Every year around the spring vernal equinox, a severe affliction of "bracketitis" attacks the majority of the United States population of males under the age of 45. It is as predictable as the sun rising in the east, as debilitating as a rampant virus and nearly as contagious.
From all walks of life, the 'madness' infects and spreads. It sparks conversation, debate, it lightens bank accounts in an effort to stop it, it frays the threads of even the strongest relationships, and, worst of all, it can make grown men weep with joy or cry with despair.
Flood, famine, earthquake and other natural disasters have failed to slow down this national epidemic. We are at its mercy, trying to seal ourselves off from its long reaching tentacles by moving to a new city, avoiding friends already infected, living on a boat in the south pacific, but it finds us, grips us and turns even the strongest into slothful agents of the disease.
Those succumbing to the 'madness' receive little to no support from their spouses, coworkers and family, preferring to let the sickness run its course and leaving them in the company of similarly weakened. They become patients in the asylum, all tuned to the same station mounted on the wall, watching with glazed eyes, having their doctors check their pulses every third hour, and becoming more connected and ever more infectious the longer the illness runs its course.
It starts benignly enough with idle chatter on the phone, a text or two, some emails between past survivors, and then, like a swarm of locusts across a fertile field in Iowa, spreads far and wide, reaching the outposts of Alaska, Oregon, and Colorado and Florida in a desperate attempt to feed the frenzy and infect as many people as possible before the start of the 'madness'.
Mean Green, Racermania, Catamounts, Mountain Hawks, Orange, Blue Devils and Runnin' Rebels are all pet names for the regional strain of the infection but the mother is simply referred to as "MADNESS". The funny thing about this strain of virus is that it is contained within a three week period of the year, a three week stretch of time that, if eliminated, would save multitudes from this debilitating illness and strengthen the fibers of society.
If you know someone who suffers from this disease it is best to avoid immediate contact, especially after initial diagnosis as the patient is unable to think or talk about anything other than the confusing 'bracket'. The patient is at a highly contagious state at this moment, which generally lasts for three days, and then the infection rate is much lower due to the finality of the disease. The 'bracket' is a talisman to the ill, studying it, hovering over it, debating it, cursing it, altering it, and then, finally crumpling it in disgust as their stomachs become 'upset', and a new bout of illness takes over.
Right now, in the midst of the first and second rounds of the 'madness', the disease reaches its zenith, as those afflicted terribly over the first week have either subsided into a tolerable state, having thrown their 'bracket' into the trash and have fought the virus tooth and nail. And then there are those still infected, still yabbering nonsense about a twelve over a five, and a thirteen over a four. Numbers which mean nothing to the layman, but everything to a man in the throes of the 'madness'. Money is now laid waste too, as twenty dollar bills fight for air space with the benjamins of the big spenders seeking redemption from the early rounds of losing. We are all at its mercy.
Be strong boys, be strong, and we will survive....though Kansas won't and neither will Duke after today. :)
