Eavesdropping On The Madness

I won’t admit this to Izzie or Kino lest they disown me from our trio of sports fanaticism, but sometimes March Madness makes me feel a little like a high-heeled, glitter-wearing chick in a pink hat.

It’s not that I don’t know anything about men’s college hoops because I have my allegiance (UConn) and I do monitor the progress of certain teams throughout the season (okay, after the new year), but I don’t have anything close to the encyclopedic knowledge they do when the third month rolls around. I know the Big East and the ACC, and though I could tick off half a dozen other Division I conferences, I probably couldn’t tell you which teams were where. Of course, I know Mike Krzyzewski has coached Duke since Jesus was a boy, though I had to look up the spelling on Google. Jamie Dixon is at Pitt, Jim Calhoun at UConn, and Matt Dougherty used to lead UNC. I know Roy Hibbert stayed by the Potomac for another year while Jeff Green opted for richer pastures, and Tyler Hansbrough looked better in the face mask. But when Izzie and Kino start riffing on the minutiae of the teams, I just smile, nod, and act like I know exactly what they're talking about.

Of course, they see right through it. They know that with baseball on the horizon, I have room for little else in my mind and heart. But they also know another truth… that I’m a highly competitive person who is bound and determined to win our office pool one way or another. It doesn’t even matter that we’re not playing for dollars, euros, or marbles. A free lunch is good enough for me.

Which leads me to my mission for the day: my bracket.

The pressure.

The stress.

The heartburn... nope, wait... that’s the Easter candy.

Last year I poured over stats and blurbs in The Washington Post and on ESPN.com. I tried to put personal biases aside (UNC) and tried to conjure up any shred of information I might have heard in passing in order to make my decisions. I was the queen of the educated guess, and when that didn’t work, I decided to pick the Catholic schools (except for Notre Dame). Hey, some people go by mascots, others by colors… but it doesn’t hurt to go with God when it comes to things like this. In the end, I came out in the middle of the pack, which wasn’t too shabby, but I still would have loved that lunch.

This year, I’m not quite sure how I’m going to choose my teams. I’ve already inked in Georgetown, UNC, and Duke to win in the first round. I’d love to see the Eagles from my alma mater, American University, be the Mason of 2008, but I think the Vols will be too much for these Patriot Leaguers. UConn and Pitt can advance, but beyond that, I’ve got some serious homework to do because I want that free lunch.

Now if you'll excuse me, I have to go smile, nod, and eavesdrop on Izzie and Kino to find out who they think will go all the way.

Long Live King Hank

Hank Steinbrenner is his father’s son. Though some believe he will rule the Evil Empire differently than his father, there’s no question that his reign will feature the same bombastic gems that made George Steinbrenner the personality that he was (is?).

Following the scuffle between his Yankees and the Devil Rays last week, Steinbrenner the Younger said, “I don’t want these teams in general to forget who subsidizes a lot of them, and it’s the Yankees, the Red Sox, Dodgers, Mets. I would prefer if teams want to target the Yankees that they at least start giving some of that revenue sharing and luxury money back.”

Well, Hank, if every small market team is supposed to roll over and play dead when the mighty Yankees come to town, then what’s the point of playing them? Maybe you could shorten New York’s schedule so that the Yanks face only the Red Sox, Dodgers, and Mets. The boys of summer could be the boys of June, and you could rush right back to your horse farm.

Just because the team is a mega-million dollar business that helps support the baseball infrastructure does not give the Yankees a free pass when facing any team whose combined salaries cost less than a square yard of sod at the new palace of pompousness in the Bronx. These other teams are not children who must bow to the paternalism of the Yankees. These are gritty, hard-nosed players who hold the same bats, wear the same helmets, and sport the same jocks that the Yankees do. To suggest that the Yankees are more important than any other team, and therefore, somehow untouchable, is arrogant and absurd.

People may hate the Yankees, but no one is trying to sweep the leg and no one is saying they are not talented. At the end of the day, everyone knows that playing a high-caliber team only makes opponents step up. Playing hard against the Yankees is a sign of respect for a ball club that has shaped the game for a century. But if the men in pinstripes want to clutch that sense of entitlement and want to believe they should be mollycoddled purely because their payroll is more inflated than a Macy’s Thanksgiving balloon, then go right ahead… but they better not expect to win a World Series that way.