Somehow, someway, the Bucks found themselves in an NBA Finals play-in game Sunday. They lost. But that fact in no way diminishes the best basketball season this city has seen in 27 years. Perhaps longer.

Games Four and Five -- the former in Milwaukee, the latter in Philly -- will haunt for at least a few weeks this offseason, and no doubt much longer for George Karl and Glenn Robinson. But in a wild, 18-game postseason that took the city to the brink of its first championship series since the 1982 Brewers, they'll be remembered as nothing more than plot twists in an amazing story line.

A Finals ticket would have been brilliant precisely because of its supposed futility. After all, what was the point of playing the best team ever, one filled with basketball gods like Shaq, Kobe and Phil, a group aiming for the first undefeated postseason run in the sport's history? But that is now Philadelphia's albatross, as well as its rallying point, and it will be interesting to see how it turns out (note: Lakers in six).

Despite coming up a furlong short, Milwaukee accomplished so much. Some pegged the Bucks for the Finals way back in November, but did we believe they might actually do it? Lest we forget, the Bucks hadn't won a solitary playoff series in 15 years until beating Orlando in four games in Round One. Honestly, did you think it would come down to a second half of a seventh game in Philadelphia, when Ray Allen finally sat down and Sam Cassell ultimately blew up?

It was certainly difficult to fathom the final act after an awful first month. There were losses to Washington and Atlanta and near daily denunciations from Karl on the team's defense, spirit, mindset and heart.

There was a 22-point, fourth-quarter rally in Miami shortly thereafter, the season's turning point. Crystallized within that rally was an entire year's worth of shoddy defense, incredible offense and thrill-a-minute excitement.

There were Western Conference sweeps of San Antonio, Utah, Sacramento and -- yes -- the Lakers, quieting for a moment talk of the East's odious stench relative to the game's rightful aristocracy.

Ray Allen's explosions in the playoffs established his stardom

There was an explosive week in late February that saw each member of the Big Three score 40 or more points. Allen did so against the Sixers at First Union Center, foreshadowing Games Two and Six of the conference finals.

There was the first-round yipping by and toward Orlando. Karl and Doc Rivers jousted in print like modern-day Montagues and Capulets, but the Magic eventually submitted to the Bucks' rapier-like shooting.

There was Ray Allen's driving dunk (and no foul!?) to tie Game Three against Orlando with seconds left in regulation, completing a 14-point rally in the game's waning minutes.

There was the three-game losing streak to Charlotte in the conference semifinals, seemingly killing the season.

There was Game Six in North Carolina with its critical Big Three output, showing the Bucks had indeed learned something from playing three elimination games against Indiana last year.

There was Game Seven at the Bradley Center, with a crowd louder than God shouting. In it, Glenn Robinson shook (momentarily) his reputation as a non-money player with countless daggers from inside and beyond the 3-point arc in the final minutes.

There were Allen's explosions in Games Two and Six against Philly, and his subsequent struggles in Games Three and Four. Gunning home 17 three-balls in 38- and 41-point outbursts, Allen introduced himself to the nation as the next great shooter in the NBA.

There was the missed Robinson shot in Game Five. And the missed Allen tip. And the immediate feeling that there would be a win in Game Six, but probably not one in Game Seven.

There were technical fouls -- all sorts of them. They summed up the frustration of a young team stymied in the pursuit of a great thing. The last one -- Cassell grabbing Allen Iverson's leg as he tried to leap over the prone point on a Philly fast break, squashed a Game Seven Buck rally and any dreams of battling L.A.

There were complaints and conspiracy theories and suspensions. None of them really made us proud, but they evinced what we were feeling at home, too.

There was a blown lead in Game Seven. It reached nine points early in the second quarter, a pittance compared to the 16-point hiccup in Game 5. And in an instant it became a daunting deficit, victim of an opposing 23-4 run by the Sixers. Could there have been a more appropriate season and series mirror?

There were worthy opponents: Tracy McGrady, Pat Garrity, Baron Davis, Jamal Mashburn, Elden Campbell, Dikembe Mutombo, Aaron McKie, Eric Snow ... and Iverson.

And in the end, there were simply not enough points. Or, at least too many from the Sixers.

The Bucks will most likely be back. The heart of the team is still young. To get beyond the East, they will have to improve a defense that is better than advertised, but still unable to muster up stops on cue; they will have to cultivate a tougher center to battle the likes of Mutombo, notwithstanding Ervin Johnson's numerous and critical contributions to the playoff run; they will need bigger contributions from the bench when it really matters (it's tough to name one "big" playoff game from any reserve); and they will have to grow up emotionally, too, to weather the playoff's bad calls and shooting slumps, to avoid committing technical fouls in key spots and providing prime bulletin board material.

The Bucks -- a soft, defensively challenged, jump-shooting team by most accounts -- still haven't changed a lot of minds, at least according to Sunday's reports. But don't believe them. This season may have ended badly Sunday in Philadelphia, but I'm assuming it's nothing more than a temporary condition.