March madness has now become April agony and I’d foul out if I could.
When the brackets for the basketball tournament are printed and he begins to fill them out, I mentally prepare myself for weeks of life that will revolve around who plays when. From altering dinnertime schedules to trying to start a conversation about anything other than basketball, they weren’t kidding when they named it March madness.
I try to convince myself it only happens once a year so I can muster up some enthusiasm about teams I know nothing about. It worked for a couple days and then I started shooting fouls that, in all rights, should have got me kicked out of the game. No such luck but at least this weekend there are only two games I’ll have to pretend to watch, complete with narration from my very own sports fanatic a.k.a announcer.
Even if I try to busy myself with something else, the new-fangled TV can pause on a dime or replay so I’m always kept up-to-speed on who’s losing or winning. I don’t have the heart to tell him I really don’t care as he’s so excited this time of year about the orange bouncing ball it just doesn’t seem right to even call a time-out.
The first weekend of the tournament games were on all day and night and after getting frustrated that he’d miss something important when switching between the channels he resorted to having two TV’s, in two different rooms playing the games while watching another one on his fancy-dancy iphone. Now I’m worried, before the madness begins again next year, two of the decorative windows in the front room will be replaced with flatscreen TV’s.
I think he believes the players can actually hear him, coaching from the comfort of his couch. I have never in my life yelled at the TV because Rachel Ray forgot to tell us about the special ingredient or Martha Stewart burned herself with the glue gun. I could, on occasion, clap for a Chiefs touchdown but he takes cheering to a whole new level. The dogs even get freaked out and think he’s gone crazy when he jumps up suddenly and starts fist pumping at the TV.
When MU, his favorite team, was knocked out of the tournament on the first go around, you can only imagine what the scene looked like while we watched KU lose. I thought this intense rivalry between the states ended with the Civil War. This passion is so intense, it’s been passed down to his son and apparently, now even his 3-year-old grandson.
The boy, while eating lunch at a local fast food restaurant with his mom, declared his opinion about the Jayhawks when an older gentleman sat near them sporting a KU shirt.
Page 2 of 2 - “That’s gross,” he said, pointing at the man. You can imagine his mother’s embarrassment as she reminded the boy this was not polite. “But KU people smell like poop,” he said. Needless to say she wrapped up lunch and headed for the door.
Definitely a personal foul on the boy who had to serve a time-out although he’s not to blame. Kids will say the darndest things they overhear grownups say. Now grandpas’ in a time out too.
Sandy Turner lives in Independence. Email her at firstname.lastname@example.org