Is that all there is?

I ask you, Duke fans. Oregon fans. UConn fans. Kent State fans.

(And U-cough, cough-C-ahem, hack!-L-Noonan!-A fans.)

	Dahntay Jones and Jason Williams watched Duke's stellar season come to a sudden stop.

Step up to The Cooler for one day and let's ponder the Meaning of Tournament Existence. Bring Nietzsche, Sartre and Vitale -- although Nietzsche and Sartre might not get to say much.

So, we ask again: Is that all there is?

You start in October with a dream. You watch the preseason tourneys in Hawaii. You tolerate Coach K in an aloha shirt. You follow the box scores in December, when your team fattens up on embarrassingly scheduled nonconference games against Division Three Tech.

You sweat the conference games through dreary February days. You wonder what RPI stands for in your most private moments. Your answers are not pretty.

When things get really bad, you start to wonder if you've hurt your team by not notching enough quality wins in your own personal life. You wonder if your natural inclination to consistently give your life a soft schedule -- avoiding the showdown with the noisy neighbor, refusal to confront the boss for a raise -- will affect your school's seeding come tournament time.

And then it comes. An 8 seed. A berth in the Sweet 16. A loss.

Or a 1 seed, a cruise to the Sweet 16. Then a loss.

	Taliek Brown, center, and UConn made a nice run to the Sweet 16 -- where they were surrounded by Maryland.

Or a 2 seed, a steady path and then a loss in the Elite Eight (and really, who calls it Elite Eight? Nobody, save for myself in the previous sentence. This is why losing in the Elite Eight is really no better than losing in the Sweet 16. There are three things in the tournament: A first-round loss, making it to the Sweet 16 and a Final Four berth. But I digress.)

So the Final Four is here. And Jayhawks and Hoosiers and Terrapins and Sooners are stoked. Fired up. Loving it. Calling up old friends. Rolling down to Atlanta. Making reservations at the Gold Club. The whole package.

As for the rest of us?

We're left to wonder.

It happened to me last Thursday night, when Missouri beat UCLA. My guy D. and I rolled out of a sports bar in Jacksonville Beach -- hanging with C. Perks and the lads at The Players Championship -- and he said: "I don't know, bro. Is it all worth it? The win over Cincy? The reprieve for Steve Lavin? Another exit before the Final Four? Was it?"

Good question. Was it worth it for Duke? Watching Jason Williams play for another winter down on Tobacco Road? For Oregon? Winning a Pac-10 and providing months of joy previously unfelt among the flannel-wearing, hairy denizens of Eugene -- and among the men of Eugene, too?

There's only one answer: Come on, man. You know what it is. You're a sports fan.

It's always worth it.

Phone calls flew between old friends during the run for each school. E-mail contact sprung up between long lost pals. And hope existed for just those precious few days.

Shoot. When it's all said and done, what else do we have?

I mean, besides Internet offshore gambling and happy hour beers on Big Monday.

On to the List of Five:

1. The Final Four: a solid crew

	Juan Dixon and the Terps are part of a very powerful Final Four.

No bogus teams in this group. As has been written so many times, you can't pick a 12 seed or 10 seed to get to the Final Four, no matter how close Missouri or Kent State make it. It's like there's a force field around double-digit seeds cracking the Final Four.

But you'll forget it next year at Bracket Time and, in a drunken stupor, take Pepperdine and Butler to make it to the title game. That's the beauty of your sawbuck in my office bracket pool.

Indiana, Kansas, Oklahoma -- strictly Old School, strictly Middle America. Members of the obscure-but-powerful John Cougar Mellencamp/Dwight Eisenhower/Barry Switzer Fan Club will love the week of pub due these schools.

Apparently, they play some ball in the Midwest.

Maryland? They round it out nicely. You imagine Gary Williams firing up the crew before Saturday's tilt by pouring a basket of fresh crabs on a red-and-white checked tablecloth, while his players grab little hammers and furiously crack them open in a pregame frenzy.

Or at least I do.

2. The Oscars: Are they over yet?
Don't get me wrong. I love 'em. The film clips, the swelling orchestral music, the cleavage. It's all great. But holy Geeezus, they run longer than an AL ballgame. Still, I tuned in and scribbled the following Larry King-like thoughts on my pick sheet, which was blown out of contention when the Ron Jeremy documentary did not take Oscar home:

	Denzel Washington has had Oscar written all over him ever since his days on St. Elsewhere.

Donald Sutherland and Glenn Close, relegated to background "Wizard of Oz"-like DJ duty? Man, I remember when she was dicing rabbits and he was baring hams while shagging Boon's girlfriend in "Animal House." But hey, a gig's a gig, right? ... Paul McCartney just lost a Best Song Oscar to Randy Newman, who looked suspiciously like Randy Quaid. McCartney's clapping, but has to be thinking: "I lost to the 'Short People' guy? I'm King Beatle! I'm Sgt. Pepper! That dude couldn't be a roadie for Wings! ... I liked Jennifer Connelly better when she was known only for being smoking hot. She's awful serious now. Bummer ... I knew Denzel had Oscar written all over him back in the St. Elsewhere days. Old school, baby ... Let's not just stop at saying Whoopi Goldberg is hugely unfunny. Let's tie every comedienne to that burning stake: Ellen, Rosie, Rita Rudner, Elaine Boozler. Still waiting for my first laugh, ladies.

After riffing like that, I feel cheap and unclean. Larry King drew a paycheck for that stuff? Hath the man no pride?

3. Da Playaz Championships
That's me: Down with the hip-hop. I used to say Players. Now I know to say Playaz. I just spent the week at The Players Championship, and could only wonder -- while wondering who kidnapped Tiger and replaced him with Carl Paulson -- how the event would be improved if we made it Da Playaz Championship.

Out with Phil Mickelson, David Duval and Davis Love III.

In with Jay-Z, Ludacris and Dre.

I'm seeing jewel-encrusted Mercedes golf carts. I'm seeing huge Playboy bunny medallions serving as ballmarkers on greens. I'm seeing Ludacris in the gallery, whooping and hollering, "Roll out! Roll out!" when Jay-Z chips in on 18.

These are the things I see when I have too much time on my hands.

4. Oscar riff, part II

	All hail Halle Berry.

Ron Howard is not what you'd call your traditionally handsome man ... Halle Berry is what I'd traditionally call smoking hot, sort of like a pre-serious Jennifer Connelly ... I can't think of the last Best Picture to win that was actually a good picture ... Although "Unforgiven" and "Braveheart" -- flawed but memorable -- come to mind.

Larry King got paid for this? I feel unclean again.

5. Back to the Players Championship
The Cooler's failed would-be SNL skit "Da Playaz Championship" should not take away from my man Craig Perks' epic win Sunday. Serious business, people. You just don't finish 3-2-4 at Sawgrass when you can't breathe and you've never won on Tour in your life. You just don't. It doesn't happen. You don't finish 3-2-4 by chipping in on 16 and 18, and making birdie on the absurd 17th hole.

C. Perks did.

For this, he deserves much homage from anyone who appreciates clutch performances under suffocating pressure. For this, he becomes our early leader for Favorite Clutch Guy under Suffocating Pressure.

For that, Cooler-dwellers, he becomes a playa.

Brian Murphy of the San Francisco Chronicle writes the "Weekend Water Cooler" every Monday for Page 2.