This Is Madness
I don’t know what the month of March evokes in your head. Maybe corned beef? Windy days? Lent? Three things come to my mind when March approaches: squeaks, whistles, and buzzers.
Soon enough the NCAA Division I men’s basketball tournament, otherwise known as March Madness, will tip off, and for the next three weeks all we’ll hear will be squeaks, whistles, and those hideous buzzers. For me, the squeaks are the worst. I never notice them when I’m actually in attendance at a basketball game, but on television they sound out loud and clear, not to mention continually. They must put microphones on the players’ shoes.
Don’t get me wrong; I love basketball. I never played it myself, nor did any female in my high school, as Title IX didn’t arrive until the year after I graduated. There was also the fact that I possessed not an ounce of athleticism. Anyway, my long history as an avid spectator commenced in junior high, the year I never missed a seventh-grade basketball game. It no doubt had less to do with the game and more to do with the left guard, on whom I had a crush. But still. Raising a son who played every sport known to man, I watched thousands of contests in various sports, and actually preferred basketball over all the others. If I’m honest, that had less to do with the game and more to do with the climate-controlled venue. But still.
The NCAA Tournament takes what is already an exceptionally popular sport and ramps it up into a cultural phenomenon. Any time you turn on the television later this month there will be a basketball game, and the odds are it will involve at least one team of which you’ve never even heard. I tend to get a little bored with it after a couple of hours, but my husband never wants to turn it off. He’s mesmerized by it, in part because of its unpredictable nature. The tournament’s single-elimination format is conducive to all kinds of surprises, including the elevation of a Cinderella team into the Final Four and maybe even the championship.
to people talk about their brackets. Some start setting them up even before the teams are announced, basing their choices on who is predicted to be among the 68 participating teams. To my knowledge, my husband has only completed a bracket once and declared it a disaster by mid-tournament after most of his picks had proven to be incorrect. In a brilliant move, however, he had chosen Duke to win the whole thing, which they did. He walked into Starbucks the next day to be greeted by his friend, the bracket master, with an envelope full of cash. It was a fun way to start his day.
I asked a young woman who professes to do a lousy job with her bracket what she uses for criteria. She told me she relies on rankings, which seemed pretty smart to me. She assured me, however, that it doesn’t work and she never wins. My daughter-in-law chooses winning teams based on whether or not she knows someone who went to that school and whether or not she likes that person. A former cheerleader makes her picks based on the aesthetics of the school’s cheerleaders’ uniforms. My cynical son assures me, however, that the cheerleader uniforms are just about as effective at predicting winners as records, rankings, and standout players. My physical therapist, on the other hand, studies the teams carefully and makes an educated choice in each of the 67 pairings. I’m told he usually does pretty well.
A few years back, Warren Buffett offered a billion dollars to anyone who completed a perfect bracket. The odds of that happening, someone calculated, are one in 92 quintillion. No one did it that year, and it has, in fact, never happened. Ironically, 92 quintillion is also the number of squeaks, whistles, and buzzers one hears if one watches every game in the tournament.
While the tournament dates back to 1939, bracketology has only been a thing since 1985. That feels pretty recent to me, but it was actually 41 years ago. In that 41 years, bracketology has become pervasive. When Barack Obama was president, he started the tradition of posting his bracket on the White House website. Joe Biden did the same during his term. I guess President Trump isn’t a basketball fan, as he has never participated. He did suggest to a reporter last March, after the tournament was well underway, that he might do a bracket and backdate it. He was probably joking, but sometimes it’s hard to tell. In any case, I kind of hope that this will be the year he joins in the fun. After all, everyone else is doing it.
The tournament tips off on March 17. Even though they call it March Madness, the finals don’t take place until April. This year’s Final Four is scheduled for April 4-6 in Indianapolis.
On March 15, they will announce the participating teams, and I will be pulling, as usual, for my SMU Mustangs to be in the mix. We have burned up I-30 this season traveling to Dallas to be there for most of the home games. The Ponies might or might not make it into the Big Dance, but they’ve been lots of fun to watch this year. We witnessed a game winning buzzer beater from the far side of the mid-court line that we will never forget. Or we might; neither one of us can seem to remember anything anymore.
I appreciate the SMU athletic department for their assistance with this column; they lent me the jersey I’m wearing in the accompanying photo. It came from their jersey archive (who knew there was a jersey archive?) and was worn by number 12, Savannah Wilkerson. She graduated in 2023 and now plays professionally in Israel. I had fun researching her; she’s a beautiful young woman with a warm smile that makes you want to sit down and have coffee with her. She had a notable career at SMU that included more than one academic award. She’s originally from London, which is where I was born. Wearing her jersey for an hour felt like getting to know her. She represents the difference between being a woman who grew up in the sixties and being one who grew up in the twenty-first century. She also represents the difference between being an average-height, semi-klutz and being a six-foot tall athlete. I have the greatest respect for her, as well as all female athletes.
