The UConn Buzzer-Beater Was A Flawless Short Film

Here's one mark of a legendary highlight: You can show it to someone who hasn't seen a minute of the sport in years, with no explanatory context, and get a reaction that's something like, "Wow!" Such is the case with UConn's Braylon Mullins and his shot to beat Duke in the Elite Eight. Everything about the play itself and the production around it felt practically scripted for maximum excitement, all in the span of half a minute.

To start, even the uninformed knows that Duke are the bad guys, so that's helpful. But if you're stepping into this highlight with no prior context—as fans will be doing for years to come as they cue up "March Madness shots but they get increasingly more insane" Youtube videos—Ian Eagle tells you the situation immediately after the made free throw, without forcing you to study the scoreboard. "72-70 Duke. Ten seconds to go."

What follows is the most purely satisfying reversal of fortune imaginable. Eagle's voice gets loud at the perfect moment: "...that ball DEFLECTED! And stolen by Mullins." He pulls himself back, because what UConn has to accomplish remains improbable, especially as Mullins takes his shot from a ridiculous distance. But it hits with a electrifying swish, followed immediately by a fully earned "OHHHH!" from Eagle. Listen to the whole thing with your eyes closed, and it sounds almost musical: sudden chaos, a big intake of breath, and finally elation.

The sound is only half the story. I've criticized TV broadcasts before when they've botched a big moment, and the CBS crew deserves full credit for how they handled this one. There were no cuts whatsoever from Silas Demary Jr.'s made free throw to Mullins's heroic swish, which encouraged total focus from the viewer. I also loved the way the camera widened the shot during Boozer's terrible pass attempt. The intent was to show the player he was targeting upcourt, and in practice it emphasized the moment that Duke gave the game away. Watch it enough times, and it feels like it's right in rhythm with every viewer's sharp gasp.

The fact that the camera stayed zoomed-out after the turnover added something to the broadcast, too, because in frame for Mullins's shot were a whole bunch of spectators in the lower bowl—as many as you'll ever see at once in a live shot of game action. Concurrent with the swish, every formerly-statuesque body that wasn't wearing Duke blue put their hands up and jumped, a roiling sea of a background.

The shots that directly followed the basket were all executed smartly. CBS got the big chest bump between teammates, then Dan Hurley losing his mind, then the closest UConn fans in gratified disbelief. And before returning to the players and coaches and a replay of what just happened, the broadcast cut to the UConn cheerleaders in a delirious group hug. I'm almost always against any shot in this situation that doesn't let you see the subject's face, because human emotion is what we're all after. But in this brief moment, where the people on screen were instantly identifiable as cheerleaders even from behind, I loved that extra little glimpse at the way UConn's moment of madness overrode all of the routine that defines their jobs. If Mullins's winner wasn't personally important to you, watching at home, you could still see how huge it was for them.

You may think the presentation seems minor compared to the event itself, but remember that these audio and visual narrative choices are literally the only way that millions of people are able to connect with what's happening. The folks who work for these broadcasters have all the power to confuse or frustrate you if they get it wrong, and also the ability to serve as a bold exclamation point to an unforgettable statement. That's how a mere highlight becomes a spectacle.

And if you need a counterfactual, just check out the Duke radio call of this shot, which jolts the listener into thinking that Malachi Smith (who was in the game) stepping onto the court for a phantom technical foul is a bigger deal than the go-ahead three itself. Well, actually, that call's pretty entertaining in its own way, too.