‘Bracketology’ now more taxing than IRS form
- Tom Rife: Livin' the Team
- March 18, 2021
- 732
For all its endearing qualities, one thing is obvious: March Madness has its flaws.
Always does, always will.
The most flagrant foul this time around is the NCAA’s lucrative crown jewel of men’s basketball will reach its crescendo in April, when the two Final Four games are played Saturday, April 3 and championship fever bubbles over at 9 p.m. on Monday, April 5.
That’s right: All “dancers” in the 2021 gig must boogie within the bubble that is Indianapolis. The regions (West, East, South and Midwest) are in name only.
Games are being played on two courts inside Lucas Oil Stadium, as well as Bankers Life Fieldhouse, Butler's iconic Hinkle Fieldhouse, Indiana Farmers Coliseum, Mackey Arena in West Lafayette and Simon Skjodt Assembly Hall in Bloomington.
Teams are practicing at the Indiana Convention Center, with multiple courts set up inside the venue. All entourages are being housed on dedicated hotel floors, with physically distanced meeting and dining rooms, as well as secure transportation to and from competition sites.
The much-anticipated eliminations officially began late this week, which can only mean that by the time you read this, untold sums of hope already have been trashed. So it goes with this bully affectionately dubbed “Bracketology.”
Think of it as the Form 1099-R of every hoop fan’s cosmos.
If you’re one of those prematurely in the dumpster, please don’t lose one tick of sleep over it. This isn’t something worth 86-ing your mental well-being for. There will be other office pools, future schemes to be drawn into, upcoming ruses that will take direct aim on your ego and common cents too.
Sadly, those of us who have fallen victim before may never come to the realization that such things as filling out a bracket or predicting a national champion generally compare to the finest vacuum cleaners currently on the market. They really suck.
Like those grubby bits and pieces of whatever is embedded in the family-room carpet, we, too, will continue to be swept up with the dust mites of lottery-like drama. We’re the suckers not even P.T. Barnum fancied.
As responsible guardians of the sports galaxy, we should know better. We should understand that rarely does the bonafide, most-schooled professor win at Bracketology. Rather, bragging rights always seem to go to someone who fills in the blanks at the last minute, who chooses Final Four qualifiers based on whims such as a team’s fluorescent uniform colors, quirky mascot name, most dapper coach or most famous alum.
Of course, family loyalty comes into play too. Someone had to have picked Eastern Washington over Kansas because “that’s where Uncle Bozo got his degree.”
If, by chance, you have a B.S. from a particular institute of higher partying, you’re allowed to root for that school no matter what the peeps in charge of the seeding process said.
Shucks, we Ohioans have three reps in the running, and there is probably somebody out there lame enough to think Ohio State, Ohio University and Cleveland State all have a chance to magically appear among the semifinalists. Though highly unlikely, it’s truly possible since the Buckeyes, Bobcats and Vikings are in different regions (South, West and Midwest, respectively).
Once overheard at a water cooler was a young woman who said she would cheer for OU no matter what the odds because they have “the most exciting band in the land.” (This reference may have nothing to do with basketball, yet dare I say she spoke the truth?) And they also have a silky-smooth little point guard named Jason Preston.
Another fan of similar gender said she always goes for the teams who have flashy matching sneakers.
And then there was the jerk who said he fills out his brackets by doing exactly the opposite of whatever Dick Vitale says to do.
Invariably, and much to the dismay of ardent aficionados, these are the types of bracketologists who always emerge the winner of the office-pool jackpot. And do they ever offer to share their winner-take-all loot?
No they do not.
They’re human vacuum cleaners.