---

Rainbows unbeatable
in 39-minute games

EVERYBODY who was in the arena, last night, felt like punching somebody in the face.

Not necessarily anybody in particular (well, most everyone, most of the time). Just somebody. It was just the feeling. It was that frustrating. It was that brutal. That agonizing. That tense.

It happened again, last night. The Rainbows lost again, last night, lost a tough one, lost a close one. They had played so valiantly, fought so fiercely, to get within striking distance at the very end. And then ...

"We shot that ball," Matt Gibson said, shaking his head with every word, almost as if talking to himself. "We shot it, we shot it every time we were open."

But it wasn't just that moment. It wasn't just the loss. This feeling went on all night.

Layups refused to fall. Elbows found chins. Calls were inexplicable. Shooting percentages were inexcusable.

The tension was so thick you couldn't cut it with a knife. This tension required repeated pounding, to break through. This was jackhammer quality tension.

This was one tough game to play in, this Nevada win.

Just as tough to watch.

Defense was great. The defense was beautiful. The defense was incredible.

"I called for them the last two days to pick up the intensity and play as hard as they could play and they did that defensively," Riley Wallace said. "We got six steals and seven blocks on them.

The offense was ugly.

Nevada shot 37 percent. And won.

The Rainbows? Twenty-nine percent.

"I guess, I mean, we worked on defense so hard this week. Played defense so much, played defense so hard, and it showed," Gibson said, the way you say things when you know you've done everything right and still nothing has worked and you're at the end of your rope.

Things were so bad that a Hawaii pass went over and through everyone, and hit a cameraman in the alas. (He shrugged it off. Hopefully, it was that crucial inch off, and he's fine, he hasn't gone soprano.)

On the next possession, a UH pass hit an official in the okole, at least, before it went out of bounds.

Bobby Nash was called for blocking on a fast break -- he was clobbered, it looked like a bad call -- and the people were ready to come out of the stands.

The bodies banged. Balls rolled around rims, then bounced away.

"They don't give you layups," Wallace said. "And when they're not there (against layups) they intimidate you by what they can do."

The Rainbows kept fighting back, and couldn't quite get there. Julian Sensley hit Jeff Blackett for an alley-oop layup to cut it to two. Then Matt Gibson ran up on the inbounds, hoping to draw a charge, and instead took an elbow to the face and was called for a foul.

The boo birds got ugly.

Riley Wallace got a T.

"I think the crowd intimidated him," Wallace said of the official.

But to no avail.

Still, the Rainbows clawed back at the end. Proudly. Fiercely. Gibson hit a jumper, with 1:09 left, and was fouled, and he gave the air a roundhouse punch. He sank the freebie, and the margin was two.

Then Gibson hit a driving layup, timeout, two with 56 seconds left.

And then, inexplicably, the air left them.

Suddenly, what had been determination had turned to desperation.

That's all.

Their mood?

"What do you think it is?" Wallace said. "They're down. They bounce back. But it's in their minds. Wins is the only thing that will take that out."

There was no hellfire and damnation speech at halftime, despite only 14 Hawaii points, Wallace said. That wouldn't work now.

"It don't even matter," Gibson said. "It don't even matter. All that matters is the tournament. We need people to keep believing in us. Don't give up on us, 'cause we won't, too."

There was a roomful of people, but he didn't see them.

It was that frustrating. That agonizing. That tense.