The Indiana Hoosiers pulled off one of the most electrifying road wins of the college basketball season on January 31, 2026, edging out the UCLA Bruins 98-97 in a gripping double-overtime thriller at Pauley Pavilion. What followed on the court, however, transcended the final score and became the moment everyone is still talking about.
No one saw it coming—not the stunned UCLA faithful, not the exhausted players, and certainly not the millions who later watched the clips explode across social media. As the buzzer sounded and the reality of the victory sank in, Indiana head coach Darian DeVries did something unexpected. Instead of rushing off the floor or letting his team scatter to celebrate in the locker room, he called everyone together right there on the court.
The starters, the bench players, the seniors, the freshmen—they all formed a tight circle. DeVries pulled them in close, arms linked, shoulders touching, a group of young men who had just battled through 50 grueling minutes of basketball on enemy territory. Then he turned them toward the section of crimson-clad Indiana fans who had made the long trip to Los Angeles and stayed until the very end, still on their feet, voices hoarse from cheering.
In that charged silence after the chaos, DeVries didn’t deliver a fiery speech or pump his fists in triumph. He simply started the chant.
“INDIANA… HOOSIERS.”
His voice was steady, almost quiet at first, carrying the raw emotion of a coach who had watched his team claw back from deficits, survive a heartbreaking collapse in regulation, and then outlast a desperate UCLA squad in not one, but two overtimes. The players joined in immediately. Some raised fists. Others closed their eyes, soaking it in. What began as a modest chorus from the huddle grew quickly.
The sound rolled outward like a wave, reaching the traveling Hoosier faithful in the stands. Hands shot up. Voices rose in unison. Cheers turned into roars. Pauley Pavilion, moments earlier filled with the disappointment of a snapped home winning streak (the Bruins had been unbeaten at home this season until that night), suddenly echoed with an invading army of pride and solidarity.
Videos of the scene spread like wildfire online. Commentators dubbed it one of the most genuine and powerful post-game moments in recent college basketball memory. In an era where celebrations often lean toward the flashy—dunks over scorers’ tables, choreographed dances, or viral antics—this was different. It was understated, heartfelt, and deeply connective.
DeVries, in his first season leading the Hoosiers after a decorated run at Drake, has preached culture and togetherness from day one. This moment embodied it perfectly. The team didn’t just win a game; they shared the victory. They acknowledged the fans who braved cross-country travel, the alumni who still bleed cream and crimson, and the program that binds them all. In a sport increasingly defined by transfers, NIL deals, and individual highlights, here was a reminder of what college basketball can still mean: community, loyalty, and shared struggle.
The game itself had been a classic. Indiana (now 15-7, 6-5 in the Big Ten) trailed early, fought back with strong second-half performances from guards like Nick Dorn and Reed Bailey, who delivered season-high efforts. UCLA (15-7, 7-4 Big Ten) mounted a furious rally late in regulation, tying it on a clutch three from Trent Perry with seconds left. The first overtime saw more back-and-forth, and in the second, freshman Trent Sisley stepped to the line with 0.3 seconds remaining, calmly sinking the first of two free throws to seal the deal after being fouled on an inbounds play.
The Bruins’ heartbreak was palpable—they had blown a late lead and lost their 14-game home streak in front of a packed house of 10,086. But even in defeat, the respect was mutual. The post-game scene wasn’t about gloating; it was about honoring the fight on both sides.
For Indiana fans, the moment hit especially hard. In Bloomington and beyond, the Hoosiers have endured ups and downs in recent years. This road Quad 1 victory—against a talented UCLA team in a hostile Big Ten environment—provided a massive boost to tournament hopes. But more than that, DeVries’ gesture reinforced something intangible: the program belongs to its people.
As the chant swelled—“INDIANA… HOOSIERS”—it wasn’t just noise. It was relief after double-overtime exhaustion. It was pride in a team that refused to fold. It was gratitude to the fans who never left. And it was a quiet declaration that victories like this aren’t won by individuals alone.
DeVries stood there, arm around his players, letting the sound build. No fireworks. No grandstanding. Just a coach, his team, and their supporters, united in one unforgettable instant.
In the hours and days that followed, clips circulated endlessly. Fans shared stories of watching from living rooms, tearing up at the sight. Analysts praised the authenticity. Even neutral observers called it special.
Because in that moment after the game, led by Darian DeVries, something profound happened. The arena fell quiet, then erupted—not in chaos, but in connection. The Indiana Hoosiers didn’t just win on the scoreboard. They won hearts.
And as the echoes of “INDIANA… HOOSIERS” finally faded into the Los Angeles night, one thing was clear: this team, this coach, this fanbase—they’re in it together. Through every grind, every comeback, every heart-stopping finish.
This is what college basketball is supposed to feel like.
