March Sadness

Every year around this time, I find myself doing one of three things:

1. Forgetting to fill out my bracket until moments before the play-in game Wednesday.

2. Rooting for whomever is playing against Duke and the University of Texas.

3. Wincing at the CBS montage of highlights from previous NCAA tournaments.

Why? Well, as a 5-year-old in Houston, I was deprived of rooting for my first championship team when Jim Valvano's N.C. State Wolfpack lucked into the buzzer-beater that knocked off Phi Slamma Jama. The footage of Valvano wildly zig-zagging around the court that night like an escapee from a mental institution has been burnished into my brain.

Sadly enough, it's one of the few memories that I have from that now-hazy time in my life. It goes something like, U-of-H losing in the final, a lame birthday party at McDonald's, my kindergarten nemesis playing the tambourine in class and kissing Megan B. on the playground so she'd leave me alone.

I readily admit that it's a pitiful collection of memories.

So before I ponder the true meaning of bracketology this week, I'm going to take a moment to remember better days for Akeem, Clyde, Michael Young, Bennie Anders and Larry Michaeux, Alvin Franklin, Reid Gettys and the rest. I might even go digging for my PSJ pennant - it's gotta be around here somewhere: