the jock inside

we've all head of people with drinking problems, gambling problems, drug problems... people who are addicted to shopping, addicted to sex, addicted to chocolate.
i think i'm addicted to basketball.
let me clarify. i'm addicted to march madness.
i can't stop.
for 4 days i've walked around with my bracket in my purse- it's getting rattier by the minute, now all market up with the corrections i've made- who would have known that blindly guessing was a bad way to predict the tourny?
granted i made a few exceptions to the chaos by going for schools that have funny sounding names or that are vaguely close to my heart for historical reasons, but really i just guessed.
the guy at work who's running the pool told me that my bracket was "adorable."
maybe college basketball just enables my sitting around bars drinking beer and getting rowdy (and perhaps i also have a drinking problem), and maybe it engratiates me to my brother (blog to come about how i and all my highschool freinds were plagued by younger, more attractive, better-adjusted siblings)... but there's something about the thrill of it all, especially in those final minutes of the game that leaves me hungry for more...

as a sad postscript, i'll tell you about my discovery at the bucks game that feminists have a long way to go. during half-time they brought out a bunch of middle school basketball teams (boy teams and girl teams) for some kind of race to make baskets from the free-throw line. we were sitting in front of a row of obnoxious 10-year old boys and one of them kindly alerted his friends to his astonishing discovery- "LOOK! they're letting the cheerleaders play!"