We've all been there. When you hear a song, a phrase that reminds you of something from your past. Or when you go back to a place that you use to spend a lot of time -- after not being there for awhile. Not that you forget necessarily, but you know what I mean. Monday I went back to a place where I was overcome with this feeling. Lawrence -- or more specifically Allen Fieldhouse and "Mass Street." All of a sudden I was remembering this and that about my college years on campus (that were only a few years ago, mind you).

It's no surprise to most, I'm sure, that I was there for the big game. And like me, my guess is that there were hundreds of others who were infected with this same nostalgic virus. They filtered into the seemingly un-attractive building nestled amid other athletic sites on Naismith Dr. that, because of it's rich history, so many have come to call one of the best places in America to watch a college basketball game.

That night, the "House that Phog Built" did not disappoint. Allen holds 16,300 people -- and save the bottom fourth of the room -- KU fans filled the belly of the fieldhouse to the brim...expecting to be entertained by the new JumboTron that hung from the ceiling. My friends and I had prime seating in the middle section -- in perfect view to watch a national championship unfold. "Seating" is a relative term; since we did very little of that after tip-off.

To say this game was a nail biter would be the understatement of the year. I haven't liked roller coasters since I was about 12 years old, but this ride was a kind of intense thriller you can't help but want to continue experiencing. For every leg up Kansas would get, the Memphis Tigers would answer right back. The only thing that was certain was the uncertainty.

Half time came and went with all the fanfare you can hope for in a championship game...including a cameo by KU's former leader. Roy Williams showed up to the Alamodome, mere hours after his Tarheels fell to the Jayhawks in the Final Four. He was sporting a black sweater, and emblazoned on the front was the unassuming mythical bird he use to call the symbol of his team. When the CBS cameras showed him for all to see on national television, our group of nine or 10,000 picked up their jaws off the floor in unison. I watched fans around me as the announcers interviewed him. Judging from their expressions, any bitterness that remained from his departure in 2003 most certainly was beginning to fade.

With the second half underway, it became more clear this would go down to the wire. That is, until Memphis erased the sliver of a lead KU had at half time and put nine points between them and the Jayhawks with 2:12 left on the clock. In my experiences, KU fans have always been super dedicated. In fact, a group of guys sitting behind us had been going to games for decades. Obviously, this night was no different, but there was a sense among many that, like 2003, the national title was slowly slipping away. The crowd was hushed, slightly subdued...I even saw panic from some.

Then the 'Hawks grabbed the ice pick and started chipping away, narrowing the deficit to just three. And the noise. Like a freight train inside a tunnel, I've never heard the fieldhouse so loud before. It was if all nine or 10,000 of us were literally willing our screams to transmit the speed of sound all the way to San Antonio so our team could hear us. With 2.1 seconds remaining in regulation, Mario Chalmers hit the shot heard 'round the world to force overtime. From a startling 22-feet away, the ball left his palms and sailed into the air. College basketball fans in every bar, every house, apartment, whatever -- held their collective breath.

And the rest is history. We know that shot went in, that coach Bill Self would later call it the "biggest in KU history," that the confetti fell in the Alamodome, along with the hopes of the Tigers, and more than 40,000 fans would storm one of Lawrence's most historic streets to party the night away.

What many didn't realize between the alcohol-induced festivities, was that one silly basketball game produced memories that created nostalgia that would last a lifetime. And, in the years ahead, however strange, this nostalgia was a pretty good feeling.

Rock Chalk Jayhawk.