Once The Bracket Dream Dies

By Eric Durkin
Love of Sports Correspondent

The language would have made a sailor blush. 

An expletive laced tirade in the middle of a packed restaurant. My buddy Charlie had just watched his sleeper, UConn, fall to 13th seeded San Diego.

Knowing that winning our pool is nearly impossible when one of your Final Four teams goes down in the first round, he admitted defeat, crumpled up his bracket and threw it on the table. He then sat back down at the table, not even phased by the parents of the families surrounding us shooting laser beams at him with their eyes.

The look of dejection on his face was almost pitiful. He looked as if he’d just lost a friend. We’ve all been there. Every year you think to yourself “this is going to be the year.” Within two days of the start of the tourney, Charlie’s dream had died again.

To be totally honest, I hate basketball. Coming from the state of hockey, I’ve always believed basketball was reserved for those not coordinated enough to skate. But I was able to sympathize with Charlie. Even when you’re making picks you know probably won’t come through, it hurts all the same.

The art of picking brackets is something people take great pride in. Men and women across America pour over every bit of insider information made available, trying to find that one team that’ll reward them with bragging rights and, in most cases, a monetary prize. The size of the reward rarely matters, of course. The chance to take money from friends and strangers alike is more than enough to drive millions into the throws of March Madness.

I’ve found people tend to get way too clever when it comes to picking their teams. They’ll argue this is done to avoid having a bracket like everyone else. I’ll gladly be seen as someone who takes few risks if it means I have a better chance at winning in the end.

Maybe I’m a little cynical when it comes to this, because, in the end, I can hang my hat on the fact I’ve watched about two seconds of hoops this year. However, I get mad just like everyone else when my picks don’t come through.

Of course, not all strategies include careful deliberation. My sister admittedly picks her bracket based on team names and location. Naturally, as our pool stands now, I’m looking up to her in the standings. I guess I should clarify that I’m hardly one of the people waiting to see what team Digger Phelps (with his matching tie and marker) favors in the field. Instead I try to use the logic system.

Teams like UNC, UCLA and Memphis have been at the top of the NCAA rankings all year because, well, they’re really good at what they do. I’ve always found that good teams win the tournament. This really isn’t rocket science.

In the end, Charlie was able to calm himself by using the crumpled backside of his now busted bracket to figure out which friends would play what positions when softball starts again. I was relieved to see he was able to relax.

After all, the brackets are all for fun, and it makes the tourney more entertaining to watch. Of course, that’s easy for me to say; my bracket is still alive.

Sorry, Charlie.