On Saturday March 7th, Mamadi Diakite and Braxton Key left the floor of John Paul Jones Arena. Arm in arm, they walked off amidst thunderous applause for the careers that they’d had so far. Careers that were expected to continue for at least another couple of weeks. The cheers and applause were simply paying homage for the incredible two players that had played their last game at JPJ.

Nobody knew that it was going to be their last collegiate game ever.

Nobody knew that two players that had meant so much to a program, to a fan base, were never going to don UVA jerseys again.

Never.

Now we don’t know what would have happened. Whether that team, on an eight-game winning streak, could have made another deep run. Whether they would have come up with some more magic, the magic that has come to be associated with the NCAA Tournament.

Because that’s what the tournament is: Magical. 68 teams from all over the country coming together for two and a half unrivaled weeks to play the sport that they love. The players on these teams have worked their tails off for months, years, and in some cases their whole lives, just to get to that moment.

The one where they walk out into the bright lights of the greatest tournament in all of sports. When they step onto the floor for the first time and see the “March Madness” logo adorning the center of the court. When they look up into the stands, and see thousands — sometimes tens of thousands — of fans watching their every move.

So many players have worked so hard for that one moment, dedicated their lives to the pursuit of it.

And that’s why the words “it’s just a game” unfairly belittle the significance of the Tournament’s cancellation.

“It’s just a game” are words appropriately uttered by mothers and fathers when their eight-year old breaks down in tears over his or her baseball game. They’re appropriate when one kid loses his mind over the cheating of his opponent at recess football, or when somebody is distraught over a youth soccer game.

But when it comes to something of this magnitude, those five words no longer ring true.

Yes, maybe athletics pale in comparison to the pandemic sweeping the nation that caused the world to shut down. And maybe they don’t remotely approach the importance of containing it.

But that phrase — the one that forces sports into the closet and locks the door — is utterly disrespectful to the people for whom sports is a way of life. It’s not “just a game,” and branding it as such doesn’t convey the deep level of importance it carries for so, so many.

The casual sports fan may not agree, or even understand, this sentiment. There are those who flick on the television and flip through the channels hoping to find a close game.

But there are also those who studiously watch every game, take note of every obscure stat, and memorize — without even trying to — every little thing about even the most insignificant player. For that faction of college basketball fans, there is no better time of year than March.

It’s the same thing every year, yet instead of losing the novelty, it becomes more exciting with every year that passes. There’s that period at the beginning of the season, where we joke that there’s ‘only’ four or five months until March.

Then we hit the turn of the calendars, and two and a half months feels like an eternity. January passes, and games start to ramp up. The Bracketology discussion begins in earnest as February comes. And then, all of a sudden, we look up and the tournament is staring us dead in the face.

Multiple TV sets begin to get assembled, buzzer-beaters of past years are recounted and played on repeat, and people start to join bracket pools. Next we arrive at Selection Sunday, a day that ends in heartbreak for some and joy for others. We start counting the days down and that feeling begins. The one in the pit of your stomach that is excitement, nervousness, happiness, and tension all balled into one glorious ball of anticipation.

And then the games begin. We hear about Cinderellas, about upsets, and buzzer-beaters. We watch incredible performances, tight games, and incredible come-from-behind victories. We read stories, of teams that defied all the odds, that made nothing into something. We listen to the roar of the fans as wild half-court shots drop, or ridiculous layups fall in.

And at the end of it all, we cry as one lucky team sits amongst a pile of confetti watching a montage with “One Shining Moment” playing from the loudspeakers.

Except none of that will happen this year. The dreams of players, fans, and coaches alike will go unfulfilled as they miss out on the opportunity of a lifetime.

And it’s not “just a game.”

That implies insignificance. It makes it seem as if the events that take place on the hardwood floor don’t matter. And maybe, in the grand scheme of things, they’re not very important to the vast majority of people.

But they are to some. And saying anything other than the simple fact that sports mean so much to so many is disrespectful.

Is making room for sports in one’s life in addition to other, potentially more important things to much to ask?

To be clear, this is not to contradict the decisions of the NCAA and of other sports organizations worldwide. Canceling all of these events as a precautionary measure was absolutely the right call, no matter how frustrating it may be.

In the words of Tony Bennett, “because I know what truly matters, it enables me to enjoy what seems to matter, like this.” Yes, the health and safety of the nation are what truly matter, more so than any sporting event ever could.

But that doesn’t give anybody the right to dismiss a historic, meaningful tournament as if it was never there.