One Shining Moment, One What-If

I love One Shining Moment. Every year, I sit through the men’s national championship game, even if I don’t care who wins, just to get to that three-minute montage. It never misses. The buzzer-beaters, the backdoor cuts, the heartbreak and the hugs. It’s basketball’s greatest sizzle reel. 

But every year, as I watch the footage, I’m not thinking about this year’s heroes. I think about 1995. And Toby Bailey. His reverse dunk. My favorite.

If you watched that year’s national championship game, you remember it—how could you not? Early in the second half, with the game still very much in the balance, Bailey received a full court outlet after a Razorback miss. He took three steps into the lane, curled the ball behind his head like a slingshot, and threw down a poetic reverse dunk that felt more like punctuation than points. That slam wasn’t just a statement. It was a signature—one that would help define UCLA’s run to banner No. 11. UCLA 89, Arkansas 78.

That dunk made it into the One Shining Moment montage. Of course it did. It was perfect. And yet, if I had my wish… it never would’ve happened.

Because if Missouri had beaten UCLA in the second round—if Tyus Edney doesn’t go 94 feet in 4.8 seconds—there’s no Toby Bailey dunk. I’m a Mizzou fan. Born and raised. So yeah, I wanted that win. I still do. That one stings. But over time, I've come to see that our heartbreak might've helped open the door to something bigger. 

It’s how 4.8 seconds changed everything.

Let’s rewind.

March 19, 1995. Missouri vs. UCLA. Round of 32. The Tigers are up by one with just seconds left. Edney takes the inbounds, blazes up the court, slices through the defenders, and kisses the ball off the glass as the horn sounds. UCLA survives. Missouri goes home. The dunk is still alive.

But what if Edney trips? What if Jason Sutherland takes a charge? What if Derek Grimm blocks the shot? Missouri wins. UCLA’s season ends. And then what?

Well, here’s the hidden gem: Ed O’Bannon doesn’t get to be the Most Valuable Player of the 1995 Final Four. Maybe a young Spencer Curtis doesn’t then role-play O’Bannon in EA Sports’ NCAA Basketball 09: March Madness Xbox 360 video game. No exposure. No agreement to be the lead plaintiff after seeing his likeness from the 1995 championship team being used. No class-action antitrust lawsuit by athletes against the NCAA arguing that athletes should be compensated for the use of their name, image, and likeness.

No dunk. No lawsuit? 

It’s not as far-fetched as it sounds, right?

O’Bannon has said that it wasn’t until years after that tournament, when he saw himself on the cover of a video game he never authorized, that he began to question the system. That image—him in his UCLA glory—might never have existed if Missouri had held on. The lawsuit that bore his name changed college sports forever, paving the way for NIL deals and a new era of athlete empowerment. And yet, its roots trace back to a weekend in March and a single, electric run by a team that could’ve been knocked out before the Sweet 16.

That’s the madness of March. Everything turns on a single moment. 

So as the confetti falls and the credits roll after the montage, I always come back to that dunk. Toby Bailey’s reverse was unforgettable. It was electric. It was an exclamation point on a championship. One that gave us a perfect highlight. But sometimes I wonder what the college basketball world would look like if it never happened.

If Tyus Edney doesn’t go coast-to-coast, maybe Missouri moves on. Maybe we make a run. Maybe we write a different kind of history.

But here’s the silver lining: that loss—gutting as it was at the time—helped spark something bigger. Without that UCLA run, maybe Ed O’Bannon never gets his platform. Maybe the system never gets challenged. Maybe players never get what they’re owed.

So no, we didn’t win that night. But maybe Missouri, in losing, helped college athletes across the country finally start winning, though they wouldn’t realize it for another 20 years.

One shining moment. One twist of fate. One what-if that changed the game.