It’s March. That means a lot of things. Silly St Patty’s Day Parties*. Pie day and the Ides get celebrated by nerdy niche groups. Spring arrives, and sometimes winter lingers. Plus, I always turn a year older. Lot’s of fun things. But, without fail, this fun-filled month always seems to be claimed by one all-consuming activity. Basketball. March Madness.
Now, brace yourself. I am about to break all the forwardfeministthinking-girlscandowhateverboysdo-sociallyagreedupon-rules. I really don’t care about basketball. At all. Yep. I have not watched one moment of college basketball in years. I have not filled out a bracket, even just based on uniform colors and mascots. I do not care who wins or who loses or really who is playing at all.
But basketball has never been my thing. There must be another sport I obsess over. There would have to be, right? I mean, sports act as that one universal topic anyone can get excited about. Sports give us something to talk about. Something to rally behind. Something to be invested in.
Two years ago, I found football. Every Sunday from August to January, I planned around the game. Bloody Mary’s, Coors Light, nachos, Bears, and a whole lot of Chicago people. What’s not to love?
I was living in LA. The weather is great and the celebrity sightings much more frequent, but it is a city of transplants. Everyone far from home. Everyone fighting to find niche in a new place. Except for Sundays. There were grouped tables for Philly. Baltimore. Texas. Once a week, we were all able to pretend we were back home. Anyone wearing a Chicago Bears jersey was my friend, my neighbor, my teammate. It was fun.
Sports ask us to form alliances. I am a Bears fan because I’m from Chicago. I am a Cubs fan because my dad was a Cubs fan. And my grandpa. And all my cousins (well, except for the one black-sheep who dares to like the White Sox, but we don’t count him as family during baseball season.) Sports help us form communities.
My sister is dating a sports fanatic. He loves it all. College sports, professional sports, he’d probably follow the pee-wee league if it was televised. It’s been funny watching Sis grow into a sports lover too. At first, it was obvious she was just being a good girl-friend, compromising every weekend in the hopes of earning some shopping or museum time later on. But then, she started referring to specific teams scheduled to play. Began knowing the players and why they were good/bad/injured. She could make educated assumptions on her playoff brackets. And she was right. A lot. Maybe she’d still rather go to an art exhibit, but sports were no longer a bargaining chip. Sports became something they both loved to share.
Maybe that explains my detachment. The man in my life cares less about sports than I do. Could the hype about sports simply be the sharing of the hype? Celebrating a win. Angry about a loss. Gloating about a more accurate bracket. Maybe it’s because I didn’t play sports growing up. I was that theatre kid who actually did get excited about knowing the Ideas of March remembered Shakespear’s portrayal of Julius Caesar’s death and always fell on the 15th. Maybe that’s why I can’t get excited about watching little men run around on TV. Maybe it’s because sports don’t actually matter in the grand scheme of life.
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Okay, okay. I take that last one back.
Maybe the game itself doesn’t matter, but watching the game does. The ecstasy of a really close came. The long shot under-dog who wins the series. The friends and family that find common ground. Spots are emotional. Sports are human. So, even though I have no idea who’s making it to the Final Four, even if I do happen to know pi to the 3.141592, even if I still don’t get the excitement of basketball, I do understand the fans. And I do love the excitement it adds to March.
*St. Patty’s day is huge in Chicago. The river is dyed green, people flood the streets by the millions, and there is an abundance of green beer. I figured it was a spring holiday celebration everywhere. Found out this year, it’s not even a celebration every where in the states. Boston, yes. College towns, yes. But Chicagoans take it to a new level. Most Belgians don’t even know when St. Patty’s Day is. You know what Chicago, I missed you this year!
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