March Madness?

It's a frenzy, that's for sure. It's up. It's down. There's wins. And upsets. And losses. And upsets. It's 10 freakishly-tall men somewhere between 18 and 22 who doggedly pursue a trophy and title some of their schools have never even come close to coveting.

It's birthed an entire sub-sect of linguistic dialect. Let's see...we do have, of course, the biggies. The Big Dance. The Sweet Sixteen. The Elite Eight. The Final Four. And don't forget the Cinderella (the team that should never have a chance, but wins its pairing anyway. Last night, that was 9th seeded UNI's victory over #1 seed Kansas). Then you've got the busted bracket (not good. Not good at all). You've got the office pools, the church pools (hey, it's not really gambling....calm down), and, of course, the 1 million dollar winner who projects the perfect bracket (though Craig informs me this tradition is no more...why, I can't imagine, since to my knowledge no one ever won it in the history of the tournament).

Fans (mostly men, but not all, now) miss work over it. Become tied to the TV for it. Surf 800 channels searching for it. And the din of the crowd hundreds to even thousands of miles away blankets our house like white noise...occasionally interrupted by an outburst from my husband - sometimes good. Sometimes not.

I love March Madness. I'm not a big fan. I watch periodically in between other tasks or happenings that are, quite frankly, far more attractive on the magnet scale of fun. This is the first year in a few I haven't completed a bracket. For Craig, it's calculated observation coupled with playing records with a bit of rooting for the underdog mixed in. His bracket is, I'd say, a pseudo-science. Mine's gut. Pure instinct. And, I'll have you know, I'm right enough to accurately predict no less than 75% of the Final Four. Not too shabby for little watching and even less interest. So how come I love it?

Because Craig does. 

It's the only - the only - sports event he watches from beginning to end, riveted. He's watched it the entire time I've known him...ever since college when he'd wheedle his way onto my dorm sofa, captivated by the tv as I studied away. He's even traveled out of state with a friend to catch a few games in the series. These are warm memories. These are ways you write a story as a couple. I don't feel lost or abandoned. Don't feel neglected or threatened. I'm not mad about March Madness.

I'm happy it makes him happy, that he celebrates the losing of the big dog to the little dog...that he snorts in contempt when the "should have wons" blow it in the final seconds and shred his bracket.

He loves it. 

So I love it, too.