You know what’s crazy? I’ll tell you what’s crazy™
March Madness.
I’m watching Villanova smack Iowa around like a domestic violence victim.
Can a number 7 seed topple a number 2 seed?
Not today, they can’t.
I’m watching the Sunday news shows lift their leg and pee on the Trump campaign.
I’m banging on the door of a used car salesman and he’s giving me the “let’s go” eyes.
Yes March is a mad hatter high on sterno and amphetamines.
The weather is even conspiring against us.
It was 80 degrees last week.
Today I’m wearing a sweater for my private parts.
Thanks for the testicle sweater, Grandma.
The Madness is full frontal, full bore, full court press.
Trump tells George Stephenopolous he doesn’t condone violence at his rallies.
The imagery is protesters wearing KKK hoods and Trump supporters slugging Trump Protesters.
It’s ugly like a train wreck. Sad, yet compelling to watch.
George keeps asking him if he condones violence at his rallies.
Trump says No, but he also blames the protesters and says he might pay legal bill for people in his audience arrested for assault.
It is such a obfuscated message.
Madness.
My bracket is as busted as a 19 year old beer bonging tequila on spring break.
Show me your ID son!
I’m in 28th place and my final four looks a lot like everyone else.
There’s no way to make up ground now.
I need to pick MTSU over Michigan State.
Instead I was a lamb and took all the higher seeds.
Now my Bracket looks like the Challenger explosion over Texas.
Madness.
My weather man say the El Nino pattern this year is similar to 1998 when we had F-5 Tornadoes destroy neighborhoods.
I want to wear shorts, but my ass is shivering like an eskimo taking an ice bath.
Brrrrrrr.
Madness.
And then there’s the crazy car salesman.
A year ago, he told me lost his car lot. He was stuck with 70 vehicles.
Oh what is a car lot owner to do without a car lot?
The humanity?
He moved those 70 cars to an upscale neighborhood where he parked them all over the grass.
It looked like a vehicle graveyard.
You know what his neighbor thought?
Madness.
So I visited him a year ago and said, hey car guy, what the F?
He promised me in his best used car sales voice that he was going to get rid of the cars and that would be that.
I took him at his word.
Guess what?
He lied.
Then the neighbors began writing me and sending me pictures of cars coming and going and going and coming.
“At all hours of the night,” they told me.
Madness.
So I paid the car man a visit Friday.
Knock Knock Knock.
“Go away” he says.
NO, I reply.
“Turn off the camera and I’ll talk to you” he says.
NO, I say defiantly.
“I’ll be out in the front taking pictures,” I counter.
He slams the door.
2 seconds later.
“Hey.”
He’s at the top of the stairs shouting at me.
“You have your third violation notice from the county,” I say stepping forward.
“What for?” he says angrily.
“It says you are using your property as a business, selling cars.”
He charges down the stairs at me like a brahma bull.
“What I can’t own cars?” he says.
I feel the hot stank of his breath on my face.
I know my camera man is rolling on the encounter between us.
That’s all I ever ask.
If I’m going to get my ass kicked, then roll on it.
“i’ll need something to show the judge,” I say half jokingly.
For some reason, I’m not concerned. I feel a sense of calm.
I feel his angry breath and it invigorates me like a shot of adrenaline.
“Do I need to read this to you?” I ask.
My words are testy, nasty.
It’s unscripted and it’s raw.
Madness.
We end up jawing back and forth for the next 10 minutes.
I wave the violation notice in his face. He tells me that he is doing nothing wrong.
I suspect it’s good TV at the very least.
“You want to know what I hear,” I say, finishing up. “Neighbors tell me that you are bringing down property values.”
“I’ve been here a year,” he counters. “Your the 1st person to come talk to me.”
I am unclear what to say.
“You’re my welcome wagon” he says smiling.
That’s funny. I laugh out loud.
And that’s how it ends; with a smile and a slap on the back.
Madness started with a door slam, a sneer, a charge down the stairs and some hot stanky breath.
It ends with a smile and a mutual respect.
Madness can be maddening.
I air the story and it has visceral impact.
Meanwhile, the weather is cold today and storms are expected throughout the week. I refuse to wear the sweater for my testicles another day.
Madness.
Donald Trump says if he is not the nominee there could be riots. “People will be angry,” he says.
Madness.
And my NCAA bracket looks like pulled pork chopped apart and saturated with hot sauce.
I sure hope the eventual winner of the office pool buys something fun with my contribution.
Perhaps they will buy one of grandma’s testicle sweaters.
That would be, well, Mad.
Madness.
Life’s Crazy™