One billion dollars.

With those three words, Dr. Evil could have very easily been describing the estimated amount of money exchanged annually on NCAA Tournament office pools. And that figure is multiplying like wet gremlins.

The NCAA Tournament Manifesto will cut off a piece of the billion dollar pie and feed it to you. All you need to do is eat it. If you want to beat the father-in-law, boss, or ex-girlfriend who somehow manages to finish higher than you in the bracket standings year after year, keep on reading.

Chaos (n): A state of extreme confusion and disorder.

Sixty-five teams. Four regions. Sixty-five potential champions. There are over eighteen quintillion possibilities for every bracket. That’s “18” and eighteen zero’s.

Yet as chaotic as the NCAA Tournament appears to be, there is order in the disorder. So before you can predict the winners, you must understand the reason certain teams are configured for successful tournament runs.

Essentially, you just have to know the Seven Secrets for NCAA Tournament Success...

1. NBA Talent
2. Post Defense
3. Sharp-Shooting
4. Experience
5. Star Power
6. Guard Play
7. X-Factor

NBA Talent

Winning six straight NCAA Tournament games is a daunting task, requiring chemistry, passion, luck, and a team bursting with talent.

Serious talent.

At least four future NBA players worth of talent to be exact. They were not always from the same graduating class, but from 1994 through 2009, 14 of the 16 national champs claimed no fewer than four players who were later drafted or played in the NBA. In fact, more than four pros donned the rosters of eight of those title teams and the previous two title teams will have more than four by June.

The 1999 Connecticut Huskies and 2003 Syracuse Orange may have bucked the trend, but the Huskies had three pros on the roster and Syracuse had a handful of near misses. Via the lottery, Carmelo Anthony joined the Denver Nuggets and Hakim Warrick joined the Memphis Grizzlies, but Jeremy McNeil, Kueth Duany, and Gerry McNamara all spent time in the NBDL and Josh Pace and Billy Edelin played professionally overseas.

Florida’s back-to-back national championship teams featured three lottery picks (Joakim Noah, Corey Brewer, and Al Horford) and another two players (Taurean Green and Chris Richard) who donned NBA uniforms.

Professional talent is obviously not the only factor in winning a title, for no team can dance through the big dance without determination, precise passing, grit, and persistence. But cutting the net and raising the trophy is impossible without a plethora of players with pro potential.

Depth gives talented teams a distinct advantage over almost anyone they play. Options. With so much talent spread throughout the starters, opponents do not have the luxury of double-teaming the elite.

There are 65 teams who could potentially win a game in this year’s NCAA Tournament, yet only a select few are stacked enough to win it all.

Post Defense

The headlines appeared to fall affectionately for four of the Wildcat starters during the 2000-2001 season. Jason Gardner was a tiny lead guard with pinball moves. Michael Wright was a 3rd Team All-American. Richard Jefferson and Gilbert Arenas exploded past defenders and would soon explode towards NBA stardom. But the fifth starter – a quiet, frail center who was once thought to be Tim Duncan’s successor – was the one most responsible for the Arizona’s eventual spot in the finals.

Loren Woods began his career at Wake Forest and, after two seasons of failing to live up to the Duncan comparisons, transferred to Arizona. Constantly criticized for playing soft, Woods muscled through the 2001 NCAA Tournament as if he were channeling the grit of Bill Russell. He averaged four blocks per game in March, swatting everything coming his way. Everything, that is, except for All-Midwest Regional and All-Final Four honors, which he happily seized.

Tournament teams force feed their low post players hoping to establish an offensive rhythm and collapse the opposing defense. Scoring easy buckets on the low blocks is the best way to calm nerves and instill confidence. Since a proficient low post scorer can blow up an opponent’s opportunity for advancement, a talented defensive big man is a necessity for defusing the situation.

Woods played the part perfectly and came within moments of winning a championship. Of course, his quest failed when the Wildcats faced an even better defensive stopper in the title game, Duke’s Shane Battier, the 2001 national Defensive Player of the Year.

