RALEIGH, N.C. – It was supposed to be so much more than this, the final college game of Maine’s basketball princess.

It was supposed to follow the script that’s followed her around since her days as a precocious third-grader flinging up shots in Clinton, Maine.

It was supposed to be special.

And it was none of those things.

Even when the 5-foot-9 guard reached the rare air of the 3,000-point plateau with 4:10 to go, the points were almost a disappointment.

The 3,000th didn’t come on a trademark Blodgett three, or off a make-it-up-as-you-go-along drive to the hoop.

It didn’t even elicit a fist pump, or a wave to the crowd.

Point No. 3,000, the one that put Blodgett over the top was a single, boring free throw. And it only took the barest hint of embarrassment off a lopsided loss. Her shot made it 75-55, North Carolina State.

After eight years during which she singularly reinvented the way girls in the state played the sport she grew up loving, Cindy’s time had run out.

At 10:22 p.m., she ran off a basketball court for the last time as a collegian.

Then she put her head in her towel and cried the tears that she’d allowed nobody to see during a competitive lifetime that she’d spent largely in the public eye.

For years, the upper lip was stiff, the successes much more common than the failures. Finally, the floodgates opened.

At 10:23, she emerged from under the towel, and watched her teammates finish up a 89-65 loss.

For years, the thing that has amazed fans has been her amazing ability to sense the moment, ride the moment, and turn that moment into a thrilling trip into Cindyville.

The place where 24-foot jumpers rain from the skies and everyone’s happy. Where she just plain figures out a way to win, just like her idol, Larry Bird.

On Friday the 13th, there were no more miracles.

N.C. State shot 66 percent from the floor, held her to a desperate six-for-20 night of her own, and ended the dream she’d had for years. Win one at the NCAA’s. No go.

“I wanted to be sure that our team realized the kind of player they were facing,” N.C. coach Kay Yow said after explaining the in-depth video-editing her staff did before showing the Wolfpack a highlight film.

They knew. And they did everything right in shutting her down.

In the postgame press conference, Cindy was asked if she could reflect on her career. The career that was so glorious that 14 probably became the state’s most-chosen lottery number. The one transformed a team into a local icon and pumped untold thousands of dollars into the State U’s coffers. Two words were all she squeaked out before those brown – and red – eyes went back behind her hands. “Not really.”

Senior teammate Sandi Carver managed a few more words before breaking down completely.

Later, Cindy spoke more in depth about the Black Bears’ hopes, and how they all crumbled. Sometimes the shots were open and Maine didn’t hit them. Sometimes they weren’t open but Black Bears fired them anyway.

“We rushed some too, trying to get ’em all back too quickly, maybe,” Blodgett said.

That, in a nutshell, is how Mainers will feel about her career tomorrow.

They wanted to rush it, to see what heights it would soar to. What milestones she’d pass. How many NCAA wins she’d deliver. Now, everybody has to accept that it’s over. Far too soon, Cindy B. has left and gone away.

Then it was time for the emotions to take over again, as coach Joanne Palombo-McCallie’s voice cracked repeatedly as she tried to put some perspective on a season she didn’t expect to end so soon.

And finally, it was time for Cindy’s final words as a collegiate basketball legend. What would you like to say to people back home?

The girl-woman-hero who held the weight of the state on her shoulders each winter for eight short years shook her head, rubbed her eyes, and fought with the answer.

Then, as she had done on the court so many times, she just put her head down and got down to it.

“Just thank you,” she said softly before trying to go further and stopping. Starting again. And stopping.

“I think they understand how special they are to us.” Another pause.

“That’s all Maine people need is a thank-you.”

With one final sniff, Cindy was gone.

And a state was left with no way to say thank you back.