Last year I covered the Final Four, and shambled on in to the locker room after Gordon Hayward's last-second heave so unforgivingly caromed off the rim at Lucas Oil Stadium in Indianapolis. Being there, then, was surreal. In a way, the Butler players wanted to be surrounded by anyone but teammates. They'd gotten there by believing in each other and creating a whole that was better than its parts, sure. But those moments following defeat feel only like failure, and the players couldn't avoid believing they'd let each other down. Well-coached athletes are conditioned to not make mistakes. They're taught that loses are compilations of miscues that weren't avoided. And so each one sat there, mentally rummaging through each play, re-conjuring this cut or that pass, trying to figure out where it slipped away. Imagine the pain they would have felt had any of them taken the time to look into another's eyes, blurred by tears, as the log of missteps played through their minds.