The Internet faded in and out of service and the picture endlessly buffered, desperately clawing at what it assumed was its last breath of life. Intermittently the laptop on the counter across from the desk would blurt out a score, and shortly after an image would explode onto the screen, sometimes for minutes and other times for a fleeting instant.

As I finished up for the night, anxiously hustling people out the doors in a fleeting effort to catch a glimpse of a game that I had assumed was over (Tennessee had been trailing the entire game, and Michigan was on their game offensively–a general precursor to a Wolverines victory), I literally ran through the parking lot to the car. Responsibility has an unfortunate way of creeping up on you at the most inopportune of times, and by the time I had finished running errands, I walked in the door with 56 seconds left.

The Tennessee Volunteers trailed the Michigan Wolverines by five.

A minute of game time plays to an eternity in reality, especially when your team’s the one that stinks to high heaven of desperation. But, 56 seconds is still 56 seconds, nowhere near enough time to impart anything of genuine insight upon a legion of folks who’ve been emotionally invested for over 39 minutes.

So, for once, I watched as a fan.

There’s this notion that journalism requires no rooting interest, and the truth of the matter is that if you can separate yourself entirely, you’ll undoubtedly have an innate ability to critically assess every situation. However, the reality of journalism is that it’s still a business of people, and where there are people there are relationships, and where there are relationships there are emotions.

Now, some will mask those emotions–bury them deep and lie to themselves about their meaning. Others let them overwhelm themselves, blinding them from the truth of a situation.

The best journalists/bloggers/writers/columnists/etc. that I’ve ever met aren’t the ones who disavow any semblance of an emotional connection with a person or institution that they cover. The best are the ones who acknowledge their emotional connection to a team, a university, a coach or an athlete and overcome it to provide level-headed perspective–sometimes critical, sometimes beaming, but always fair.

A lot of times, that doesn’t describe me. I’m irrational to the point of intolerance. Most of you wouldn’t enjoy watching a game with me. I don’t consider myself one of the best journalists/bloggers/writers/columnists/etc. I’ve ever met. You probably don’t either, but that’s okay. It does happen to be my job, though.

However, at the end of the day, I’ve always taken a relative pride in being able to be uncommonly critical of a team that I have a vested interest in.

Despite rooting for the Chicago Bears or UT or Team USA, I always watch sports critically. If Marc Trestman mismanages a down-and-distance scenario or Cuonzo Martin fails to understand the importance of a two-for-one possession at the end of the half, I’m on it. There’s a tweet to be tweeted, a column to be written.

But, even though I am an unabashed UT fan AND a member of the media regardless of whether the old guard wants to acknowledge it, I very rarely get to watch a game as simplistically as your average fan. I want my team to win, but my first and foremost responsibility is to understand the story.

On Friday night, for 56 seconds, I got to shed that responsibility and watch as a fan.

And for 56 seconds, I gleaned something that I may have missed entirely if I had been watching as a columnist or a beat writer or if I were doing a takeout piece.

We all know the storylines that played themselves out leading up to this Sweet Sixteen matchup with Michigan.

Adversity is a theme we use to fairy mindless souls into banal conversation like Charon across a cliche-addled version of Styx. But, suffice it to say, Cuonzo Martin and the Tennessee Volunteers basketball team faced their fair share of adversity.

No, it wasn’t as adversarial as cancer or homelessness, but in the world of sports, what they encountered throughout this season was undoubtedly adverse.

They overcame and made it deeper into the postseason than all but six teams in the history of Tennessee Volunteers basketball. And it all came to summation with 56 seconds of truly inspired basketball.

Yes, they came up short, and, yes, there will be plenty of time to discuss why. The refs made a horrible call. They didn’t seem to be able to capitalize on their advantage on the inside in the first half. Jarnell Stokes in the short corner might not have been the best option with one set to win the game. Michigan might have simply been better.

Eventually we’ll settle into the habitual discussion of who to blame.

But, if you can detach yourself from the sorrow and think about those last 56 seconds–or even those last several minutes for those of you who were lucky enough to get a larger glimpse of something special–what you witnessed was genuinely inspired basketball.

I’ve drilled myself for years about the evils of cliche, but it seems senseless to struggle for words when the reality is that Tennessee played their hearts out. And while nothing replaces the satisfaction of a win, as a Tennessee fan, you should take pride in the fact that it took a very good Michigan team’s absolute best to beat you.

For 56 seconds I got to be a fan and ONLY a fan, and I know I did. That time came to exemplify what we all should expect from Tennessee basketball from here on out.

It’s not what we WILL all expect. Some will demand a national championship. Others will expect an annual trip to the tournament like it’s a birthright. Others will be content with a clean program that finds a way to win occasionally.

They’ll all be wrong.

What we all should expect is a team that manages to fight like that on a nightly basis and wins more often than not. Because, as a fan, for 56 seconds or otherwise, that’s something you can take pride in.

That’s something you can fight through a bad Internet connection for. That’s something you can drive like hell to make it home from work for. That’s something you can totally lose yourself in for 40 minutes… or 56 seconds.