For the last six weeks, I’ve been a bad fan.

I had decided somewhere in that fuzzy space between the Michigan State overtime loss and the early exit in the Big Ten Tournament that nothing this team did in the regular season would count unless it was validated by the NCAA Tournament. Specifically, by getting to the Sweet 16.

That’s a terrible way to watch basketball. I know this. And I knew it then.

This Illinois team finished 13th in the country. They won 15 Big Ten games. They played through injuries and the accumulated weight of expectation and still earned a 3 seed. Objectively, that’s one of the best regular seasons I’ve watched as an Illini fan, and I’ve been watching for a long time. Believing that it didn’t matter unless they reached the second weekend was the wrong kind of thinking, but it was there in the back of my brain.

This anxiety wasn’t born from doubt. It was born from belief. This team went on a 12-game win streak in December and January that made me think, genuinely think, they had the kind of mettle you need to win a national championship.

Excitement became expectation. Expectation became dread. Somewhere along the way I stopped having fun watching a really good basketball team. Those damn overtime losses just beat me down.

Then came Illinois versus VCU for a berth to the Sweet 16. Then came Zvonimir Ivisic.

The dunk happened with the score at 46-32. There were fifteen minutes left. The game wasn’t over, technically speaking. But it was over. Anyone in that building knew it was over. And what struck me in the moment is that it wasn’t that whole sequence itself that broke something loose in me. It was the reaction. His brother’s face. His teammates on the bench. The pure unfiltered joy of it.

Man, I needed that.

The Illini handled VCU the way good teams handle opponents they’re better than. The defense was relentless. VCU shot 35% and scored their worst offensive total of the season. More of that please.

Brad Underwood earned his 300th career Division I win. The numbers are good, the wins are real, and next Thursday they play Houston in the Sweet 16.

And I plan to enjoy every second of it.

That’s the thing about letting go of an outcome you’ve been white-knuckling. You remember that you actually love this. The game. The team. The watching.

How sweet it is.