I go along for the ride of March Madness simply because, as George Costanza said, "it's there." I fill out a bracket every year. I cough up that $20 and I enter the Madness. I watch the games, bite my nails in the triple OTs, complain that Dickie V sounds like a cross between Kermit the Frog and Sloth from the Goonies, and whine that some kid who knows nothing about college basketball is winning my pool.
But I don't really feel invested. I don't feel the ecstasy and the hurt that I crave. I know many people might react like I just relieved myself on their favorite stuffed animal, but I don't truly care about the tourney. To me, it's just a way to pass the time until the weather is warm enough for baseball.
Trust me, I've tried getting into it. First I thought my disinterest was just due to my lack of knowledge about the college game. So I started to do some research. I read the columns, paid attention during the college hoops sections of SportsCenter and even watched a couple episodes of College GameDay - oh, Digger Phelps. But I still watched the games from afar, like that parent at Little League who brings a date to his son's game.
I even tried adopting a team. Being from New York City and having driven through Connecticut on several occasions, I felt it was only natural for UConn to be my college basketball team. But unsurprisingly, that turned out feeling totally unnatural.
I never had to push myself to care about a sport before; in fact, it was usually just the opposite. I felt like I was trying to force myself to like a girl that I just wasn't that into. She was cute, nice and fun, and I knew other guys would think I was crazy to turn her down, but it isn't meant to be if you have to convince yourself to like her. Right?
The problem was that I didn't find myself experiencing the peaks and valleys that I go through when I watch sports that I truly care about. See, I've recently realized that my love for a sport is directly proportional to how much of the anxious Jew inside me comes out during games.
When Tom Brady got the ball back with three timeouts and 29 seconds left against the Giants in the Super Bowl, I turned to my friend and told him, in complete seriousness, that I thought I was going to be sick. I actually had to step out of the bar to get some air. And that, sadly enough, is how I know I am totally in love with football.
But yesterday, I walked out of my dorm with no jacket for the first time in six months and I immediately forgot about March Madness. I breathed in the mild temperatures and I immediately started craving baseball. I started craving John Sterling's voice, the crack of the bat, Peter Gammons' saintly wisdom and overpriced hot dogs. I'm just a couple days away from my team's Opening Day and I feel like a kid watching a cheap piñata get the crap beat out of it while standing on the sidelines. I'm dying here.
I realize this is the least sport-loving sports article ever, but I write it out of frustration. If I went to Kansas, North Carolina, UCLA or even San Diego State, I would be going absolutely nuts. I would be painting my chest and glued to ESPN all day. But I go to Tufts. I want to like college basketball, but I'm sorry NCAA hoops, I don't think this is working out. Just know, it's not you - it's me.
Gideon Jacobs is a freshman who has not yet declared a major. He can be reached at Gideon.Jacobs@tufts.edu.