Low post defenders win games. They allow perimeter defenders to play aggressively and cheat without a care. If a guard does penetrate into the lane, the mere presence of an intimidator is enough to alter shots. Those missed shots result in easy transition baskets at the other end of the floor.

This talent is never more valuable than in the NCAA Tournament, when jittery play often defines long stretches of games. Shot blockers essentially steal lay-ups and dunks from the competition, forcing them to shoot from long range. And no coach wants the fate of his team’s survival decided by deep jumpers in a game of bouncy nerves.

Sharp-Shooting

My brother Randy and I were praying side-by-side on the edge of my parent’s bed. Before we knew anything about the Mets’ adoration of cocaine and long before Steve Sanders taught us steroids and athletes don’t mix, we were fascinated by this team of brazen ballplayers. They just seemed so much more interesting than the Red Sox. Of course, we were children of New Yorkers and living in a suburb of Boston at the time. Regardless of why we liked the Mets better than the Sox, we felt nauseous as we nervously bounced on the mattress transfixed on the sixth game of the 1986 World Series. Boston was one out away from making our bus trip into school the following Monday nothing short of hellish.

And then… a clutch hit.

And another one.

And another one.

In the midst of our exuberance, a Mookie Wilson grounder softly bounced through Billy Buckner’s legs, giving the Mets one more game. A game they would cash in for a World Series ring. Monday’s bus ride was hellish alright, but only for everyone else.

What does the story of the ’86 Mets have to do with the NCAA Tournament? Well, the three point shot during tourney games is very similar to clutch hitting on baseball’s biggest stage. After two or three in a row, the same numbing effect engulfs the opposition. It is a tranquilizer and an even greater equalizer. After all, two threes from sub-six footers are worth the same as three dunks from seven-footers.

During the first couple rounds of the Tournament, the talent gap between opponents can be as wide as the drawstring on Star Jones’ old sweatpants and, thus, the three point shot takes on extra importance. David toppled Goliath with a sling-shot; the mid-majors utilize the deep jumper.

The trifecta almost always plays a major role whenever an underdog pulls an unexpected upset and not always from the accuracy of the little guy. Often the reverse is true. For example, take the 2005 field of 65, when every significant early round shocker occurred because the favorite failed to make the three. Alabama (9-for-23, .391) lost to Wisconsin-Milwaukee (12-21, .571), LSU (6-for-39, .194) lost to UAB (7-for-16, .438), Kansas (1-for-11, .091) lost to Bucknell (8-for-31, .258), and Syracuse (3-for-12, .250) lost to Vermont (7-for-21, .333). All of those favorites combined to shoot just 19-for-85 (.224).

Three-point shooting stretches zones and forces opposing coaches to craft junk defenses. If Jimmy Chitwood taught us anything, it is that outside shooting can be a tournament difference maker.

Unmatched in confidence, these four assassins should receive a lot of defensive attention in their quest to reach the Final Four. Their sharp shooting single-handedly snatches wins for their teams.

Tremendous three-point shooting is not a necessity during a team’s journey towards the Final Four, but battling a squad on a scorching streak can surely be a road block in getting there. In fact, a team’s failure to defend the three will make their bus ride back to campus quite… hellish.

Experience

Anticipation drapes over the entire country. Office break rooms are aflutter with chatty non-sports fans sharing thoughts on the game with other chatty non-sports fans. Our neighbors, our family, random strangers. Everyone, it seems, has an opinion on the game.

Only two major sporting events grab us all by the neck and force us to watch. One is the Super Bowl. The other is the NCAA Tournament. The Super Bowl is played by football professionals with multi-million dollar salaries. The NCAA Tournament is played by teenagers from Wofford, Siena, and Winthrop.

Think nerves aren’t a factor?

And it isn’t just about the little guys. Tournament games are exercises in obsessive intensity. The one-and-done format is already intimidating enough to melt steel guts into gelatin. When an underdog drips desperation, desire, and a dream-come-true mentality, their favored counterparts may see the exit long before reaching their desired destination.

