CHICAGO — They do everything together, Matt McQuaid and Kyle Ahrens. Two Michigan State Spartans who arrived in East Lansing four years ago.

That happens when you're roommates, and when you play on the same college basketball team.

"When one of us gets home at night and the other is not at the crib, we hit the other one up: 'Hey, where are you?' Or: hey, you wanna get something to eat?' " said Ahrens.

And so you would expect McQuaid to lean over and hug his best friend as he was getting wheeled off the court Sunday afternoon after Ahrens had crumpled to the floor howling in pain.

And you would probably expect McQuaid to say this:

"I got you. I'm about to go off."

[ Michigan State gets No. 2 seed in NCAA tournament, will face Bradley ]

To say that the senior shooting guard from Texas kept his promise doesn't capture what he did for MSU in the Big Ten tournament title game against Michigan on Sunday at the United Center. For he did so much more.

McQuaid, who scored a game-high 27, hit a 3-pointer on the Spartans' first possession after his buddy was carted off.

"That was absolutely for him," he said. "Nothing but net."

So were the next five. And the four free throws. And the four rebounds. And the pointing toward Ahrens' family — and then Ahrens himself when he returned to the bench — every time he made a shot.

"He went off," Ahrens said.

He played the game of his life, lifting the Spartans to a taut, 65-60 win over the Wolverines. And he did it for his buddy.

It was one of many deep-rooted connections that played out in Chicago on Sunday afternoon. You don't have to look hard to find them.

Perhaps that explains why Tom Izzo was crying when McQuaid hit his final 3-pointer and the game was still in doubt. There were two minutes left. MSU trailed by two.

"Call it pride," said assistant coach, Dane Fife. "Coach wants this so bad for his players, so bad for Michigan State."

Here was McQuaid, a senior with a golden jumpshot who spent the better part of three years trying to clear his head in order to use it. Here was a player whose coaches had pleaded with him to relax, to use his pump fake, to take over a game.

You want to know why Izzo cried as he stood near the scorer's table? He was witnessing an afternoon four years in the making.

He was also witnessing a team that kept coming, that kept surprising him, that is as connected as any he's ever had.

How else do you explain Sunday afternoon? Or this season in general?

How else do you explain a share of the Big Ten title in the regular season without a single, surefire pro? Think about it this way, said sophomore forward, Xavier Tillman:

"We don't run any lob plays."

Lobs mean players have to jump high to catch and dunk. That requires athleticism. These guys rely more on smarts and skill.

"We know we are not that athletic," said Tillman.

It's the same on defense.

"We don't block shots we contest shots," he said.

That means they are where they are supposed to be more often than not. That means on offense, they take good shots.

"I can't think of a single bad one they took," said U-M's coach, John Beilein.

He was dazzled by the Spartans' efficiency and patience, traits, no doubt, that don't always lend themselves to being dazzled.

You want to know why MSU wins?

Because they've got seniors who finally know who they are — McQuaid and Kenny Goins. They've got a magical point guard in Cassius Winston who seems to use geometry and an internal microprocessor to overcome average speed and quickness.

(He's so slow, said Fife, that when he walks from the Breslin practice gym to the parking lot — a distance of 50 yards — it takes him 15 minutes.)

They've got an emerging force at center in Tillman, who sat with the Big Ten tournament trophy on his lap in the locker room, because it was too heavy to hold.

[ To understand Xavier Tillman's rise at MSU, start with his daughter ]

"I"m tired," he said.

Of course he was. Did you watch him play?

Jaren Jackson Jr. did, and FaceTimed Tillman to congratulate him while Tillman was getting interviewed.

"AAAAAAHHHHHHHH!!!" Jackson screamed when he saw Tillman's face. "Coach better let you not practice tomorrow."

No wonder the current Memphis Grizzly and former Spartan had a tough time leaving last spring. He talks to his old teammates frequently, hoping to share in the glow.

All season long, Izzo has talked about his team's thin margin of error. Its relative lack of talent. Its tough luck with injury. Its heart navigating those injuries.

Maybe that's why he cried in that moment. Surely that's why he cried he when leaned over Ahrens as he lay on the hardwood midway through the first half.

He knew what Ahrens had done to even be on the floor in the first place: riding a stationary bike in the tunnel to keep his balky back loose; standing near the bench when he wasn't playing to fight off the stiffness.

When he went down Sunday, the fourth-year junior thought he'd broken his ankle. Because he'd already broken his leg and knew what it was like.

"I heard a pop," he said. "I was afraid."

So were his teammates, who stood by red-eyed and stunned, trying to gather themselves one more time.

A few minutes passed. The arena was silent, save for the words from trainers and coaches to Ahrens. Then a couple of teammates leaned in, then a few more.

Finally, McQuaid came back over as his buddy was getting wheeled off, and promised him the rest of the night was for him. Ahrens patted his chest as he rolled off the court, a gesture meant for the crowd that he was going to make it.

Here they were, a couple of roommates, part of a team threaded together like none Izzo has ever had.

You want to know how they won?

Think of McQuaid's jump shot, of him backpedaling, of him pointing toward the bench, toward the crowd, toward Ahrens' family.

"He put us on his back," said Tillman.

It's something these Spartans do for each other. They aren't done yet.

Contact Shawn Windsor: 313-222-6487 or swindsor@freepress.com. Follow him on Twitter @shawnwindsor.