March Madness will conclude this weekend, so different this year since my team didn’t make it to the Final Four. And yes, this is a picture from my seat last year, when the stars aligned and MY team made it to a Final Four played in MY town. If you wonder who “my team” is, when you read Daughter of the South Wind, you’ll know within the first few pages. (Hint: they're not playing in the picture which shows the first semifinal game.)
But I digress, so back to The Dance. Like always, once my broken bracket gets tossed into the garbage, I’ll go through withdrawal. My 5-month basketball addiction will have no outlet. The same thing happens in July, that glorious month of the Tour de France: days of live feeds followed by primetime recaps; inspired bike rides sprinkled with my own sprint attempts. The euphoria disappears on a final fade out of the yellow shrouded Arc de Triumph.
In both cases, the next day I wander around the house, listless, feeling I should be looking forward to something. But nothing interests me. And my Twitter feed falls silent. Sports no longer rule my TV screen.
Yes, April signals the start of baseball, but unless you can regularly go to MLB games, TV just doesn’t do it justice. Other college sports also finalize their seasons, yet wrestling, lacrosse, and field hockey aren’t the same. I miss the squeaky shoes, the shrill whistles, the timer horns. My heartbeat doesn’t accelerate with the increasing decibels of cheering fans. Hours of my days suddenly free up, and I have to—gasp—work?
But soon the NBA draft will happen, and the college letters of intent will get signed, and the boards will fill up with comments about the promise of next years’ squad. It’s only the few weeks of in-between that I need to shake off.
I can’t wait for October!