That gut-wrenching, sickening hole down deep in your stomach? It’s only weeks away.
You can’t sleep.
You can’t eat.
Your only recourse is to wait another year for redemption.
Most of us are about to know that feeling again real soon.
Do you know why?
BECAUSE IT’S MARCH MADNESS, BABY! WITH A CAPITAL M!
That’s right. It’s time for all of us to break down our brackets, dissect as many meaningless statistics as possible, trust a hunch here and there, then enter as many pools as we deem appropriate, all in the hopes of picking, better than anyone else, which will be the best college basketball team in the land.
The ides of March are THE most obsessive time of year for sports fans. That first weekend, 32 glorious basketball games in forty-eight hours, consumes us, elates and heartbreaks. Every year, they are America’s least productive work days. It’s when we cheer with bated breath for schools and players we’ve never heard of, hoping, praying for a win then sulking once our bracket is inexplicably busted. Pencils broken, dreams shattered and tempers flared.
How could that be? We were so sure.
We look over our pools again, the paper crumpled angrily into a ball, tossed into the nearest trash can, then neatly unfolded, as we beg it for forgiveness, counting once again how many teams we have left, hoping there’s some way, any way, we still have a chance.
But, we don’t, and we’re sick about it. We are left with nothing but second-guesses, wondering how it all went so wrong.
But it’s way too soon for that. Each fresh, unfilled bracket brings a shot at infamy. And there’s where we currently stand.
So to those of you who plan on entering a pool here and there, I wish you the best of luck. Feel free to come back and share your horror or success stories. And don’t forget to invite me into whichever pools you’re entering.