Serious March Madness
Texas Tech took down Gonzaga today in the tournament. People ask me why I don't bet anything on baseball, and I tell them because I'm already too involved in watching the sport to take on any more of an interest. I'll spontaneously combust if I have money riding on any games, in addition to my life's general happiness. This is what March Madness does to you, though. See, I don't even care about Gonzaga until this one weekend, and then suddenly, if they lose, I feel like my world is a little darker.../poorer. Texas Tech. Good god. Kansas is done. I already wrote about UVM sending Syracuse... 15 minutes down the road? (The tournament was held at Syracuse). It's supposed to be a fun weekend. Take a good look, because this is exactly how gambling can ruin a person. Gambling can make an entirely good thing - like a weekend full of fun college basketball games - and turn it into a stress-inducing experience.
I can only say that I finally understand why it's called March Madness. You go insane. It is entirely credible that you have a horrible weekend because your brackets are completely busted. Take me, for example. Friday afternoon, I was full of hope with a solid bracket in hand. I had a legitimate chance of winning a ... lot of money. Six hours later, I'm done. It's almost like bipolar manic-depression. You know what the worst part might be? You start to not care as much about your team winning. When UConn barely won last night, I freaked out a little. And not just because I didn't want their season to end. It was also because I had them winning the whole thing, and I need them to at least hang on to the Final Four for any shot of winning. Little did I know that twenty hours later, it wouldn't even matter, because of stupid stupid Gonzaga. What a stupid name. I should know better. From now on, I'm filling out these brackets like normal girls: which names sound cute, which players are hot, and which teams have good mascots. Gonzaga wouldn't stand a chance.
This is it, though, this is why I don't bet on baseball. Last October, I just didn't want the Red Sox season to end. That was enough for me to be certifiably insane. I didn't need the extra stress of having actual money on anything. My life was practically on the line. Then again, the way my stress level has been increasing exponentionally with each upset (which, let's face it, would be enjoyable if I didn't have any cash on anything - another lesson learned), I could easily explode if Oklahoma State has a bad game.
I can't believe this. Day two into the tournament, and my elite eight is shot. My final four is down to only a final three. The scorers of the brackets must be laughing their asses off, thinking how happy they are that they have my... entry fee. Perhaps the saddest part of this is that somebody could see me muttering to myself about this stuff and send me away to some sanitorium, and nobody would question it. March Madness. It's not just a basketball tournament. It's a disease. I swear, I'm catatonic.
I can only say that I finally understand why it's called March Madness. You go insane. It is entirely credible that you have a horrible weekend because your brackets are completely busted. Take me, for example. Friday afternoon, I was full of hope with a solid bracket in hand. I had a legitimate chance of winning a ... lot of money. Six hours later, I'm done. It's almost like bipolar manic-depression. You know what the worst part might be? You start to not care as much about your team winning. When UConn barely won last night, I freaked out a little. And not just because I didn't want their season to end. It was also because I had them winning the whole thing, and I need them to at least hang on to the Final Four for any shot of winning. Little did I know that twenty hours later, it wouldn't even matter, because of stupid stupid Gonzaga. What a stupid name. I should know better. From now on, I'm filling out these brackets like normal girls: which names sound cute, which players are hot, and which teams have good mascots. Gonzaga wouldn't stand a chance.
This is it, though, this is why I don't bet on baseball. Last October, I just didn't want the Red Sox season to end. That was enough for me to be certifiably insane. I didn't need the extra stress of having actual money on anything. My life was practically on the line. Then again, the way my stress level has been increasing exponentionally with each upset (which, let's face it, would be enjoyable if I didn't have any cash on anything - another lesson learned), I could easily explode if Oklahoma State has a bad game.
I can't believe this. Day two into the tournament, and my elite eight is shot. My final four is down to only a final three. The scorers of the brackets must be laughing their asses off, thinking how happy they are that they have my... entry fee. Perhaps the saddest part of this is that somebody could see me muttering to myself about this stuff and send me away to some sanitorium, and nobody would question it. March Madness. It's not just a basketball tournament. It's a disease. I swear, I'm catatonic.
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