad, the most in NCAA history.”

“Ohhh, Dorothy!” Another scripted line. Way worse than the CPR comment.

“That’s gonna do it.”

“Dorothy, we’re in Kansas again!” The funniest thing was that Brad tried to say the Kansas part the first time, but Fran cut him off accidentally. And so he got it the second time. “For the first time in 20 years! Rock, Chalk, Jayhawk!”

THIS IS WHY I WAKE UP FOR THIS SHIT ERIN!!!!!!

It hurts to watch the Memphis players, it does. They had the game. They lost it at the free throw line. THEY LOST IT AT THE FREE THROW LINE.

6:51 a.m. -- Oh! Red head is named ‘Kleinmann.’ He has a name.

6:52 a.m. – (Chalmers) “There’s the man of the hour. Or as they say in football, ‘the man of the match.’” So that’s definitive proof we’re getting the international feed over here in East Africa.

As token red head hugging Danny Manning, Bill Self comes up from behind and gives him a really hard shove on the back: “Go get me a Gatorade!” style.

6:55 a.m. - Nice, Bill. Take it to Roy, then take them where Roy never could. Nice.

So here is the question, as we’re nearing 7 in the morning here in Arusha. Are we gonna get to watch “One Shining Moment?”

6:57 a.m. – Duh duh duh! Duh duh duh! “THEES, ees SPOHTS-CENTAH!”

Ugh. British voices on Sportscenter.

Wait a minute. You’re cutting away?!

The answer is no, there will be no “One Shining Moment.” And the lead story is on Liverpool football.

Satellite TV can only take you so far.