Case No.: 64064.
Admit date: March 21, 2003.
Release date: No earlier than April 8, 2003.
Overseeing physician: Dr. Nantz.
Diagnosis: Mr. Hockaday appears to be suffering from an acute case of dementia marchus, more commonly referred to as “March Madness.” Symptoms include frequent heart attacks, nightmares of large machines with 64 metal prongs and hoarseness of voice from frequent yelling.
This case, as with many others of its kind, can be traced back to the abuse the patient has suffered for many years. It seems that the patient has been following college basketball since he could say “Gonzaga,” and even passes himself off as an “expert” scribe for much of the year. However — and this came out only after hours of interviews and much soul-searching — he has never won an office pool. Shoot, he’s never even come close! Sorry, I just think it’s funny. He knows everything about the matchups; he knows who’s got the senior leadership, who’s hot going into the tournament, who’s got a coach that can take you far. Hell, he even knows which teams have the best waterboys! But he loses these pools every year. Every year! Oh, that’s a stitch.
Anyway, back to the subject at hand. The patient’s abuse is consistently worsened by the type of people who actually win the pools every year. You know the type. Usually a pool-member’s girlfriend. Picks Creighton and Dayton to meet in the final because it just has a wonderful cadence. Liked Maryland last year because a Terrapin is a turtle and turtles are just so cute and I had a turtle once and it was the best pet I ever had and so Maryland will beat, oh, I don’t know, Indiana in the final. I like Indiana because they don’t have names on their uniforms and that’s just such an endearing thing in this world where athletes are just so mean to each other.
The patient finds that his condition is worsened further when the tournament actually starts. Seeing his bracket crumble like the Roman Empire in front of him, the patient is also torn when the games provide more heart-pounding moments than “The Ring.” For example, last year the patient picked a veteran-laden USC team to make it to the Elite Eight. A fair enough assumption, considering SC had Sam Clancy, who was as automatic as a Ford Explorer, and an easy draw. But no, here comes lowly UNC-Wilmington. Here comes overtime as the West Coast crowd goes bonkers. Here comes the pounding heart, and the patient actually finds himself secretly rooting for UNC-Wilmington. This will kill his bracket.
These contradictions have driven the patient to near madness. He’s tried everything. He tried flip-flopping every pick. He tried all No. 2 seeds in the Final Four. He tried letting ESPN’s pundits fill out his bracket. But none of it’s worked.
Of course, the patient loves the pain. Don’t they all? He longs to hear CBS’ theme song, pines for “one shining moment.” The darkest days of his life come in February, and not just because he’s girl-less. They are the days of famine in between football and madness. He wakes up in the middle of the night screaming “Austin Peay! Austin Peay!” People stare as he mumbles in class about RPI and bubble teams and bracketology.
There is, it seems, little hope to stop him from spiraling out of control. However…
Recommended treatment: We advise the patient spend as much of the next three weeks as possible watching CBS, drinking steins of Budweiser and eating bags of chips.
That is, of course, the only known cure for March Madness.