Every year, while March is going out like a lamb, March Madness comes in like a rabid llama of basketball stats and excitement. March Madness, for those of you who might think it’s some kind of psychological disorder that happens after six plus months of snow, is a college basketball betting bracket where friends and family gather to pick the NCAA basketball champion based on statistics, player attractiveness or creativity of the team’s mascot. It’s supposed to be a fun way to bond with your peers, with no real pressure about winning or losing.
But it’s not for me. I get very intense about March Madness.
This may come as a surprise to those of you who know me by my friendly, carefree, yet very approachable, personality but I am very competitive. Not “haha let’s play a game we’re all friends it doesn’t matter who wins” competitive but “I’m so pissed that you’re beating me in Go Fish that I’m going to start making passive aggressive comments about the state of your GPA in relation to how many pairs I have” competitive.
And because my March Madness pool consists almost entirely of my family, for weeks I am competing with people who are louder, more Iowan and much more knowledgeable of the ways of college basketball than I am.
An entire year went by where my brother refused to play foosball with me because I would cry every time I lost (and I lose a lot).
I have literally almost had a mental breakdown from the emotional stress I feel while playing tag. And every time my family plays Monopoly we end up not talking to each other for a week because one person ends up losing all their properties while another keeps stealing money from the bank while I keep landing on those stupid Mickey Mouse chance cards that make me pay fifty dollars to every player (the only Monopoly I’ve ever played is Disney Monopoly).
If my competitive streak was limited to board games and tag, it wouldn’t be a problem. I might not be the best person to invite to your family game night, but I’m sure I would somehow make the evening uncomfortable no matter what activities were planned.
Sadly, I get competitive in normal situations too, like while playing hang man with my six year old cousin, and in situations where competition is completely unnecessary, like secretly trying to race people during my walk to school (although to be honest, that’s not entirely my fault. For some reason, everyone tries to pass me as I try to shuffle across the ice).
I would blame my competitive nature on the harsh, cutthroat environment of New Trier but luckily I am less competitive about grades than I am about winning Apples to Apples. So, if I’ve ever asked you what you got on a test or essay or homework assignment (which, if you’ve ever been in a class with me and sat in close proximity to my seat, I’m sure I have) fear not. I’m not trying to compare myself to you, I’m simply trying to add some new information about you to the things I’ve learned while Facebook stalking.
This year, in order to not have a heart attack by the time I’m thirty, I am going to be unbelievably chill about my March Madness picks. I am not going to accuse my grandpa of somehow tricking me into picking teams that get out the first round. I am not going to yell at my aunt for giving me the terrible advice of picking teams based on whether or not they’re from Iowa.
I am not going write long, angry and somewhat violent rants about players who I have never met whose team cost me twenty dollars. Instead, I am going to bottle up all my resentment and competitiveness until I crack under the pressure at forty-five and write a folksy blues album about the pressures of my childhood.