In the grand tapestry of college basketball, where colossal conferences like the ACC and Big Ten dominate the airwaves, one finds an overlooked, unassuming patch known as the Big South Conference. While the giants of the sport grab the limelight with their $30 million TV deals and the latest five-star recruits, the Big South exists in a peculiar limbo, a purgatory of hoops and hopes, where dreams collide with the harsh reality of being perpetually ignored. Ah, the Big South Championship—the ceremonial celebration of grit, where teams gather in an atmosphere ripe with the hopes of securing not just glory, but a golden ticket to the NCAA Tournament, which is often lovingly referred to as "March Madness." In the hearts of players and fans alike, the dream is alive. Each year, as the tournament unfolds like an uninspired script, teams throw themselves into the fray with the fervor of gladiators, armed with nothing but sheer will and maybe a few makeshift game plans gleaned from last-minute YouTube tutorials. The inaugural tournament in 1986 stands as a monumental testament to resilience. Much like a middle-child at a family reunion, it was neither the oldest nor youngest, barely receiving a nod of appreciation from the basketball establishment. Just one year later, as the first champions were crowned, one couldn't help but feel a swell of pride amid the whispers of “Who even are they?” around water coolers across the nation. The Big South quickly became synonymous with underdog stories, and while those stories are delightful for any hipster coffee shop, they rarely make it to the halls of national prominence. The champions of this esteemed conference have included some noble foes: Winthrop, Coastal Carolina, and even Liberty, who danced their way to glory while the spotlight audibly sighed and continued to shine on a largely uninspired tournament bracket elsewhere. With each win, these teams brought with them a glimmer of hope, a spark that said, "Perhaps this year, this will finally be the year when the Big South makes its mark!" Spoiler alert: It wasn't. Yes, in a cruel twist of fate, winning the Big South Championship often leads to an immediate ticket for a first-round exit in the NCAA tournament—a delightful pairing akin to winning a free buffet only to find it consists entirely of cold pizza. But, oh, what a grand buffet that is! The kind where you serve yourself while being watched by millions who aren't quite sure why they’re tuned in, yet fascinated by this oddity that is the collectively unremarkable performance of players who had one shining moment before fading back into obscurity. As the confetti falls in arenas poorly lit with flickering bulbs, what remains is a lingering sense of melancholy. The players’ faces, adorned with smiles that quick-flash into perplexity, tell a story of fleeting glory: the ecstasy of victory often overshadowed by the impending doom of disappearing back into the void of forgotten mid-major colleges. And let’s not forget how many of these champions viewed highlights of their glorious moments on TV, only to realize they were buried somewhere between a commercial for life insurance and another airing of a classic sitcom. For every thrilling buzzer-beater, every crowd explosion, there is a haunting echo of the inevitable—an inescapable cycle of excitement met with the cold reality of marginalization. Yet, hope springs eternal, because who knows? Perhaps one day the Big South will grace the networks and shine in the collective consciousness of college basketball fans everywhere. Or perhaps it will remain the quirky, neglected cousin at the reunion, cheerfully holding onto dreams while everyone else fights over the family fortune. Herein lies the real tragedy of the Big South Conference Championship Chronicles: a celebration of grit amidst an arena of silence, a plight too real for even the strongest cup of coffee to mask. So here’s to the champions—a ragtag crew of resilient young athletes still holding onto their dreams and, in delusional unison, believing that the call to "bracket busting" could one day apply to them. Perhaps this year, the Big South will finally grip the net, but until then, we sit and watch, yearning for someone—anyone—to pay attention.