You know what’s crazy? I’ll tell you what’s crazy™
The Bracket Busters.
How do you feel now?
Villanova is toppled by NC State. Baylor fizzles like a birthday balloon in a nor’easter.
And UCLA, the little Pac 12 team that nobody thought deserved to be invited is going dancing.
Ha. Ha. Ha.
That’s the beauty of March Madness.
For me, it starts on Wednesday night. I look at my blank brackets and I see a world of possibilities.
Each space, so empty, so inviting, just waiting for me to choose a team.
Kentucky over everyone. Villanova over Lafayette. Duke and Wisconsin are no brainers.
Number 1’s are number ones for a reason, right?
Villanova has 32 wins against just 2 loses for goodness sakes.
The Final Four by the numbers is one way to fill out your brackets.
But it’s usually the wrong way.
The regular season is nice. It’s what got you invited to the dance. But the tournament is a place where anyone can get hot and connect with an upper cut and knock your ass out.
I am tempted to put four number ones all the way to the final four. But you know that four number ones never make it all the way. That’s absurd. You gotta mix it up.
Which team is hot? Which team is going to surprise someone, make some noise and slide in from the periphery.
After almost 30 seconds of thought, my sneaky pick becomes Iowa State. Certainly they will beat UAB, I think.
What is UAB? Is that a contraceptive device?
Is it a humanitarian mission of air lifted medical supplies into Western Africa in big UNICEF boxes?
UAB? it sounds like a medical issue that you clear up with a dose of penicillin.
I look at Iowa State and it’s 25 wins and I listen to the experts on ESPN and I think go for it.
Iowa State. Why Not? They can hoop. Iowa State is in Iowa, right? What the hell else is there to do in Iowa? Shuck Corn?
When they aren’t bouncing basketballs in a gym, they are sleeping and thinking about making left-handed lay ups.
Iowa. Iowa. Iowa.
It’s the heartland. It’s where good people work hard and excel.
Yes. Yes. I am sold. My 30 seconds of reflection on a state somewhere in the middle of the country has me convinced.
Iowa State to the final four.
They will beat projected Gonzaga in the sweet 16. I have them beating Duke in the elite 8.
Iowa State. The words flow from my pen like a warm breeze on a spring afternoon.
Iowa State.
I am so confident, I am on a roll.
I write the word I O W A so many times, the word IOWA just seems weird.
IOWA. IOWA. IOWA.
It looks fake. Who names their state this?
What does it mean. 3 vowels and a consonant?
It’s a weird word and a weird state that I will never visit.
In fact, if I could request it, I would make sure my Southwest pilots fly over other states to afford me a more exciting view from my window.
But basketball? The little state with the weird name, it has captured my fancy.
I fill up the blank slots, one after another.
Perfectly good spaces of white suddenly filled with blue ink.
It is smooth and flowing and natural.
IOWA STATE.
FINAL FOUR.
I am like Picasso staring at my masterpiece.
This is the perfect bracket, I think to myself.
This is going to be the one that ESPN talks about.
Sarah Walsh is going to stand on the set in a clingy sweater dress and smile about my superlative – 1 in 11 million perfect bracket.
Billionaire Warren Buffet is going to seek me out and pay me for my prodigious prognostications.
I write my name at the top and give the girl at the office $5.
“You like your picks?” she says.
“I love my picks,” I respond, winking at her.
Yes, I actually wink at her. Like a carnival worker with a rap sheet, I wink at her.
I am so cocky.
“I took Iowa State to the final four,” I say.
She doesn’t care. My $5 is now part of a bigger purpose. It is part of her growing pot of money that will pay someone handsomely for the correct number of picks.
I expect that someone to be me.
The games begin Thursday.
I am not one of those people who faked my own death to watch at Buffalo Wild Wings. I actually go to work.
There is not a monitor everywhere I go Thursday, so I am trying to catch scores on my phone.
There are some early upsets and a lot of close games. March Madness is maddening and exciting and bringing a nation together as intended.
Then I hear a scream go up in the office.
I move to the source of the disruption.
“What?” I demand.
A group of people are gathered around a work place monitor.
They are frenzied like bacon grease sizzling in a pan.
“What?”
Finally someone with a blank stare turns to me.
“UAB just upset Iowa State”
I stare at him as if I am a tourist in Czechoslovakia and someone in their native tongue is asking me if I want to milk their goat.
“Excuse me?,” I say, sure the blood pounding in my ears has affected my hearing. “Did you just say that Iowa State upended UAB. Because you know that is what my bracket is predicting. And like the Farmer’s Almanac of sporting events, it is known to be mostly correct.”
The man walks away from me.
“I took Iowa State to go to the Sweet 16. They just lost. Freaking bunch of losers from Iowa. Where the hell is Iowa anyway?” His words trail off, but his question is a good one.
I stare at the monitor and I see UAB people hugging and jumping up and down.
A 14 seed just beat a 3 seed. A team that is 19-15, with almost as many losses as wins beats my super-duper sneaky pick.
I feel my heart sink. I look at my bracket and see Iowa State written down 3 more times.
OMG.
Is it too late to get my $5 back, I wonder.
Iowa State has forged a road toward the center of my bracket that will never be traveled.
What I thought was a four lane freeway to the championship has become an abandon logging road in a Peruvian Jungle.
I sit down staring at my bracket.
What was once the Holy Grail of predictions has become Columbus’ map to the edge of the world.
My NCAA ship has just sailed over the edge and my crew is abandoning ship.
I still have Kentucky, Arizona and Virginia in my final four.
I could still win this thing. But it’s going to be a lot harder now.
Like a bar stool with only 3 solid legs, I’ going to have to sit perfectly still so that I don’t spill my beer in my own lap.
Uh oh. What’s that sound Sunday?
It’s Michigan State University clubbing Virginia like a baby seal.
Oh no. Another pot hole in my super highway to perfection.
And that is March Madness. You just never know.
You got to fill in your brackets with your head, with your heart, and a little bit like a river boat gambler.
At this point, my bracket has as much potential as a race horse with a weight problem.
I’m just going to throttle back my enthusiasm and start prepping for the NFL draft.
March Madness.
Life’s Crazy™