March Madness: A Study in Contrasts
It’s March madness. I was born in March, so maybe it’s in my blood. What does March mean? Tourney time for everyone. It’s a maddening time for me, as I scramble between my AAU practices, New Jersey State tournament games, and trying to prepare myself for the Big East tournament. Oh yeah, lets not forget selection Sunday, the invitation to the big dance.
It’s a time to rejoice, it’s a time to cry. Some names will be born in the next couple of weeks. Some unknown will hit a buzzer-beater while another big name player will miss. Some player who never shoots will get hot and lead his team to victory. Another will never shoot again.
Some small high school team from the suburbs will knock off a high-powered city team to win a state championship. A poor school from the hood with beat up and worn jerseys will outplay a rich private school with shiny logos and a huge student section in route to a city title.
You can bet your bottom dollar that when kids hear that final buzzer sound it won’t resonate in every ear quite the same. It’s a time when some kids will refuse to leave the floor. He or she will wander aimlessly near the half court circle refusing to accept that the ball may never bounce with more meaning ever again. It’s a time when some refuse to go home in another way, as they hit shot after shot after shot trying to extend their season just another 24 hours.
The pressure will get to some. The size and the importance of the moment will cause some to shrink, some to crumble. Others will rise to the occasion, many like they never have before and never will again.
Employees will lose their jobs, because of slacking at work during March Madness. Assignments won’t get done, deadlines will be missed while brackets and betting pools are filled and alma maters are watched.
Many businessmen will reminisce and wish they could trade in their ties and once again smell and feel the perspiration that they once felt while participating in the month of March. The madness will bring back memories of a time when they were heroes.
The month will again remind us how boring and unimportant the NBA regular season is. For a month, we forget about the million-dollar contracts and who got traded as we become lost in the dreams of young adults who haven’t yet been paid a dime. As poor as they are, they still dive into the scorer’s table and lay it on the line without a check in site. For one month, Adam Morrison from Gonzaga becomes more important than Kobe Bryant from Los Angeles.
A high school will win its first state title in school history, another will have a string of repeats ended. A sixteen-year-old kid will play in Madison Square Garden, the Meadowlands, or the Palestra for the first time. He will feel the energy of past battles from years before, maybe wondering if he may one day return again in another, more recognizable uniform.
Some will fall to the hardwood in extreme joy after a miracle shot extends their life, while others will feel their legs collapse as though at a funeral in front of the casket of a lost loved one.
There will be many teams waiving their arms to the crowd and rejoicing over the roar of the crowd, while others will bury their heads in towels, their ears stinging and tortured by that same roar.
Many will excitedly talk to reporters, firing off interesting quotes and making the jobs of journalist easier, while the losers will barely be audible if they can even put their disappointment into words at all.
Some players, like a king, will be carried off the floor, while others at their lowest moment will be dragged off the floor. This extreme contrast is what makes March Madness so bittersweet.
