I was in attendance for the Oklahoma-Indiana and Kansas-Maryland games on March 30, and as a public service, I am here to offer a blow-by-blow account of the action behind the action, the hoopla behind the hype behind the hoops.

Let's begin with the city of Atlanta, a bustling southern metropolis that has certainly witnessed its share of recent sporting history.

Over the course of the last decade, Atlanta has staked its reputation as America's kaiser of large-scale event planning, making it a popular site for Super Bowls, Olympics, World Series, Star Trek conventions, Woodstocks, Kentucky Derbies and papal coronations.

What makes Atlanta the perfect host for any and all of these events -- aside, of course, from its world-class strip clubs-per-square kilometer ratio -- is that presumably, no other city would willingly thrust upon its citizens such luminaries as ESPN commentator Dick Vitale, a man so unpredictably hyperexcitable that he should be accompanied at all times by, at minimum, the Crocodile Hunter?

I had a chance to see Vitale up close, to even have my picture taken with him, in Atlanta's ESPNZone restaurant/bar/arcade/arena/compound, where ESPN's college basketball crew had set up camp while in town.

If you have never visited an ESPNZone restaurant, imagine a Chuck E. Cheese drenched in equine steroids, and you will have an idea of the ultra-competitive aggro-masculine vibe you get once you enter the arcade.

There are virtual versions of every sport imaginable, including virtual hockey, virtual horse racing, virtual whitewater rafting, virtual biathlon, and a fully stocked wet bar, in case you decide to get virtually hammered.

However, the ESPNZone lies a virtual light year from the actual on-court action, so one could spend only minimal time there, gazing at the national championship trophy on display, before heading downtown to the place it would ultimately be dispensed: the Georgia Dome.

In an effort to tap the pulse of the city and find out who the common man thought would cut down the nets, I took the MARTA subway, a mass transit system so crowded it makes Hong Kong's bicycle district look like the Gobi Desert.

When you pack several thousand people into a single MARTA car, Hot-lanta becomes Humid-lanta, which inevitably gives way to the ever-popular Sweat-lanta. Trust me -- if Georgia is the Peach State, try and avoid the pits, if you know what I'm saying.

While MARTA was stocked with fans from each school, the conversation was dominated by the man seated next to me, who made it clear to the entire car -- in between diatribes on his personal lord and savior Jesus Christ and the quality of the women in the state of Texas -- that he believed Indiana would win.

"Ain't no joke," he slurred. "Larry Bird is superior, and Indiana is the state of basketball. They got a chance to do it, and guess what they're going to do? The best they can. They got the most heart. I got to go with Indiana. I don't have no choice!"

The man made a good case. And it should be pointed out that of all the fans who made the trip to Atlanta, the Hoosier faithful were definitely the most likely to hoot, holler and possibly sneak a live heifer past security. But it was still tough to say which school had the largest fan presence in Atlanta.

The night before, my traveling entourage had crashed a party at the hotel in which Kansas was staying. And I'm not talking about Kansas the team -- I'm talking about the entire state of Kansas. Thousands of Midwestern basketball fans had flocked to Atlanta apparently to root for the Jayhawks and drink truly copious amounts of beer on the alumni association's dime.

We had several hours to kill before finding our seats, so we milled about outside the Georgia Dome. At the nearby CNN Center, I bumped into Cheryl Price, the mother of Oklahoma star Hollis Price, on her way toward the Georgia Dome. I asked her if Hollis had the shakes.

"Every team and every player will be nervous, but he can do it," she said. "I believe that Oklahoma will probably beat (Indiana). The only thing they'll have to do is play defense and play like they've been playing."

So by the time the games tipped off, I had gleaned expert analysis from (1) an Oklahoma player's mother, (2) a disheveled Indiana fan on the subway, and (3) the entire intoxicated state of Kansas.

Upon entering the arena, we found that our seats were fairly high off the court, in the sense that Kernersville is a fair distance from Equatorial Guinea. We were escorted by Sherpas.

This simply wouldn't do. As the games wore on, we managed to sneak down to the lower level, ultimately finding a few empty seats right behind the CBS desk anchored by Greg Gumbel and Clark Kellogg.

At this point, I will answer the one question that I am sure is on everyone's mind: no, Greg Gumbel does not carry a pick for his man-perm.

I won't bore you with an account of the games, but by day's end, only Maryland and Indiana were left standing. (Score one for the insane MARTA bloc!) And as we all know, Maryland walked away with the big prize.

I must admit, I knew the Terrapins would win, based on one final expert opinion the city of Atlanta had to offer.

As I returned from the Georgia Dome sometime after midnight, I passed a businessperson of Asian descent leaving my hotel. He appeared to be operating on Taipei time, striding about in a three-piece suit, sporting a cell phone and briefcase and generally looking as though he was late for an 8 a.m. conference call. Just then, he saw a gaggle of Indiana fans. In full stride, the man pointed at the Hoosiers, and coolly, even suavely, uttered just one word:

"Terps."

You simply cannot argue with that. And neither could Indiana.