Reining in the Madness

If you are one of those people for whom the month of March brings to mind either pre-emerging your lawn or puking up green beer, then read no further.  But for the rest of you, March can only mean one thing—though it may well involve beer, green or otherwise.  And lots of nachos. 

I’m speaking of course of March Madness, the most extreme incarnation of basketball fervor, the likes of which surely could never have been imagined by James Naismith, the founder of modern-day basketball.  When Dr. Naismith nailed a peach basket to the wall of a gym at Springfield College in Massachusetts circa 1891, he was just looking for a way to encourage indoor physical activity during the long New England winters.  More than 100 years later, we still look for ways to keep ourselves active during the winter months.  Though it more likely involves lying prone on a couch watching others play basketball on TV.  And the physically active part entails a repetitive motion of hand to mouth, with the occasional fist pump or leap of excitement (e.g. three pointer at buzzer or completely blind ref).  Believe me, I have been known to have heart palpitations and struggle for breath while watching games, so I know I’m getting some sort of workout!

It’s hard to imagine a day when spectators calmly enjoyed the simple pleasure of men tossing a ball into a basket that hours before had held actual produce.  Today the NCAA tournament is big business—sponsors, media, bookies, crazed fans—a moveable feast spread out across the country for three weeks.  It’s impossible to think of any other single US sporting event that elicits so much excitement and attention over such a prolonged period as does the Big Dance.  By the time it’s over, I actually feel a little blue.  In fact, this is probably the best way for men to experience something akin to post-partum depression in women.  We build up the main event for so long, once the new champion is born, we realize the hoopla is over and we may have a baby we weren’t expecting…like one that isn’t wearing navy and white with a big, ugly Blue Devil head. 

Have I mentioned that I went to Duke?  Yes, I’m SURE I have (ad nauseum), so I don’t need to tell you where my sympathies lie.  And because I went to Duke, I am prepared to be hated and reviled during the NCAA tournament.  I think it’s safe to say that Duke might be the most despised team in college basketball.  (NY Yankees—we feel your pain!)  I’m sure the evil plotters down the road at Chapel Hill are responsible.  But we can’t help the fact that just about anybody can go to Carolina and Duke actually has standards.  People think of that as elitist.  That and the fact that that half of Duke’s student body is from New Jersey which is never something a southern school wants to advertise.

But I digress…the tournament is way beyond the marquis programs.  It’s as much about the dreams of the “who’d a thunk?” teams—can Robert Morris get by Michigan State?  Does Stephen F. Austin have a prayer against Syracuse?  Anything can—and does occasionally—happen in a one-and-done bracket.  After all, 2008 was the first time since the tournament started seeding teams in 1979 that all four #1 seeds competed in the Final Four. Remember also that in 2008, #10 seeded Davidson made it to the Elite Eight and #11 seed George Mason to the Final Four in 2006. 

So even though you may think you’re hosed little #16 seed Radford, having drawn the short stick for Thursday’s match up with #1 Carolina, take heart.  Ty Lawson might not play and maybe Tyler Hansbrough slips on a well-placed banana peel.  A victory could be just one undercooked burrito or late season flu attack away.

As excited as I am about the upcoming spectacle, I had a philosophical epiphany about our collective sports-watching psyche recently.  In the lead-up to the tournament, I was watching one of the Duke’s home games and observing the infamous “Cameron Crazies”—legendary student fans so queasily over-the-top, yet so creative and zealous, you have to give them props.  (I can remember sitting in the stands of Cameron Indoor Stadium myself yelling, “I beg to differ!” in unison with the crowd at a questionable call by a referee.  I mean anybody can drop the f-bomb—it takes true inspiration to take it to the next level!)

As I watched the rabid fans, I realized how easy it is to lose perspective on the barest essential of the game—that these are just young guys playing a game of basketball.  Teenagers still, some of them. The players aren’t robots—they’re just kids.  Albeit very talented, athletic and well coached ones.  But think of them as human beings for a second—can you imagine being under the same pressure they are under and still performing at the highest levels? 

I’ll be the first to admit that I’m as guilty as the most fanatical student fans—I scream at the TV, rant at players in frustration and take it personally if they don’t hit that crucial shot at the buzzer. But this year, I’m going to make the effort to remember that these are actually boys in the greatest pressure cooker of collegiate sports and I’m going to cut them some slack.  (I can hear their collective sighs of relief right now.)  I’ll try to think of them through the eyes of their parents who undoubtedly made sacrifices along the way to encourage and shape their natural talents. As a parent, I can’t even imagine having a child with this kind of ability—how proud they must be!  Now if the NCAA ever decides to have Texting Play-offs or How-Long-I-Can-Go-Without-Checking-My-Facebook-Page Endurance Matches, I’m nurturing a brood of champions!

So whomever you are pulling for this year, as the game is about to start and the players are warming up, take a minute to think back on the humble beginnings of basketball and the human face of the young players who are the engine of today’s vast tournament machine.  But by all means, pile on the nachos, ice down the beer and hand me the remote! 

Fight Blue Devils, Fight!!