March 23, 2007 | Aatlanta, Georgia - 8:57 PM | Georgia Dome
"Welcome back, ladies and gentlemen, to the heart of March Madness!"
The voice rang out over television sets across the country as the camera panned wide, catching the atmosphere of Georgia Dome under tournament lighting.
Inside, 40,000 fans stirred in their seats, jerseys and foam fingers flashing in a sea of orange and gold. March belonged to underdogs and dreams but not tonight. Not with these teams.
"I'm Tom Brennan here with Steve Lavin, and we've got a heavyweight Sweet Sixteen clash on our hands tonight, second-seeded Texas, led by two of the biggest names in college basketball, going up against the bruisers out of Pittsburgh."
The screen split: on the left, Ethan Cross, hoodie off, headphones on, his jumpshot flawless even in warmups. On the right, Kevin Durant, arms loose at his sides as he floated into a midrange fadeaway that drew a hush even in the pre-game chaos.
"Steve, what else can you say about Texas right now? Two players guaranteed to be drafted in the top 3 spots, both averaging over twenty, and a supporting cast that's stepped up every round so far."
Lavin chuckled. "It's not just that they're good, Tom. It's how they move. And how they operate. Yes the tactics are centered around Ethan and Kevin but make no mistakes, they wouldn't be here without the rest of the team. Anyone of those players can go off as we have seen last season when Lamarcus Aldridge led the team "
Cut to Pittsburgh, all grit and box-outs.
"And don't sleep on Pitt," Brennan added. "They've got size, rebounding, and they're one of the best defensive units in the bracket. This isn't a track meet, they're gonna make Texas earn everything."
Just off the Texas bench, with cameras sweeping across the roaring arena, CBS sideline reporter Tracy Wolfson stood between two mothers who looked both proud and terrified.
Emily wore an orange jersey with CROSS stitched across the back, her fingers tapping nervously against the fabric. Wanda stood beside her in matching colors, her son's name and number bright under the arena lights. Behind them, the Longhorns ran through layup lines, sneakers squeaking, the band blaring, the building shaking with anticipation.
"Standing here with Emily Cross and Wanda Durant," Tracy began, holding her mic steady despite the thunder around them, "two names every Texas fan knows by now. Your sons are about to play the biggest game of their lives so far. How are you both holding up?"
Emily exhaled, eyes flicking toward the court. "Trying to stay calm," she said, though her foot bounced nonstop. "But I've been pacing since breakfast."
Wanda cracked a knowing smile. "I told myself I wouldn't yell too much today. I make no promises."
Tracy grinned. "Did you ever think they'd make it this far?"
"Yeah. They've been about this since they were little. Basketball's all they've ever wanted." Emily answered. She truly did believe her son could make it, not after all the hard he put into this sport.
Wanda nodded. "It was the only thing that kept them still growing up. Give them a ball and a driveway, and they'd disappear for hours. Kevin and his siblings,Tony, Brianna, Rayvonne, they'd be out there arguing, playing, fighting over who got to be Shaq. Ethan was always in the mix."
She glanced at Emily.
"At this point, Ethan might as well be my fourth. My kids see him like a brother. And I know Emily sees Kevin the same way."
"They're family," Emily said simply. "Always have been."
Tracy tilted her head. "The families sound incredibly close."
"We are," Wanda replied proudly. They were pretty much family.
Emily had been there when Wanda's husband walked out and tried to stroll back ten years later. She was the one who shut that door and helped Wanda bolt it shut. Kevin never said much about it, but some things didn't need to be said. He had his siblings. He had his mother. He didn't need anyone else.
(A/N: I was looking up KD's and writing down notes for this story before I came across his family and siblings. He never talks much about them. As for his dad, yeah fuck him. He's not gonna appear in this story, lol.)
As the crowd swelled again, Tracy turned to the camera.
"For those just tuning in, or unfamiliar with their story, Ethan Cross and Kevin Durant have known each other since childhood. Same leagues. Same schools. Same high school. Now the same college. One of the closest bonds in college basketball."
Emily chuckled softly, sharing a look with Wanda. "They used to drag folding chairs into the street just to simulate defenders."
"They'd play one-on-one till the porch lights came on," Wanda added. "Argue every call like it was Game 7."
Emily shook her head. "They broke our mailbox once trying to dunk over it."
"And the kitchen window…"
"Okay, that one was Kevin," Emily admitted.
A voice cut through from behind.
"Here y'all go lying again."
Ethan stepped into frame, towel slung over his shoulder, sweat along his hairline. He leaned in and kissed his mother's cheek.
"Love you, Ma."
"Go stretch," she said, trying and failing to hide her smile.
Kevin drifted in next, pulling Wanda into a quick hug before pointing straight at the mic.
"Tell 'em I blocked every one of his shots growing up."
