One shining moment? Try a couple dozen of them.

Monday evening's championship game was as pure as distilled water. Duke beat Arizona by 10, but it sure didn't feel like it. It was 10 with an asterisk, the rare double-digit victory that didn't begin to explain what really happened on the Metrodome court.

Mike Krzyzewski knew. As Duke and Arizona played tag with the first-half lead, Krzyzewski turned to assistant coach Johnny Dawkins and said of the Wildcats, "I knew they were good, but they're better."

Lute Olson knew. You could tell because the usually sedate Olson worked the refs, worked the crowd, worked anything he could to keep his dinged-up team in this thing. Guard Gilbert Arenas had a bum shoulder. Key reserve Luke Walton had a broken thumb. So Olson tried to squeeze orange juice out of a peel.

Look at the final box score. Look at the names. Final Four most outstanding player Shane Battier will end up in the NBA, if he first doesn't become Secretary of Commerce. Jason Williams ... NBA this year or next. Carlos Boozer ... NBA-bound sooner or later. Mike Dunleavy ... NBA potential. Arizona's entire starting five -- Loren Woods, Richard Jefferson, Gilbert Arenas, Jason Gardner and Michael Wright -- all will draw NBA paychecks one of these days.

In fact, nobody helped himself more during the postseason than Woods, the stickman center who ended his career with 22 points, 11 rebounds, 4 blocks and the respect of every Duke player who ventured into the paint. Woods was a small head case earlier this season. His rep: as cushy as a beer belly. Not anymore.

"Tonight he proved to the world that he's not soft," said Arenas.

Nobody was. This was a game with an edge to it. Two Hall of Fame-to-be coaches. Nine NBA players ... and counting. A crowd of 45,994 crammed into what will likely be the last major event at this aging cement-and-Teflon mistake. If you glanced away for a second you risked missing greatness.

There was Battier, body contorted in a way that defied logic, tipping in a second-half Duke miss. "One of the great plays that I've ever seen in a championship game," Krzyzewski said. "He had an out-of-body experience or something ... I don't see how it was possible to make that play."

There was Dunleavy hitting three consecutive treys to turn a 3-point second-half Duke lead eventually into 10. Afterward, Battier couldn't contain himself.

"Mike Dunleavy's not a great basketball player, he's a phenomenal basketball player," he said.

"He's a what?" said a stunned Krzyzewski.

There was Woods playing as if a lottery pick depended on it.

There was Boozer and UA bruiser Eugene Edgerson banging against each other like rhinos.

There was Jefferson nearly matching Dunleavy point for point.

There was Williams hitting only 5-of-15 shots, but hitting the ones that often mattered most.

Of course, this didn't stop outraged Arizona fans from yelling down to the media workroom/pit, "We were robbed! Tell the truth -- it's your duty! You're the conscience of America!"

So here's the truth: Duke was the better team. Not by a lot, but by enough.

With 23 seconds remaining and Duke with the ball, Olson shook his head and waved his arms to his team. "Don't foul," it meant. With that, Krzyzewski turned to Dawkins and exchanged a high-10. He hugged his other assistants. He turned to the Duke crowd in triumph. Moments later, a Big East Conference official pulled the championship trophy from a plain and battered brown cardboard box and hurried out to center court. The Duke band played "Na-Na-Na-Na ... Hey, Hey, Goodbye." (Was it directed to seniors Battier and James, or the sophomore Williams?)

Freshman guard Chris Duhon blew kisses to the crowd. Dunleavy puckered up and planted a fresh one on the rim when it came time to snip away the net.

Krzyzewski was the last person to scale the metal ladder. This was his third national championship, but the view from those steps never gets old. He raised the net and held it there for a long time.

Pure.

Gene Wojciechowski is a senior writer for ESPN The Magazine. E-mail Geno at gene.wojciechowski@espnmag.com.