March Sadness

It’s April 1st. I emerge from my shelter deep underground. The world is still here. It’s over. I survived March Madness. March is a time when the male species is overcome with a sickness of sorts; a sickness that drives them to madness. They cannot do or talk about anything besides basketball. Society as we know it collapses. The world revolves around watching basketball and talking about basketball in the time between games. All other activities are abandoned and the streets appear desolate during game time. I have found that I am immune to the sickness – possibly due to a biological immunity or maybe due to the fact that I find basketball incredibly boring. For me, this month is torture. I wander the lonely streets griped by fear. At any time, I could be called to watch a game, and my only hope is to try desperately to make up an excuse. An excuse that will do me no good, as in their crazed state they will tie my down and force me to watch. Helplessly, I will have to listen to their crazed shouts as the game occurs; like a sort of tribal ritual. At any moment, by anyone, I could be asked my opinion of the game or how my “bracket” is going. Failure to have a vast knowledge of the game can cause me to be shunned from society. I will cease to hold the status of “man” to them. All the while they will look at me with contempt, waiting for the chance to embarrass me in front of the other superior males. At the height of their excitement they will consider sacrificing me to their players, their “gods.” The rivalries between teams can cause fighting in the streets with men fashioning weapons of whatever they can find. My lifeless body would be a symbol of their power and will to win regardless of the fact that they have no control over the game. As such I must lock myself away from society for nowhere is safe. So for the month of March I stay within in a bomb shelter 50 ft below ground. There is no computer as the Internet is a breeding ground for loud, constant sports chatter. There is no TV as the talk of basketball could occur at any time. There is no running water because all the water lines are filled with Gatorade for the month. There is just my thoughts and I. But finally now I am free! The madness is over. Suddenly a strong hand grabs my shoulder. “Hey man want to watch the finals later?” Before I can I answer, him and his buddies are dragging me towards their house. I had forgotten; the games are still going on. I scream. April fools on me.

-JS ’16