I don't know the best way to transition. I know the last few days have been a whirlwind. I know that no one uses the term whirlwind in anything other than a metaphorical context. I know that I've pretty much lost the capacity for emotional expression at the moment. So I'm just going to stick with what I know.
I know March Madness.
Now, don't get that statement confused with the notion that I know what I'm doing when it comes to selecting the outcomes of the labyrinthine luckfest that is the NCAA tournament brackets. I don't think anybody really knows what they're doing.
What I know is that I love predicting things. I love the short lived feeling that my gut has some ethereal connection to the goings on of the future. And I love the fact that the NCAA tournament produces 63 (64 if you count the silly play-in game) opportunities to put my prognosticatory abilities to the test. I also love the fact that people with no interest whatsoever in sports will agree to fill out brackets for the chance to make sports gurus look like imbeciles. I love the tracking. The checking. The crossing out. The green winning names and the red strikethrough disappointment that decorate my online brackets as the tourney progresses.
These are the familiar things that make the end of March so beautiful. Some may credit the beginning of spring with the upswing in people's attitudes, but I know better. March Madness makes the world happy. And then, as is the custom of the sporting world, the NCAA Championship Game is held on opening day of the baseball season, completing a segue of ecstasy rivaled only by the 1-2-3 punch delivered by movie previews, dancing cartoon movie snack food, and the feature presentation.
There's a feeling in the air . . . it is the beginning of all that is beautiful. The month of March officially begins on Thursday. And I'm twitterpated.
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