March Madness: Go with your gut

Ah, March. Time to drink beer until you turn the color of a shamrock. Time to fear the weather forecast and wonder what kind of lion is hiding under the springtime-sheep's clothing. And most of all it's time for many of us to take our yearly taste of humble pie.

I'm talking of course about basketball, and the pie is served piping hot to those who fill out NCAA tournament brackets and enter pools.

Why do we do it?

For starters, the pull is irresistible. We know we'll lose, we know it's the one sure-fire way to ruin the best sporting event of the year, but then something whispers "I like the University of Albany as a sleeper," and it's all over. We can't resist.

Now before anyone starts looking up the RICO statute, let's make clear what we're talking about here. I assume we're talking about the type of good, wholesome NCAA pools held only for the love of good, wholesome competition.

Wink wink, nudge nudge.

I wouldn't hear of money changing hands over amateur athletics. No sir. I know enough to realize that gambling is the sole and private hunting ground of the Missouri's state government. Trespassers will be shot on sight.

As long as that's clear, here's the problem with these pools: There are two ways to fill them out, and neither one is satisfying.

Way 1: You pick the teams you want to win and watch them fall by the wayside one by one.

Way 2: You pick the teams you think will win and grudgingly root for the favorites.

The first is a guaranteed way to throw away your -- ahem -- money. But the second violates the code of March Madness.

It's a lose-lose situation.

And yes, March Madness does have a code. It consists of one and only one commandment: Thou shalt root for the underdog.

That means when in doubt always root for Cinderella's foot to fit into that glass slipper. It means you must cheer as the kids who worked the McDonald's cash registers take the McDonald's All-Americans to the wire. It means you must fight back tears as CBS plays the sappy song "One Shining Moment" after the championship game.

So as a lifelong sap, I can't help but follow my heart every time I fill out my bracket. This generally involves picking area teams.

Things should have been simple this year with -- to no one's surprise -- zero teams representing Missouri in the men's tournament. But instead of giving up my rooting interest, I decided to widen my net. I went with all the teams from the heartland.

I picked the Illini to make a run to the Sweet Sixteen, I picked the Salukis to pull off two major upsets, I picked Kansas to make it all the way to the finals, and in my super-secret dark horse pick, I selected Northern Iowa to upset Ohio State in the second round.

"You're crazy," you say.

"Those are terrible picks," you guffaw.

To that I can only ask, "Where were you when I was filling out my bracket?"

I guess I don't really need to reveal the ending. It should be pretty clear to anyone who has been watching the tournament. My bracket is busted. I receive a constant stream of taunting e-mails from friends and family. People in my pool who based their picks on mascot likeability are handily beating me.

But at least now I'm free to watch the games with a clear conscience. I root for the teams I like instead of the teams I picked. What a novel concept.

TJ Greaney is a reporter for the Southeast Missourian.