I used to be a huge NCAA Tournament nut. There would be brackets strewn across the floor of my room in a mad rush to find the perfect one. Drafts and drafts of possible outcomes were constructed in the hopes that one would become prophecy, or close enough to win me $500. Even if the ultimate prize didn't come to fruition, there was always the opportunity to defeat and humiliate my dearest friends; who were, for a week in March, my most hated opponents. And then came the two weeks of gut wrenching drama where curses were voiced in the presence of parents and tears were spilled at lunchroom tables. Then one year, I decided to discard the shackles of ESPN.com's bracket and to enjoy the game as neutral observer with no interest. Ironically enough, it was the best tournament I've engaged in.
Filling out a bracket is akin to setting your future in stone. Once the ink has dried, there are no changes of heart available. Your decisions have been set and your emotional attachment must be unwavering. But how were you supposed to know that Michigan State can't shoot free throws or that Gonzaga can't play defense? As I religiously followed the games on CBS, and cursed the network for not playing the games that mattered to me, I found my allegiances shifting but were restrained due to the commitment I had made with the bracket. To me it was a bond of pride and integrity that could not be violated even in the most dreary of circumstances. The bracket was my legitimacy in the world. It was my deal with the devil. If it went bust, so would my sports soul. And afterwards, nothing I had to say was worth anything in the eyes of anyone.
So what did I do? I quit the game. I took the easy way out and refused to play anymore. Once I had predicted a Syracuse Kansas final in 2003, it was over for me. There was nothing more I could achieve and the path to the perfect bracket wasn't worth the unforgiving ride and stress. And as I watched the tournament from the vantage point of a free man, I reached a higher level of consciousness. I was finally liberated. I could root for one team at the start of the game and the shift to the other team if they were playing better. I had nothing invested in the outcome of second class basketball played by kids my age in a format that decided the luckiest and not the best. And you know what? It was incredible.
Now I can enjoy March Madness with full appreciation for the event. Yeah, I filled out one bracket this year online. But I did very little research and clicked whichever team my mouse pointed to. If I win, fine; if I don't, who cares. I've come to the realization that I don't need artificial incentives such as money or pride to enjoy sporting events that I'm completely neutral to. It's like using drugs to find happiness or a hooker to find sexual fulfillment. Cheap and ultimately empty. But hey, I'm not judging you. If you want to beat that asshole in the office that thinks he knows everything about sports, have at it hoss. Just know that there is a realm of existence higher than the one you're on. Transcend my friends. Transcend.
Filling out a bracket is akin to setting your future in stone. Once the ink has dried, there are no changes of heart available. Your decisions have been set and your emotional attachment must be unwavering. But how were you supposed to know that Michigan State can't shoot free throws or that Gonzaga can't play defense? As I religiously followed the games on CBS, and cursed the network for not playing the games that mattered to me, I found my allegiances shifting but were restrained due to the commitment I had made with the bracket. To me it was a bond of pride and integrity that could not be violated even in the most dreary of circumstances. The bracket was my legitimacy in the world. It was my deal with the devil. If it went bust, so would my sports soul. And afterwards, nothing I had to say was worth anything in the eyes of anyone.
So what did I do? I quit the game. I took the easy way out and refused to play anymore. Once I had predicted a Syracuse Kansas final in 2003, it was over for me. There was nothing more I could achieve and the path to the perfect bracket wasn't worth the unforgiving ride and stress. And as I watched the tournament from the vantage point of a free man, I reached a higher level of consciousness. I was finally liberated. I could root for one team at the start of the game and the shift to the other team if they were playing better. I had nothing invested in the outcome of second class basketball played by kids my age in a format that decided the luckiest and not the best. And you know what? It was incredible.
Now I can enjoy March Madness with full appreciation for the event. Yeah, I filled out one bracket this year online. But I did very little research and clicked whichever team my mouse pointed to. If I win, fine; if I don't, who cares. I've come to the realization that I don't need artificial incentives such as money or pride to enjoy sporting events that I'm completely neutral to. It's like using drugs to find happiness or a hooker to find sexual fulfillment. Cheap and ultimately empty. But hey, I'm not judging you. If you want to beat that asshole in the office that thinks he knows everything about sports, have at it hoss. Just know that there is a realm of existence higher than the one you're on. Transcend my friends. Transcend.
2 comments:
Point taken, but...many people (including me) fill out multiple brackets, so in many cases I can't remember my picks, or I have conflicting picks.
Also, I'm usually out of it by the Sweet 16 anyway, so I'm able to enjoy the later games without a rooting interest.
I think I am able to "sit back and enjoy" the games and still fill out a bracket. For example, if UNC were to go out in the second round, I would enjoy every second of that game, even if I have UNC winning all my brackets. You gotta love the underdogs, because that's what makes this tournament great, even if my bracket gets obliterated in the process
couldn't agree more!
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