Ethan didn't miss a beat. "You fouled every time."
They jogged back toward the court before the argument could restart for the hundredth time.
Wanda watched them go, shaking her head. "Still can't tell if they're growing up or not."
Emily smiled faintly. "They grow up."
Tracy faced the camera one more time.
"There you have it. From front yards to the Sweet Sixteen. Ethan Cross. Kevin Durant. Up next: Texas vs. Pittsburgh."
The arena lights shifted subtly as the camera panned toward the lower bowl.
fresh wave of cheers, whistles, and raised phones. Not for the warmups. Not for the teams. This was different.
"And it looks like we've got some familiar faces in the building tonight," Tom Brennan announced from the booth. "Atlanta's own Joe Johnson taking his seat courtside with a few of the Hawks, fresh off their home stretch."
Beside him, Josh Smith threw up a peace sign to the cameras. Marvin Williams leaned back and waved to the crowd, a fresh bag of popcorn resting on his lap. One seat over, a young Ludacris in a leather jacket lifted his hand in a casual wave as the big screen cut to them.
The crowd erupted again, thrilled at the star power flooding into their city.
"This game's bringing out the heat," Steve Lavin said. "Future NBA talent on the floor, and current stars in the seats. March is different."
.
Back on the hardwood, the arena lights dimmed slightly. Drums thudded. A pulsing bass beat echoed under the dome's roof as the teams lined up in the tunnels.
First out: Pittsburgh.
Navy uniforms. They marched out like a construction crew with something to prove. No dancing. No music.
The Texas players waited in their own line across the tunnel divide, backs straight, focus locked in.
Kevin gave Ethan a slight nudge.
"They look like they wanna fight us, not play us."
Ethan smiled hearing. "They should've brought gloves then. But we be aight."
He caught eyes with one of Pitt's big men — six-nine, brick-built, shaved head, nostrils flared like he'd been chewing glass all week. The guy looked like he wanted to choke him out at tip-off.
Ethan just smiled. He didn't recongize any of the players from memories. He just knew some of them from the film sessions so he wasn't worried. Rather he welcomed the challenge.
The lights dimmed to near black.
Then the drumline cracked.
The dome ignited.
Cheerleaders took their places. Bands hit full volume. And 40,000 strong exploded into chaos as both starting fives stepped to center court. On one side, Pittsburgh—thick, heavy, mean-eyed. On the other, Texas—lean, hungry, and already walking like they knew something the rest didn't.
Crowd chants clashed midair.
"TEX-AS FIGHT! TEX-AS FIGHT!"
"OVERRATED! OVERRATED!"
One Pitt fan stood on a chair, shirt off, middle fingers up toward the Longhorns' bench. On the opposite end, a group of Texas students had made a massive cardboard cutout of Ethan's face and waved it like a flag.
(A/N: I really tried with the chants but unlike in Europe where the fans just say whatever lmao, the crowds in the US are a lot more chill 99% of the time.)
At half-court, the ref stepped in with the ball and whistle in his mouth and blew it up before throwing up the ball into the air.
"Here we go!" Tom Brennan called, voice rising over the roar of the crowd. "Sweet Sixteen, Texas vs. Pitt!"
Damion James exploded off the floor. The tip was clean, his fingers swatting the ball directly into space like he'd done it in his sleep.
The orange leather spun through the air—
"James wins it!" Steve Lavin snapped. "Textbook verticality from the sophomore!"
Right on cue, Ethan darted forward, catching the ball mid-stride near the logo, the Texas bench already standing. He didn't wait for anyone or anything but simply accelerated to his max speed.
He didn't always use it thanks to his skills but both Kyrie and AI got speed, especially AI.
"Ethan accelerating early tonight, he's not waiting for the set!" Brennan shouted.
First step was lightning. He exploded past the first defender like he wasn't there.
"Blows by the hedge! No resistance!" Lavin barked.
Two Pitt defenders rushed up, trying to trap — but too late.
He split them on a rope-tight crossover, slipped between hips and elbows like water through a crack.
"He knifed between them!" Brennan gasped. "Straight to the lane!"
One power dribble.
He floated.
Up, over a closing center.
One-hand release.
Float. Drop. Net.
The Georgia Dome cracked.
"OH MY!" Lavin roared. "That's a pro bucket! That is a PRO bucket right there!"
Emily was already clapping like a reflex.
Wanda raised both hands above her head. "Let's go, baby!" she shouted.
The band kicked behind them, the cheer squad leaping in time with the crowd.
Ethan turned before his feet touched the ground. The same Pitt forward from the tunnel, Aaron Gray, brick-built with arms like tree trunks was at the top of the key again, glaring murder. Rather everyone was from the opposing team.
Ethan jogged backward, flashing a bright annoying smile as he looked past him. "Get comfortable," he muttered. "You'll be seeing that all night."
