THE MADNESS OF MARCH

I’d like to apologize, faithful readers, for being distracted lately. March is a very busy month for me mentally. First, there’s the build-up to Wrestlemania. My love for Wrestlemania is matched only by my love for the biathlon. In fact, that’s probably what next week’s column will be about. After all, John Cena versus Triple H AND Trish Stratus versus Mickie James in the same night! The word “slobbernocker” come to mind. Second, March marks the start of spring, and spring means opening day for baseball is approaching, and that means Brewer baseball is about to storm back into my life like the lover you swear you’ll never take back. Then suddenly they’re standing on your doorstep with baseline tickets swearing they really will try to finish over .500 this season and you’re letting them move right back in. Lastly, I’ve been focusing on the same thing as almost every other American the past two weeks; March Madness.

March Madness, for those of you who don’t know, is the slang term for the NCAA Men’s College Basketball Tournament. Basketball, for my friend Tani, is the sport with the orange ball that you try to throw through a hoop. And no Tani, it still doesn’t have a goalie.

Knowledge about the tournament or the sport in general not withstanding, one thing everyone agrees on is that gambling on tournament brackets is awesome. Better yet, it’s American. As someone with a degree in history, I can tell you that one of the driving motivations for American independence was our forefathers’ belief that all men, provided they are white and hold property, should be allowed to wager on whether or not 13 seed Bradley could defeat 4 seed Kansas. (They could) It would take 8 years of armed conflict, followed by 78 years waiting for Kansas to become a state, topped with another 30 year span where the country waited for basketball to be invented by Doctor Julius “Dr. J” Erving, M.D., before Americans were able to once and for all gain this freedom, but the wait was well worth it.

Now, every form of gambling has some element of chance to it, except the Badger 5. [See last column- Ed] Sometimes you win, sometimes you lose, and sometimes your bracket grows legs, runs out an open window and bursts into flames after the first day. Especially when no one in the state of Iowa knows how to play defense in the last 3 minutes of a game.

When your bracket does go the way of the dodo, as it inevitably will when Wichita State goes on a hot streak, there are ways you wish to react. There’s anger, rage, explosive frustration, murderous rage and explosive murderous rage, to name a few. Sadly, none of these reactions are societaly acceptable in this hippie liberal day and age, despite the fact your entire Final Four has just been shot full of holes by Northwestern State. [The Northwestern of WHAT??- Ed] Instead, the police are usually called to intervene and there’s nothing more embarrassing than explaining to relatives three Thanksgivings in a row that yes, that was you on COPS getting shoved into a cruiser. So, to help you, my loyal audience, and to chop some time off my own community service obligation, I suggest this alternative: Write a letter. I’ll show you what I mean next week with a couple of examples I’ve already put in the mail.

Huh, next week. Guess I won’t be doing an article about Wrestlemania after all. Well how do you like that? Thanks for Nothing March Madness!

Stupid UConn.