When I opened an "NCAA pools" email, I honestly expected a story about Olympic-sized swimming facilities.
Since I no longer live with avid watchers and players, I forget the important things like
1. lingo ("I kicked the bunny to Kim"),
2. what it's like to watch sports with people who care, and
3. how we fit an entire DIII team in our living room to watch games during this bizarre festival of high socks and pasty white skin. You could say I had forgotten about joining in the Madness of March.
I have attended only one basketball game this year; made it just in time for the last 7 minutes (I had Gilmore Girls to watch, people). I recalled
1. how my intestines twisted each game I went to in support of my college roommates (GO BLAZERS),
2. how the last 5 minutes lasted an eternity, and
3. how surprisingly small people will throw themselves in front of (wo)men the size of Mack trucks. ON PURPOSE.
Raise your glass to the men and women of the bball-a-thon. May your shorts be long and your fouls be intentional.
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