Thursday, March 25, 2004
Truth to tell. I've reached the point where I find the World Cup more exciting, but there is still nothing quite like the NCAA Men's Basketball Tournament. I found myself watching way more than I should have over the weekend, and when you get down to the Sweet 16 it is pretty irresitable. I'll say this: I love players like Syracuse's Gerry McNamara-- crewcut white guys without much of a shot from the floor, but deadly from the foul line-- kids like that are built to take it in the teeth, and have spent years in the gym draining free throws. McNamara is in the Chris Mullen gym rat mold, and although I've never met anyone like that that I ever came close to liking (and, as the product of a Catholic school education, you'd be surprised how many gym rats like that I have known), they are a type of hoops player that I can't resist watching. Don't get me wrong-- I love an elegant player like 'Bama's Kennedy Winston, too, but my Catholic boyhood bred in me an appreciation of the pasty white H-O-R-S-E specialist.
My formula for watching this stuff is pretty much New York City, New York State, Northeast, Michigan (my brother went there-- it gives me a rooting interest), Catholic, East Coast, anybody but ACC, Deep South over South Carolina, West Coast Teams from anywhere but California, UCLA, Stanford, whoever plays Duke in the final, unless it is UNLV.
My formula for watching this stuff is pretty much New York City, New York State, Northeast, Michigan (my brother went there-- it gives me a rooting interest), Catholic, East Coast, anybody but ACC, Deep South over South Carolina, West Coast Teams from anywhere but California, UCLA, Stanford, whoever plays Duke in the final, unless it is UNLV.
