February Fanaticism

You've heard of March Madness.

I have February Fanaticism.

March Madness, of course, refers to the NCAA Division I basketball tournament. But the craziness starts in February for me.

I really dig on high school basketball. GOOD high school basketball.

The district tournaments are in the last week of February, and for the past few years some of the schools with which we are most closely connected have gone far in the post-season, including 4 state championships and a 2nd place.

But I go just for the action. I'll usually try to find a buddy to go with me. Sometimes it's a guy from work, sometimes it has been one of my kids. Sometimes I go solo.

I usually try to sit near the scorers' table, and close enough to the bench of the team for which I'm rooting that I can hear the coach's fits and rants and time-out speeches to his team.

Tonight I was at a game where the coach got so upset at a player for doing a hot-dog move that he literally pulled another kid off the bench by the collar of his jersey and walked him over to the scorer's table to replace the hot dog.

It's like watching a boxing match without people getting injured...much.

These are teenagers running and jumping at what will probably be the peak speed and quickness of their lives, playing in games that they will talk about to their grandchildren.

The passion shows in everything they do on the court, whether it's taking a charge, sliding on the floor for a loose ball like they're ducking under shrapnel, or running two rows deep into the bleachers after getting fouled on a layup. It is very juicy theater.

I typically try to get involved just enough to feel like I had some small impact on the game. Typically it involves yelling at the referee, although tonight I was sitting close enough to the court that I even got to grab the basketball after it bounced out of bounds.

I don't try to offer specific advice to players. You know, nothing like, "Go man to man!" My player encouragement is typically, "Play smart." "Be cool." Stuff that I would tell teenagers in just about any situation, including going on a date.

Not that any of the players ever hear me.

Although daughter Miriam, who got to suit up for last night's varsity victory in the district semifinals, told me she heard one thing that I yelled at the refs.

There's a fine art to yelling at the refs. 1) It should always be instructive, 2) a little irony goes a long way, 3) inject the yell during a lull in the crowd noise.

This is guaranteed to make me look like an idiot/louse/jerk, but it adds to my enjoyment of the game.

I've been to three games so far this week.

One more tomorrow, and one more on Friday.

Pray for me. I am a fanatic.

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"Play smart!!!"