The Madness is Real!
A 16, a 15, and a 13 walk into a bar. The beer is great, the company is better and the games are on every TV. They are strangers invading this local establishment. But no one pays any attention to them. After all, March Madness has begun. The trio heads to the last empty table deep in the back of the bar. They signal the barkeep for three beers as they settle in.
The first game tips. After a not-so-shining moment of officiating, Maryland takes out West Virginia. Half the bar screams as they see the first game result in their elimination from the dream of the perfect bracket.
As the first game ends, the next game is about five minutes from ending. The 13 sits quietly rooting for his men of Furman. But the 4s of Virginia are holding them off. The 13 has seen enough. He stands and looks over the crowd. He smiles at the 15 and 16. He waves his hands and sits back down. With a lot of gnashing of teeth, Furman drives Virginia and the bar crowd crazy. As the Cavaliers miss their last shot, the 13 crosses his arms as he listens to a third of the bar scream at the TV.
A few smug believers stand and cheer. They had selected Furman. They were now a sold 2-0 to start the Madness of March. They could already smell the first perfect bracket ever. With a few banking on Missouri’s win, they were bolstered more by the great wins of both Kansas and then Alabama. By the time San Diego State held serve against Charleston, the Furman crowd had grown to 6-0 on their way to their perfect bracket victory.
The 16, the 15, and the 13 became bored. They had come to the bar looking for some excitement. The 15 decided to do something about it. Standing he smiled at the crowd. With eight minutes to go and his Princeton mates down by ten, the 15 let out a bit of a chuckle. Very calmly, he waves his arms ever so slightly and sits back down. Within minutes, an invisible shield falls over the Arizona basket. No more shots swish the net. Arizona finishes the last of the game scoreless. As the final buzzer sounds, the bar erupts into a single cringed moan. Arizona’s expected run to ther Elite Eight comes to an end.
However, the 16, the 15 and the 13 notice one person in the middle of the bar. This one lone patron sits with a smile that defines the madness that is a march. Although no one else notices, the trio knows. They know this lone fool had chosen both Furman and Princeton. He has just become one of the few left in the world who still had a chance at the perfect bracket. Smiling he continues to watch the games and nurse another beer. The tro look at each other and give each other a devilish grin. They let the fool have his fun. Finally, as the night comes to a close, the lone survivor sits and stares at the TV. He is now 16-0 – the only perfect bracket in the house.
As is the tradition at this bar, there is no last call. The night does not end. Not wanting to miss any of the action of the first two days, the bar patrons, take turns watching over their tables as others take naps in their cars. No one even pretends to go home. Their jobs, wives, children, and other obligations will have to take care of themselves. The madness is within them, even those who had seen their brackets blow up in this night’s extraordinary fashion. Yet, the madness still holds them. There is always hope that in the end, their brackets will be resurrected like a Phoneix. They will rule supreme. It is after all the major symptom of the madness.
As the next day arrives, the lone survivor feels a hope he has never felt in his life. Knocking back his first, second, and third beers of the day, his confidence grows. His heart nearly explodes when Pitt beat Iowa State in a convincing fashion. With an inner confidence that the rest of his picks are shoe-ins, the survivor brain swells. His madness was now complete. At 24-0, he is confident he is truly the best of the best. He would surely get to claim the perfect bracket prize. Even with Fairleigh Dickinson up at the half, he knows he has it in the bag.
With about twelve minutes left to go in that game, the trio is finally ready to unleash its greatest feat of mischief. The 16 stands. He starts to smile at his friends but instead he just jumps up on the table. With a flash that is ignored by the drunkards in the bar, the 16 twirls on one foot while waving a wand with all his might. Falling from the table back into his seat, the 16 looks over the bar. His antics are ignored as the bar has settled into the expectation of a less volatile day of hoops. He looks at the 15 and the 13. He gives them a knowing smile and then waves his wand one more time.
With a shock, the bar crowd suddenly realizes that Purdue might not be able to come back and roll over the FDU Knights’ much smaller players. In fact, the Knights take over the game. With the peskiness of a bunch of gnats, the Knight’s slay the Boilermakers.
The last lone perfect bracket holdout sits in stunned silence. It wasn’t supposed to end this soon. He mutters to himself. This could not be happening to him.
The 16, the 15, and the 13 stand and head out of the bar. As they walk by the ex- survivor’s table, the 16 He pulls out a handkerchief. He knowingly throws it on the table. The holdout looks up at him and stares as the 16, the 15 and the 13 walk out of the bar.
A 16, a 15, and a 13 walk out into the night. They smile and wave at each other as imps do after completing a night of mischief. The 13 points at his watch. The 15 and 16 nod. They will be back in the morning. The next beer and tip are set for around noon. They each whistle as they part ways. Even if they can’t pull off any more mischief, they have done their duty. They have blown up every perfect bracket in record time. Ah, the Madness that is March.
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