The madness that is March

March seems to be the month for all kinds of craziness. For instance, look at what Congress is doing. And then there is the NCAA and what it is doing.

To tell the truth, March Madness is a phenomenon that I totally understand and am involved in, at least from a local, as in Utah, perspective. I am as mad as the rest of them. But, you can only blame part of mankind’s erratic early spring behavior on basketball. The March-hare metaphor was in use long before the game of basketball was invented.

Some of the madness of March is due to anxiety over the fact that tax time is just around the corner; and if you put off filing until basketball is over, it will be too late. Then there is the return to daylight savings time which makes everyone all the more cranky, The other factor contributing to the madness is that we are only barely coming out on the other end of a long winter, which, by the way, would be intolerable without basketball.

The most popular winter sports, I once read, are ice skating, skiing, and jumping up and yelling, "That was a foul, you idiot." I participate in only one of them.
Well, I used to actually play basketball, and I raised four boys and three girls who all played basketball at one level or another, from church ball to high school state championship. It was bound to happen. Between cold weather and basketball exposure (pun), it was a given that I would sit in front of the TV under a comforter and watch the games.

Just in case you are interested, basketball is the only non-contact sport where the injured list is longer than the bench. Broken noses, permanent shin splints, sprained ankles, and bruised egos are among the injuries we have worked through or lived with in our family.

A backyard or a basketball court full of snow didn’t stop them from “practicing” their sports. My kids have tried to set up an indoor version of every ball game invented. They have erected goal posts using wrapping paper rolls, tape and string. They have set up basketball hoops under the open stairs—both fixed and breakaway kinds. They have strung volleyball nets from the bunk beds, and they have mounted the water balloon launcher on the handrail. They should have been so imaginative with math or English or anything cerebral.

They always started out playing a mild version of every game. Nerf balls or rolled-up socks were- allowable, barely, but escalation of the game was as natural as playing it. The football passes started out as mere pitches but soon turned into long bombs. The fingertip sets soon became vicious spikes. The slam dunks got harder and the basket got higher.

I invariably became one of those “idiots” who can’t see fouls, and I always had to throw everyone out of the game or at least bench them until the end of March. They always tried to get me to reverse my calls too.

So back to the current March--I may have to go into coaching now that I don’t have to referee so much anymore. I have paid enough attention to know that the top talking point in any discussion about the Jazz is whether they can win on the road. Every coach and sports commentator has posed the question. Some of them have answers. Most of them just talk around in a circle and come right back to square one (I’m practicing being a sports commentator, too):

Q: Are the Jazz going to find a way to win on the road?
Well, I have thought it over at some length myself, and I have it…

A: In order to make on-the-road feel like home, they need to bring their own basketballs, their own ball boys, their own sweat towels, and their own “idiots.”