[Brackets] by David Sloan Page B

still fresh and vivid in his mind as he shuffled to the bathroom. But h e had to be at the airport by 8:30, and he couldn’t let a bad dream slow him down.
    As he made his way north to the airport, burying himself in a blaring mix of drums and bass, he considered calling Nera. She wouldn’t answer, he knew, and not just because it was too early. He settled on sending a text message just before boarding his flight. Hope your mom is okay. Go Bruins! Maybe she’d be impressed that he now knew the team’s mascot.
    *               *               *               *
    The conference room at the Omni Hotel in downtown Washington D.C held an audience of press members waiting with cameras, recorders, and intense interest. All turned to look as four men, each very different from the others, walked onto the staged area and sat down in front of a bold ESPN banner. Lights flashed as the four responded in their own ways to the flock of lenses pointed at them.
    The third of the four was Cole, dressed in a UCLA jersey with a white t-shirt underneath. His black hair had been combed back, but there was no way to smooth away his self-consciousness. It helped to sit behind the table and have something to lean on. Trying to calm himself down, he accidentally leaned to o far forward and breathed hard into the microphone, eliciting muffled laughter from the crowd. He was tired from the quick flight and the jolting taxi ride and the rush to get settled before the press conference . He felt like his eyes were blinking at an unusually high rate.
    Cole glanced around at the three other men sharing the spotlight. Each one was wearing the jersey of the team they had picked to win the championship. The one closest to the podium was balding and professional and seemed to know what he was doing. Cole had heard he was a business manager or something, and he now sat composed and assured. Next to him was a stocky, middle-aged man who was even more uncomfortable than Cole; he was sweating and could barely smile. To Cole’s left was a college kid, about Cole’s age, tall, black, and loving the moment. He was fist-pumping at the cameras and grinning like he was going to play in the games. Cole felt very alone. He looked out at the crowd and recognized only Deborah Cheney, sitting among the press with a conspicuous brace supporting her injured collar bone. She waved to Cole like a proud mom.
    The moderator of the panel was a former WNBA player in a business suit. She took her place behind a separate podium that had been elevated just for her.
    “Good morning, everyone, and welcome to a press conference that is truly unique in the history of this tournament. My name is Carol Clemente. Today, I represent ESPN and the 2015 Men’s College Basketball Tourney Challenge. As you know, this year we have had the very unusual occurrence of four exceptional individuals correctly predicting each of the winners leading into the Final Four. It is a guarantee that one—and only one—of these contestants will emerge with a completely perfect bracket and the one million dollar prize. They are invited guests of ESPN at these games and will be sitting together as the tournament unfolds.” Ms. Clemente turned herself toward the seated men.
    “Now, for introductions.” She pointed to each of them, starting with the one closest to her podiu m. “W e have here Dr. Neeson Faulkner of Miami, Florida. Next to him,” she motioned to the heavy-set man, who was scratching at his cheek, “Mr. Perry Lynwood of Seattle, Washington. Next to him, Mr. Cole Kaman of South Windsor, Connecticut.” Cole gave a little wave. “Finally, Mr. Tucker Barnes, a junior at the University of Nebraska. Truly, a group that is as diverse and representative of the nation as the teams playing in this year’s tournament. We wish all of them luck, and they will now take questions. I ask that you please restrict the subjects of your questions to the games and their