March Madness

For me, March Madness is like the Super Bowl, important more as a signpost pointing to spring than anything else.  In high school, I followed UCLA because of my connection to Lew Alcindor.  Who knew, right?

But Alcindor and I were both taught by the then-Christian Brothers of Ireland, Alcindor at Power Memorial in Manhattan and me at St. Laurence O’Toole in beautiful, muddy unincorporated Stickney, Illinois.  When Brother O’Dwyer, aka The Walking Holiday because he was so old he might die at any moment, wasn’t extolling the career of that good Catholic Johnny Unitas, Brother might tell us a story or two about Alcindor.  The conversion may have caused the holiday.

I also watched some when Ray Meyer had those good DePaul teams in the late ’70s and early ’80s; it was like watching my father on the sidelines.  But now I honestly couldn’t care less.  People will bet an estimated $9.2 billion trying to pick a winner, to which I say, Good luck.  That, and remember money corrupts.  This is why I prefer the pros (with the exception of NCAA D-III, for reasons that should be obvious by now).  It’s all on the up-and-up, except for the PEDs, and they’ve got a handle on that now.  I think.