The most successful teams play with panache, while still protecting the basketball. Experience equals calmness. Relaxed teams rarely face frigid shooting stretches or suffer from turnoveritis. Upperclassmen who previously pushed through arduous tourney runs are more comfortable playing without worry. They also play with more appreciation for the opportunity. Juniors and seniors realize how quickly four years slips away. By the time their scholarship clocks click to a close, they play every game as if it is their last. That is, of course, because it could be.

During the 1995 NCAA Tournament, UCLA senior forward Ed O’Bannon was a case study in resiliency. At the tail end of a turbulent career sullied by knee injuries, he cherished each trip down the floor during each of his last six tourney games. O’Bannon relentlessly pursued the title as if he were Kirstie Alley chasing a chili dog. Knowing just one loss would terminate his career, O’Bannon’s urgent play garnered a championship banner for Westwood and a Most Outstanding Player trophy for himself.

Michigan State’s talented seniors Mateen Cleaves and Morris Peterson showed a similar now-or-never attitude in 2000. They won a National Championship a year after losing to Duke in the national semi-finals. Same was true of Juan Dixon and the 2002 Maryland title team. A season prior to winning it all, the Terps were also knocked out of the Final Four by the Blue Devils.

Thus, a year after Duke defeated them, the display of desperation from Cleaves, Peterson, and Dixon was the most important reason their teams won titles.

Star Power

In 2005, Chris Rock, while hosting the Academy Awards, said it best.

“You want Tom Cruise and all you can get is Jude Law? Wait.”

Nothing compares to a superstar. Nothing.

Tom Cruise’s pre-insanity talent gave Goose, Rod Tidwell, and a hooker on a train a part in some of the greatest moments in movie history. He raised the level of their games. The elite players in college basketball do the same.

Stars are vital for two reasons. First, they add a swagger to their teams. They give their teams someone to believe in, someone to follow, and – in doing so – they give them an identity. Secondly, stars are a safety net. When a tourney team falls victim to the inevitable scoring drought, go-to-guys live up to their namesake. A critical basket will shift momentum and instill confidence. The kind of confidence critical in surviving through a six-game winning-streak.

Eight of the previous 11 championship-winning teams featured at least one All-American who doubled as a legitimate National Player of the Year candidate. Tyler Hansbrough (UNC, ’09), Rashad McCants (UNC, ’05), Emeka Okafor (UConn, ’04), Carmelo Anthony (Syracuse, ’03), Juan Dixon (Maryland, ’02), Jay Williams (Duke, ’01), Shane Battier (Duke, ’01), Mateen Cleaves (Michigan State, ’00), Richard Hamilton (UConn, ’99) all led their teams to titles after earning individual accolades during the regular season. Florida’s back-to-back title teams made up two of the three teams without a singular Wooden or Naismith contender, but those squads featured three lottery picks and Joakim Noah was a 2nd Team All-American and Al Horford was a 3rd Team selection. The only other team without a national player of the year candidate was Kansas in 2008, yet Brandon Rush would have been one if an ACL tear didn’t cost him some games at the start of the season.

But be careful. A team’s star is often not who you think it is.

In 2006, UConn leaned on Rudy Gay. The sensational swingman owned the kind of skills and athletic gifts that only the basketball gods could give. But the problem was that Mr. Gay wasn’t the Huskies’ go-to-guy. Marcus Williams was.

Whenever UConn was backed into a late-game possession, Williams took the significant shot. When the Huskies saw a seemingly endless string of bricks, Jim Calhoun ran a play to isolate Williams. The problem was that for all of the brilliance Williams possessed as a distributor, he wasn’t a prolific scorer.

That weakness enabled a glass slipper wearing George Mason team to stay out past midnight against the Big East power.

Guard Play

If the NCAA Tournament is the Big Dance, the point guard is the choreographer.

An excellent lead guard controls the pace and energy of the entire cast. Whenever the performance peaks too quickly or too deliberately, he must steady the rhythm. True point guards carefully balance fundamentals and freestyle.

The shimmy and shake of a stylish move is fan-friendly, yet point guards are not judged by the swivel of their hips or the bounce in their crossover. They can not be measured in points, steals, or even assists. To find the true worth of a tournament-tested general, just ask him the same two questions a mother asks her daughter after she arrives home from a taping of “Blind Date”: Did you keep your poise? More importantly, did you go all the way?

