Mad's Marchness.

At last, at last, it's March Mayhem time again! Which brings me to a very important question: What in the name of Dick Vitale are you doing reading my blog right now, when you should be over here watching the snazzy little scoreboard update itself every 2.3 seconds or so. I shouldn't even be here myself right now, because for the past 11 months I have been the proud owner of an almost-courtside seat to the first two rounds of the tournament, now underway over at the Pepsi Center. But I've got all this pesky work to do (and I spontaneously decided to go play in Crested Butte this weekend) so I sold off my tickets for most of the games to the highest bidder (actually, I just sold them to the billing manager and one of the secretaries for face value, but "highest bidder" sounded cooler). I will bear witness this evening, however, when Princeton hopefully beats the hide off the Longhorns and Air Force dive bombs UNC (or, beats the tar out of the Heels, whichever sportswriterism you prefer). I'm so excited!

So far, my brackets are holding up, despite heart-thumping scares from Wake Forest, Maryland, and Syracuse. And my Cardinal is making short work of UT-San Antonio (school motto: All you have to do to graduate is remember the Alamo!) even as I write. I'll be holding a grudge against Florida for years to come, however. I'm kicking myself for not following my gut-level antipathy towards all things SEC and picking the damn Gators to exit early.

As is my habit, I have two brackets in this year's office pool. The first reflects my earnest dream of a Tournament in which all that is good and right reaps its just reward (in other words, Stanford wins). The other represents the Bizarro Big Dance Universe in which all four #1 seeds fall by the Round of Eight and UConn (why? Because my daddy went there) beats Pitt for the NCAA crown.

Steve and I have also formed a Tourney Pool of Two, which our relationship hopefully will survive. As the rules stand now (under a point system arbitrarily devised by Mr. Badger Fan himself), the loser will have to cook the winner a gourmet dinner, complete with wine and dessert. I've added to these stakes the requirement that the loser pony up a full-body massage for the winner's enjoyment. Further side bets may be added upon the agreement of all participants, but probably will not be suitable for sharing with the blogging public.

Let the Madness continue. Oh, baby!