I’m begging your pardon in allowing me to get one last word in about college basketball before going back to ridiculing campaign ads or turning some random observation into 700 words that might say something important but are just as likely to be the equivalent of mumbling at a hurricane.
Around this time last year, I declared that I was never watching college basketball again. I followed that up by saying I would almost certainly break that promise.
When I made this fingers-crossed vow, my alma mater, Purdue University, had recently become only the second No. 1 seed in the history of men’s college basketball to lose to a 16 seed in the NCAA Tournament since its initial expansion to 64 teams in 1985.
For deep-seated reasons that I explained last year and don’t want to rehash, things were bleak in the following days. I was concluding phone conversations and everyday exchanges at cash registers and restaurants with the words “I’ll see you in hell” or vague threats of burning whatever building I was in to the ground. Sometimes both.
“Thank you, the food was delicious. The service was excellent. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to burn this place to the ground, and I’ll see you in hell.”
That was at the DMV, which, as it turns out, was a blessing, because it was far from the worst or weirdest thing they’d seen that day. They were thrilled by the mere fact I was wearing pants.
Oh, and before March Madness got underway this year, I texted the following to my wife (this is 100% true and verbatim):
“If I say I’m watching a single second of the tournament you need to talk me out of it.”
Of course, I ended up watching every game, and Purdue made it to the Final Four for the first time since 1980, when I was 3 years old, on the verge of turning 4, and living in Fort Polk, Louisiana. (Funnily enough, my only sports memory from that time is that one of our neighbors would pull his TV out into the driveway on Sundays and we’d all gather to watch the New Orleans Saints game. This was when fans called them the “Aints” and wore paper bags over their heads at the Superdome, so let it never be said that my tendency to associate sports with gut-wrenching disappointment and shame has shallow roots).
I took a much more measured approach to things this year. My guts might’ve been roiling on the inside, but I wasn’t going to let that affect my behavior. When the Boilermakers made a big basket, I’d do a little fist pump. When they made a mistake, I’d say “Huh. That was a mistake. They shouldn’t do that.”
It was almost as if I took my deadpan, even-keeled approach to most things in life and applied it to the one thing on which I’ve always placed too much importance. Who knew you could do that?
The highs weren’t as high with this mindset, although I think that was more of a byproduct of the Boilers cruising through most of their games, even the semifinal against N.C. State.
Then came big, bad UConn for all the marbles. Really, the whole game kind of felt off. Purdue was staying in it for most of the first half, but it seemed like that was more in spite of how they were playing than because of it. Things got out of hand midway through the second half, and it was clear the redemption tour was going to come up one game shy of Purdue’s first ever national title in the men’s game (the women won a natty in 1999 over Notre Dame).
I was bummed, but not distraught or angry. I didn’t chide myself for wearing the wrong shirt or say anything mopey and stupid, like “That’s what I get for having faith in something.” In all honesty, I was really proud of this team and what they accomplished. It didn’t feel like it wasn’t enough. It felt more like it just wasn’t their night.
I’ve described my sports fandom as dysfunctional and a little bit backward, but also pretty comparable to a lot of other fans. If you’re passionate about sports — about anything, really — it’s going to hurt a bit when things don’t go exactly the way you’d like.
But I’ve come to the realization that I have absolutely no control over the outcome in any sport, regardless of my love or passion for a particular team. I mean, we all know this at some level. But it can still be difficult not to take things so hard. It’s OK to be disappointed with a loss just as much as it’s OK to be overly excited about a win.
However, those things are just a part of us. We can’t let them define who we are or how we act. Like so many things, it always seems to come back to balance and perspective. And, hey, there’s always next year. And the year after that. And the year after that ...
