Feature Story
March Sadness
It is called “Selection Sunday” and it
marks the beginning of “March Madness.” It is followed by the “Sweet Sixteen,”
the “Elite Eight” and, of course, the “Final Four.” Like nursery school,
everything has to rhyme.
On the road Sunday, I am forced to listen
to “Selection Sunday” because it seemed to be on every radio station in the
universe. I believe it even pre-empts church services. You could almost hear
the nail-biting as teams waited on edge for the final revelation of the chosen
64. Or is it 65? After hours of
predictions and analysis, the names were slowly revealed, like numbers in the Powerball drawing. The “big board” is now complete.
Monday morning arrives and I wear my
Badger hockey NCAA championship shirt to work and stick a puck in my pocket,
hoping that like a cross and garlic, this will ward off the “pious of the
paint” faithful.
The morning radio is dedicated to a
seemingly eternal examination of the chosen few and the “demoralized dozen” who
just missed out. I hear the word bubble with annoying frequency; I have this
unusual urge to take a bath. Apparently the omission of
Later on there is a discussion centered
on the issue of whether or not the selection committee’s decisions were based
on Christianity or Mormon values. Apparently the selection committee is God and
reaching the “Final four” was the equivalent of heaven. For the first time in
my life I don’t want to go to heaven.
I maintain my personal boycott of this
lunacy and stave repeated attempts to join in the “bracketology.”
I discover I may be the only person in the free world with a free dollar that
doesn’t fill out the “big dance” card. My knowledge of college basketball would
provide me the same chance for success in picking my bracket as I have had in
winning the lottery. Others will spend more time researching their bracket than
filling out their taxes.
Evening is here, and I have survived
“mental Monday” without being coerced into an office pool. As I drive home, the
lunacy continues. Apparently, the earlier religious debate has been solved. The
new discussion revolves around which movie each team is most like. For instance
if you are “Ocean’s Eleven,” you are loaded with star power, but if you are
“Rocky,” you would not only be a one-man team, but an underdog too. I didn’t listen
long enough to find out which team was “An Inconvenient Truth”– full of hot air
and likely to lose in the primary round.
I can only imagine what the lunch debate
was about. Perhaps a dissertation on head coaches and the religious icon they
most likely resemble. We all know John Wooden would be God and most assuredly
Bobby Knight the devil. Mike Krzyzewski is Ghandi and of course Rick Majerus—Buddha.
Tuesday there is more endless babble
which has now turned to filling out the sacred bracket. The inane comparisons
continue. There is a deliberation tying together – we are back to movies again
– The Shawshank Redemption and Forrest Gump, the 2007
American Idol finalists and work ethic vs. dumb luck. Somehow this was all related to a potential
On Wednesday, the examination turned
Freudian and some type of doctor, perhaps a relative of “Dr. J,” discussed what
your picks reveal about your personality. Picking teams by the color of their
uniforms or the ferocity of their mascot it seems can be as accurate as your
horoscope. Picking an upset means you like to live on the edge and picking
favorites means you likely still wear briefs. Valuable insight if I ever need
to buy underwear for anyone at work.
“Hoops Hysteria” is in full bloom. Like Jimmy Stewart on Christmas Eve, you will
be hard pressed not to catch a scene from Hoosiers during this time. Mercifully
the games begin on Thursday and every television will be tuned in to this “ballers bash.” You
can’t avoid it. I go to sleep at night with echoes of official’s whistles
blowing and that annoying horn that blasts every time there is a break in the
monotony. It sounds more like a
The field of 64 (or is it 65?) teams
seems more like 1,064 (or is it 1,065?). Like deer hunting in northern
Wisconsin, normal life grinds to a halt and basketball dominates every facet of
our lives—whether we like it or not.
The media will cover this event like it
was a national disaster and for some of us it is. No other sports will touch a
front page unless you live in
I don’t deny anybody their love for this
“fanatical frenzy.” Go crazy, skip work, get a vasectomy to insure getting a
few days off, hook up a television in your office, enjoy. One radio analyst
suggested that the first two days of the tournament should be a national
holiday. That’s not crazy, right? Indulge in your “Hoya Paranoia,” but please
don’t assume everyone is suffering from this basketball madness.
March Madness. For this hockey fan, it’s
March Sadness.
Dan Bauer is the head hockey coach at
Let’s Play Hockey
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