Mike Bibby answered both questions emphatically during the 1997 National Championship. Future NBA players Michael Dickerson, Miles Simon, and Jason Terry comprised a talented and experienced Wildcat backcourt, yet the freshman was their sage. Bibby’s consistency was frightening and his brilliant contributions were so plentiful they screamed redundancy. He scored. And passed. And rebounded. And defended. In two Final Four games, he danced to the beat of 39 points, 16 rebounds, 8 assists, and 6 steals.

When it comes to guard play, apparently age doesn’t matter. Duke’s Bobby Hurley (1991) and tiny Tyus Edney (1995) of UCLA proved size doesn’t either. And, as Kentucky’s Wayne Turner (1998) taught us, you don’t even need a jumper.

It’s all about punctuation. Sometimes point guards are periods and sometimes they are exclamation points. If they roll their coaches’ eyes, they might even be a question mark. Yet, no matter how they express themselves, their only job is to end the sentence… with a win.

Confusion is the X-Factor

The mere thought of it makes you squirm…

Your friend drags you to a party full of strangers. Everyone is new. The faces are so unfamiliar they don’t even resemble anyone you know. And they’re all staring at you.

You don’t notice the smooth nacho dip on the coffee table or the fridge full of your favorite beer. You barely even notice the perky blonde blinking in your direction.

It could be a painful night. And it could be far worse. Whenever we are tossed into a pit of uncertainty, there is the potential for disaster.

Just ask members of the Big XII conference about Syracuse’s 2003 National Championship run. To the teams in the Big XII, the Orange provided the great unknown, or – as anyone who follows the Big East calls it – their 2-3 zone. Oklahoma State, Oklahoma, Texas, and Kansas were all befuddled by the Orange’s special defensive set. They couldn’t decipher the soft spots in the zone, just as you might miss snacks, drinks, or perky blondes when your common party environment is suddenly distorted.

Grit and resolve are synonymous with the Midwestern conference. Zones aren’t. The entire league played man-to-man almost exclusively for the duration of the 2003 season and, consequently, each of the Cuse victims were ill-equipped to handle the 2-3. By the time they hit Syracuse in the bracket, the Big XII teams toppled like Greg Ostertag on a balance beam.

The 2-3 zone is humdrum for anyone who knows basketball. Syracuse played a unique version of it, however, featuring defenders with condor wingspans. They trapped quickly, recovered quickly, and moved fluidly as a unit. This wasn’t your fifth-grade 2-3 zone.

Still, teams within the Big East understood how to pounce on the weaknesses in the zone. They moved the ball around the perimeter, fastened a post player at the foul line to jumpstart the high-low game, and they played with patience. The Big XII teams weren’t outclassed by Syracuse, they were simply confused. And, in the big dance, confusion is a terminal disease.

An unfamiliar defense is not the only source of confusion for tourney coaches. They must also deal with preparing to play rare offensive sets, such as Princeton’s Motion Offense. The Tigers’ offense is based upon read-and-react principles, resulting in an endless string of back door cuts. The purpose of the offense is to generate flawless shot selection and limit the amount of possessions in a given game.

Any unusual style of play can baffle an opponent. The mystique alone can often shatter confidence. In fact, almost as famous as the Princeton Offense is, the fear of the offense burrows deeply into the mindset of favored tournament teams. In 1996, Princeton knocked off #3 seeded UCLA, the year after the Bruins won the title. The game-winning shot was a lay-up off of a back door cut.

Regardless of how they attempt to perplex the elite, none of the #16 seeds should present a problem for the best seeds. In fact, a #16 seed has never beaten a #1. Top-seeded Georgetown nearly lost to one in the first round of the 1989 tournament, but they narrowly skimmed out a 50-49 victory. Their opponent that game? The Princeton Tigers and their confusing motion offense.

But confusion sometimes leads to knowledge. Georgetown is now coached by the son of the coach who lost that infamous game in ’89, John Thompson, III. And, coincidentally, the Hoyas will once again be running their own unique sets… an adapted version of “The Princeton Offense.”