My Wife As A Bracketologist – Be Careful What You Wish For…

For the most part, I am really fortunate that my wife loves to watch basketball. I introduced her to the sport when we were dating. She was a quick learner and surprisingly found it really fun to watch.

After a few months of watching the Philadelphia 76ers together, she had a moment. I was explaining something, and she shushed me.

“Shhhh! I am trying to listen to the game!”.

I knew then that I was going to propose. That year the surprising Sixers took it all the way to the NBA finals against the Lakers.

Iverson and the Sixers were simply amazing. They had nowhere near the talent of many other playoff teams, but the heart on that club was a once in a decade thing to behold. My wife was totally spoiled. I will never forget how mad she got the next year when they fell back to earth. She had just happened to catch lightening in a bottle by learning about the NBA in one of the most fun seasons I had seen in years.

In truth, I had grown up loving college hoops too. For some reason, I had seldom watched as an adult. In 2006, I turned on college ball for the first time in years. My wife groaned. Wasn’t it enough that she watched the Sixers with me? Did she have to spend Saturdays all winter watching Big Ten bruisers play games at a snail’s pace too? Reluctantly she watched a game or two with me that year. Again she was a quick study and learned a ton from Dick Vitale. She loved Dickie V, watching college hoops, and the Sixers too. I was as happy as I have ever been. What could possibly go wrong?

We watched the NCAA Tournament that year together. In typical fashion, my wife’s first experience would spoil her for life. If you remember 2006, that was the year that little known George Mason became the second ever number 11 seed to make the Final Four. My wife and I watched together, cheering unabashedly from the George Mason bandwagon. It was pure fun. It was March and it was as of yet unspoiled.

Then the evil came.

In 2007, someone at work started an online bracket. I eagerly signed up but failed to mention it to my wife. I never suspected she would be interested until she caught me filling out my bracket. Clearly, I was wrong. She shoved me aside &  joined the pool too.

“Oh how cute”, I thought. “She wants to play too.”

As a newbie, she played the bracketology mostly by the numbers, but as any veteran knows the seedings almost never pan out.  In the beginning of the dance, she was in front, but eventually the madness caught her and busted her bracket.  We ribbed each other a bit good naturedly, updated our brackets and survived the competition for the most part unscathed.  But I could already tell that something had changed. She was different. Something horribly competitive had been unleashed. Eve had tasted the apple.

The next few years, I managed to beat her despite her hours of online bracketology research. As Selection Sunday approached my wife became obsessed with beating me. The atmosphere had changed dramatically. When we watched college basketball she would take notes. Really. Under the coffee table is a notebook with her scouting reports. It is filled with any nuggets of wisdom she can glean from myself (how nice), Dick Vitale (traitor), Jay Bilas, Digger Phelps, and Bobby Knight.

Then it finally happened. It was inevitable of course. One cannot plant the seed of March Madness and expect to escape the consequences forever. Last year she finally beat me. She finished 3rd in the work pool 3 solid places ahead of me. It was awful and totally emasculating. Sadly, she was not a gracious winner. After the final buzzer she ran to the refrigerator and defiantly hung her bracket. She looked back at me with a contempt reserved for married couples.  She even took her winning bracket to her workplace to show everyone.

For 12 long months I have waited. It is March again dear. Do your research. Make your notes, but as God is my witness though, this will not happen again…