I should note that the women have been participating in their own NCAA Tournament every year since 1972. It’s sometimes referred to as Women’s March Madness. I think they should call it March Sanity, but that probably isn’t going to happen.
I hope later this month finds you comfortably established in front of your television, enjoying a festive beverage and cheering on your favorite teams. May you successfully endure the squeaks, whistles, and buzzers, and may your bracket be one in 92 quintillion.
Which brings up brackets. Do you engage in bracketology? While I never have, I get a kick out of listening to people talk about their brackets. Some start setting them up even before the teams are announced, basing their choices on who is predicted to be among the 68 participating teams. To my knowledge, my husband has only completed a bracket once and declared it a disaster by mid-tournament after most of his picks had proven to be incorrect. In a brilliant move, however, he had chosen Duke to win the whole thing, which they did. He walked into Starbucks the next day to be greeted by his friend, the bracket master, with an envelope full of cash. It was a fun way to start his day.
I asked a young woman who professes to do a lousy job with her bracket what she uses for criteria. She told me she relies on rankings, which seemed pretty smart to me. She assured me, however, that it doesn’t work and she never wins. My daughter-in-law chooses winning teams based on whether or not she knows someone who went to that school and whether or not she likes that person. A former cheerleader makes her picks based on the aesthetics of the school’s cheerleaders’ uniforms. My cynical son assures me, however, that the cheerleader uniforms are just about as effective at predicting winners as records, rankings, and standout players. My physical therapist, on the other hand, studies the teams carefully and makes an educated choice in each of the 67 pairings. I’m told he usually does pretty well.
A few years back, Warren Buffett offered a billion dollars to anyone who completed a perfect bracket. The odds of that happening, someone calculated, are one in 92 quintillion. No one did it that year, and it has, in fact, never happened. Ironically, 92 quintillion is also the number of squeaks, whistles, and buzzers one hears if one watches every game in the tournament.
While the tournament dates back to 1939, bracketology has only been a thing since 1985. That feels pretty recent to me, but it was actually 41 years ago. In that 41 years, bracketology has become pervasive. When Barack Obama was president, he started the tradition of posting his bracket on the White House website. Joe Biden did the same during his term. I guess President Trump isn’t a basketball fan, as he has never participated. He did suggest to a reporter last March, after the tournament was well underway, that he might do a bracket and backdate it. He was probably joking, but sometimes it’s hard to tell. In any case, I kind of hope that this will be the year he joins in the fun. After all, everyone else is doing it.
The tournament tips off on March 17. Even though they call it March Madness, the finals don’t take place until April. This year’s Final Four is scheduled for April 4-6 in Indianapolis.
On March 15, they will announce the participating teams, and I will be pulling, as usual, for my SMU Mustangs to be in the mix. We have burned up I-30 this season traveling to Dallas to be there for most of the home games. The Ponies might or might not make it into the Big Dance, but they’ve been lots of fun to watch this year. We witnessed a game winning buzzer beater from the far side of the mid-court line that we will never forget. Or we might; neither one of us can seem to remember anything anymore.
I appreciate the SMU athletic department for their assistance with this column; they lent me the jersey I’m wearing in the accompanying photo. It came from their jersey archive (who knew there was a jersey archive?) and was worn by number 12, Savannah Wilkerson. She graduated in 2023 and now plays professionally in Israel. I had fun researching her; she’s a beautiful young woman with a warm smile that makes you want to sit down and have coffee with her. She had a notable career at SMU that included more than one academic award. She’s originally from London, which is where I was born. Wearing her jersey for an hour felt like getting to know her. She represents the difference between being a woman who grew up in the sixties and being one who grew up in the twenty-first century. She also represents the difference between being an average-height, semi-klutz and being a six-foot tall athlete. I have the greatest respect for her, as well as all female athletes.
I should note that the women have been participating in their own NCAA Tournament every year since 1972. It’s sometimes referred to as Women’s March Madness. I think they should call it March Sanity, but that probably isn’t going to happen.
I hope later this month finds you comfortably established in front of your television, enjoying a festive beverage and cheering on your favorite teams. May you successfully endure the squeaks, whistles, and buzzers, and may your bracket be one in 92 quintillion.
