It's March and I am mad.
The Madness of the NCAA Tournament has creeped into my veins the way they get the cream into Twinkies.
It's astounding. Twinkies might survive a nuclear soiree with North Korea or Iran, but I'm afraid I may not last the month.
My psyche is totally shot. I can't distinguish Dick Vitale from Drew Carey right now.
This is my showcase!
Instead of bidding on jetskis and reclining sofas, I'm jumping at the 12-seed over the five. I'm calling upsets like after hours "friendship" hotlines.
What will I win though? Nothing. Some grandma in Idaho will fill out the perfect bracket choosing teams according to color schemes.
Sadly, she saw Siena and Cleveland State coming. She doesn't know what continent Siena is on, or if Cleveland State is an all-womans prep school, but nonetheless she called the upsets.
Playing on a rocking chair, watching re-runs of Murder She Wrote and kniting quilts for her 16 grandchildren, she has defeated me.
The little old lady has a higher basketball I.Q. than a man who is tuned into ESPN like an I.V. of pain killers when tourney time comes.
This is why March makes me mad. Oh, sure I could just watch the games for the pure enjoyment of it, but where's the fun in that?
I'd rather know the 3-point percentage of the sixth man for a team knocked out in the first round of the tournament. Useless knowledge? Yes. Waste of time? No.
The NCAA Tournament is the best thing about March.
Spring Break is all right, but it's just a disappointment when my swim suit stays at the bottom of my luggage. The World Baseball Classic has been nice, but it's akin to watching the deleted scenes on a DVD - sure they can be entertaining, but do I need to see something that doesn't really make the cut? Even the NBA is weak in March. Kobe Bryant has the West wrapped up and has even more time to contemplate the reasoning behind Pau Gasol's hideous beard.
What's left is the NCAA Tournament and it doesn't disappoint.
You never know what will happen that's what makes it great. Sure, it makes me pull out my hair, but there's a certain beauty in that. Not the baldness, the stress.
In any other instance a bracket screams Algebra, but in March it screams something much more profound - MADNESS!
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