SAN ANTONIO — How much can one program take? How can Houston stomach another one of these? Another portrait of coming so close, only to see it all recede from view, covered instead by the wrong colored confetti?

On this Monday night in April, it was Emanuel Sharp crouching deep, his hands atop his head, seeing the court around him turn orange and blue. Ja’Vier Francis knelt next to him, refusing to leave his teammate’s side. Kelvin Sampson, the coach, stared from across the floor, hands at his sides. Florida’s Walter Clayton Jr. leaned down, offering Sharp a hug from behind.

Houston’s trip to the national championship game was going to end either as the best night in school history or as another chapter in this cruel epic. The antagonist in Jim Valvano’s hero’s quest. The shadow in Fred Brown’s redemption. Even before Monday, the school held a tormenting place in this sport’s history — the record for all-time Final Four appearances without a national championship win.

It was six. Now, after what somehow happened here — a gutting, what-just-happened 65-63 loss to a Florida team that trailed the Cougars by 12 early in the second half — the number is seven.

For a school that plays the part with unenviable periodicity, this one might be the hardest. This ending was supposed to be the one that erased all the others.

“Incomprehensible,” Sampson said later, “in that situation, (that) we couldn’t get a shot, couldn’t get a shot.”

The sequence will live in the depths of the Coogs’ minds for a generation or two.

Down two, 19 seconds left. A timeout called.

How did Houston win 35 games this year? Because in these moments, Sampson talks and the Coogs listen. Then they execute. Then they win. Normal teams don’t go undefeated in road conference games. This one did.

Certain things were made clear in the huddle. The Coogs didn’t need a 3. But they did need to get a shot off with enough time left to have a chance at an offensive rebound. Sampson drew up a play for L.J. Cryer, Houston’s all-everything guard. If the initial action didn’t spring him, Sampson wanted the possession to pivot to an elevator screen for Sharp.

It all developed a little too slowly. Cryer’s look wasn’t there. Now 7.3 seconds remained, and here came Sharp, running from the baseline to the top of the key, rubbing past screener J’Wan Roberts, trying to get free. That screen? Clayton cared not for it. The 6-foot-2 guard darted by and, seeing Sharp rise for what very well could’ve been a game-winning shot and carved a whole damn chapter in the annals of college basketball, leapt into the sky and blocked out the sun.

This, apparently, was when Sharp thought of  a potential wrinkle in the play call. If he saw a closeout, he was told to put the ball on the deck and dash to the basket. Go tie the game. Go win in overtime. As associate head coach Kellen Sampson, Kelvin’s son, said later, “Emanuel’s as good a decision maker in closeouts as there is. And he needs little space to get one off.”

Sharp thought the shot was there, but then it wasn’t, and it was all too late. The shooting window closed, and Sharp dropped the ball instead of having it stuffed. There it bounced and bounded. With it, all 75 years of program history. And there stood Sharp, utterly powerless. If he picked up the ball, he would be whistled for traveling.

Under the basket, Roberts turned his back when Sharp rose to shoot, waiting for that possible offensive rebound. It would’ve been the Coogs’ 16th of the night, double what Florida pulled down. But the shot never came.

“I turned back around and it was just bouncing on the floor,” Roberts said.

Florida’s Alex Condon dove to the floor with two seconds on the clock, crashing shoulder-to-shoulder with Francis. The ball squirted away, the final horn sounded and the impossible pain ensued.

Roberts, originally from the U.S. Virgin Islands, went to high school in Killeen, Texas, in order to play college basketball. He committed to Houston as a three-star recruit in September 2018. That was six years, seven months, five days ago. Houston, at the time, was coming off that first NCAA Tournament appearance under Sampson. Since then, Roberts has seen every step of a journey that was seemingly all leading to a final destination at the Alamodome this week.

There was a loss to Kentucky in the 2019 Sweet 16. A canceled NCAA Tournament in 2020. A national semifinal loss to Baylor in the 2021 Final Four. A loss to Villanova in the 2022 Elite Eight. A Sweet 16 loss to Miami as a No. 1 seed in 2023. Another Sweet 16 loss as a 1-seed in 2024, this time to Duke.

When this year’s national semifinal ended with Houston roaring back from 14 points down with eight minutes left to beat those same Blue Devils, it sure seemed like this was it. Monday was to be the last of Roberts’ program-record 173 career games. It was going to be Sampson’s 300th win at the school and 800th win of his career.

Instead, Florida, with its 39-year-old coach, won its third national championship. The others came in 2006 and ’07, when Kelvin Sampson, now 69, was in the midst of moving from Oklahoma to Indiana. What all feels like a millennium ago.

Monday night’s final horn sounded just before 10:15 p.m. local time.

“One Shining Moment” played at 10:38.

At 10:54, the Houston locker room opened its doors, revealing the aftermath. Roberts said it had taken awhile for Sampson to collect himself and address the team. The old coach told this team it would never have gone so far without each player. He pointed specifically to Sharp, a junior with 106 games played at Houston. Then Sampson invited each assistant coach to address the room. Then each senior spoke.

Sharp, according to Roberts, got up and apologized to the team. In reality, the night wasn’t lost on any singular possession. This was a 40-minute rock fight, one filled with moments Houston will want back.

“We ain’t finna blame (Sharp) for that,” Roberts said. “He did a lot of great things. We know how special Emanuel is. I’m going to comfort him as much as possible, and I’m gonna defend his name if anybody tries to make it worse than what it is.”

Sharp never emerged in the postgame locker room. A phone was discarded in his locker.

Outside, the Alamodome emptied and midnight approached.

“What’s today’s date?” Roberts asked, slumped in his locker.

It was April 7.

“June to April, man. A long journey,” Roberts said, thinking back to the 2024-25 Coogs’ first practice. “It’s just crushing. You get to this point and you lose by two points. We had a chance to tie it or win the game. I just …”

Robert paused, conjuring all the voices of Houston’s past.

“I just wish we could run that play again.”

(Photo: Jamie Squire / Getty Images)