Bracketeering

First let me start by saying that I don’t ever watch college basketball (or any basketball for that matter) except for this time of year, for some odd reason, and it didn’t always used to be like this. I used to be a normal guy who laughed at those people who were fascinated by something so trivial. But then I was introduced to something hideous and entrancing: the NCAA March Madness Pool. Oh, the horror, because suddenly I was dragged in kicking and screaming to the joy of making my own selections and hoping they panned out, that the four teams I arbitrarily chose to make it all the way actually did get there. There I was, suddenly pitted against my colleagues and work friends in a battle to the death, even though none of us were physically playing in any of the games. And, believe me, I wanted to win, and I still do.

I remember when I first saw a bracket, I had no idea how to read it, or even what it was for. It was sitting in the staff lounge, and it had my name on it. Apparently one of the other teachers had a sinister aim to draw me in by leaving it there. It called out to me. “Sam,” it said softly, quietly, sounding oddly enough like one of the Muppets, but making sure not to get my blood pressure up too high. But I heard it anyway (damn these sensitive ears), and I picked up the sheet with the bracket on it. After about five minutes I realized what was to be required of me if I wanted to be a part of the bigger picture. So I filled it out, and I haven’t been the same since. That first time I made the picks purely based on feel. I mean, I had no clue who most of the teams were, but I knew their ranking, and I knew most of the schools in one way or another. So I guessed, which is what I’m sure most people do, but these weren’t even mostly educated guesses. I picked Temple to go to the Final Four because that was the school I attended. I picked Duke to win it all because I used to have a dog named Duke. And so on.

Needless to say, I didn’t win that year’s bracket pool. As a matter of fact, I finished just a step up from the absolute bottom (Temple lost first round, and Duke I think was gone by the third), but I was hooked, and I never looked back. Every single year from then on I did the research. I even watched a couple of college basketball games during the regular season (shhh, don’t tell anyone) to try and get my head around the bracket when it was released. The second year I filled out a bracket, I had more of a handle on who I should expect to have the shot at the upset (thanks to sportsline.com), why I shouldn’t pay too much attention to records, just to conferences, and when I should pick Temple (uh, never) to win a tournament game. Then they played the games, and guess what? I finished dead last that year. I was stymied, stumped, and stupefied. And I was more hooked than ever, convinced after the tournament ended that the following year would be “my year.”

And I have been fighting the demons ever since (no, not the Blue Devils, or the Deacon Demons), fighting to master the unmasterable art of achieving the best bracket in the pool. Luckily for me, it hasn’t all been downhill like those first two years. In fact, I’ve come awfully close a couple of years, and you’d be shocked but it’s easier to take now when I don’t do so well some years. I’ve discovered the true joy of the bracket, the conversation with colleagues and work friends about it while it’s going on. Who’s shedding tears over Bucknell’s loss? Who’s overjoyed that Gonzaga hung on despite the odds? Who will commiserate with you when your bracket was busted because Duke and Syracuse lost on the same day? It is these connections that make the bracket worth it, that and watching each game and cheering for a team you may never see again.

Oh, and this year. I’m going to win.

Sam