My Own March Madness

This morning I printed up the official thingie. Okay, I do know its name—the Official March Madness bracket. This is not because I care about basketball the big dance, or the National Championship. I do this because I love my husband and sons. And, of course, there’s the chance that I can beat my husband’s bracket. Yeah, my uber-competitive nature comes out.

Then, once the games begin, I read, edit, or embroider until the last five minutes of the game when my husband nudges me. At that point, I put down what I’m working on and root for whoever’s on my bracket. If my bracket is already ruined, then I root for whoever is not on my husband’s bracket. And if both our brackets are ruined, then I root for the underdog. Or if I’m feeling particularly puckish, I root for the team whose uniform I like best. (Not that I really care about them, but I love telling the guys that’s what I’m doing.) Yes, I’m that kind of mom.

So, I know some of my blog friends are basketball buffs. And I’d loved to have a killer bracket this year. Or, at the very least, beat my husband’s bracket. Could you give me some hints?

(Right now, I’m tempted to let Memphis go pretty deep—my niece attends UM.)

Photo courtesy of Wikimedia

Bracketology

It’s now mid March. And I knew this day was coming. Today is the day that the March Madness brackets came out. The males in our house are penciling in their choices. Oops. Correction. We don’t use pencil; we use pen so erasing can’t be done.  When you ink in your choices, you are committed.

I’d tell you that the men are researching, but apparently they already have the requisite knowledge. And at meals, they discuss end of season surges, etc. I think men should come with tags, so you know what you’re getting. I had no idea that when we were dating and Cal told me that he played soccer and baseball on a college team, it actually meant something significant. He should have come with a tag that read, “I really like sports. I think it’s great fun to watch men throw balls around.” In response to Cal’s sports comment, I said, “Oh, I was asked to join the NCAA, division one champion women’s sailing team.” He was impressed at the time. Now I know that he probably thought, “Sports chick. Great.” The reality was different. The sailing team asked me to join because they were very desperate and I knew how to sail. In all fairness, I would’ve joined—they had the sleekest yacht around—but my work schedule didn’t allow for sailing practice. Let alone regattas.

Later on, Cal discovered that I was present in a sailboat that hit a yacht. But I was NOT sailing at the time. I was yelling, “Come about, come about!” We still hit. But it was a glancing smack. A little spit and rubbing took the scrape mark off the yacht.

So that’s my encounter with organized sports (except that women’s softball team where I got run over at home plate). And now I'm faced with bracketology. My method is glancing at my bracket printout and filling it in, randomly choosing teams whose names seem nice. But don’t put my method down. Most years I get at least three of the Final Four. Right now, I’m trying to pick out a Cinderella team. I briefly considered Harvard, but as Cal says, “They calculated their chances, and they’re not betting on themselves.” In the meantime, I’m leaning toward Long Beach State. Not because I think they have a chance, but Cal’s mom got her BA there. So that’s a good enough reason for me.