As he crossed the half line, Kevin raised a hand for the high-five.
"Started early," KD said with a grin.
"Gotta let 'em know," Ethan replied.
"Texas 2, Pitt 0," Brennan recapped. "First blood goes to Cross. And Steve, it's not just the finish, it's the burst. You don't see that a lot from number 11."
Lavin nodded. "We don't talk about his speed enough. You know why? Because he doesn't use it much. He's so technically gifted, so surgical with the handle, he doesn't need it often. But when he decides to press turbo, good night to the defense."
"You watch Ethan's play, it reminds you of AI's glide, Jason Williams' shake, Tim Hardaway's crossover. Even flashes of Kobe's footwork. It's all there." Brennan added.
Lavin nodded. "He gets where he wants on skill alone. But when he adds that speed…"
"You get plays like that," Brennan finished.
That's what made Ethan so dangerous, he wasn't one-dimensional. He didn't rely on just speed or athletic bursts to get by.
Plenty of guys built their whole game around that one thing: raw explosiveness. And once that faded? So did their careers.
John Wall, Russell Westbrook, Derrick Rose, Steve Francis, one injury, one lost step with no solid jump shoots and suddenly the gap between superstar and bench warmer closed fast.
Speed's a gift, but if that's all you've got, it betrays you with time.
Back on the court, Pitt brought the ball in.
Brennan's voice sharpened as the clock ticked into motion. "And we are underway here in Atlanta, Sweet Sixteen basketball between Texas and Pitt!"
The opening minute was all rhythm. Texas moved like they'd rehearsed this 10,000 times.
Damion James curled around a down screen.
Augustin swept past the arc. Ethan called the set with a tap of his wrist.
Off-ball movement. One screen. Then two. Crisp passes snapping side to side.
"Texas running a flex motion here," Lavin noted. "Trying to test how tight Pitt is on the perimeter coverage."
But Pitt wasn't budging. They bumped on every catch. Elbows, hips, knees—legal, just barely. Their bigs boxed out early. Their guards fought over screens like it was the last round of a title bout.
"These Panthers are not here for finesse," Brennan said. "They're trying to muddy it up, turn this into a brawl."
Next possession, Pitt came down and ran a UCLA cut through the wing, a quick screen for Gray to slip to the post. The ball dumped in.
"Here comes the iso," Lavin called. "They want to test Texas early."
Gray tried to back in. Two dribbles. Pump fake. Ethan rotated down on help from the wing, timed the dig perfectly—slapped down.
Clean.
The ball popped loose and Augustin snatched it in stride.
"Another steal! Cross gets his hand in again!" Brennan shouted.
Augustin sprinted up with Ethan on his wing. Tossed it forward.
Ethan caught, paused, let the defender fly by, then drilled a pull-up from the short corner.
"Smooth! Like a cold drink of water," Lavin said. "That's a grown-man stop and pop!"
Pitt tried to punch back quick, but the Longhorns had locked in. James fought through a screen. Durant got a tip at the rim. And on the break? Ethan again.
Durant grabbed the board, kicked it ahead.
"Texas in transition again!" Brennan barked.
Ethan took two hard dribbles, then faked a behind-the-back that sent the nearest Pitt defender stumbling.
"Oh! Put him on skates!" Lavin cracked.
He dished it last second to Durant who threw it down with two hands.
Crowd on their feet.
Timeout Pitt.
"8–2 Texas!" Brennan said. "And it's not even about Pitt playing badly. This is just pressure basketball. Cross is everywhere."
Cameras caught Emily and Wanda again — both standing now. Emily clapped fast, her hands barely pausing. Wanda gave a little shoulder shake.
Out of the timeout, Pitt slowed it down. Tried to get into their sets.
They ran a staggered screen to free a shooter at the top — handoff into a midrange pull-up.
It bounced out.
Kevin skied up, grabbed the rebound with one hand, and immediately went coast to coast.
One crossover.
Step-back three.
Bang.
"Durant just reminded the building who he is!" Brennan laughed.
"Eleven-five, Texas."
Pitt finally found footing midway through the first half. Ethan sat briefly. Pitt scored two quick buckets inside.
But when Ethan returned?
First play: off a curl screen, he nailed a drifting jumper over a contest.
Next play: strip and score. He poked it loose, picked it up in one motion, and went the full 94 for a layup.
He jogged back past the Pitt bench, murmuring, "That almost looked like defense."
More tension brewed. Pitt's guards started pressing up harder. One gave Ethan a shove after the whistle.
He didn't react. Just looked down at the player's shoes.
"You creasing your kicks for that? Damn."
Bench howled.
By the time the horn sounded for halftime, Texas led 44–35.
Ethan had 17 points, 4 assists, 3 steals, 1 block. KD had 11.
"Second half's coming up," Lavin added. "And I think we're just getting started."