You’ll have to forgive me if this column doesn’t make any sense. I’m trying to recover from a bout of March Madness that has grasped me for the last two weeks.  I felt it overtaking me just before the first round of games went off.  The symptoms took hold as the day progressed and turned into Friday.  Saturday and Sunday found me in a state of delirium, and I knew I had succumbed to its powers when I woke up on my couch at 9:30 Sunday night wondering what the hell had happened between noon and seven that left me in this state of dishevelment.  I’ve got to blame it on the Madness.

Things started out innocently enough.  I had bought a pair of tickets to the Nashville regional for the first and second round to take the Mrs. out for a little hoops action.  We wound up getting Louisville, Georgia Tech and Florida in our bracket, which meant good crowds and a festive atmosphere, which was fine by me.  When the Average Jane’s work schedule changed, I faced a dilemma – sell one ticket and go by myself, or get all the money I could for both and drink the profits away.  If you have been paying attention here, you’ll already know I went with Plan B.

Through the wonders of DirecTV and the Mega March Madness package, I had access to every game while I was at work, but I was on my own for the night games.  This led to the inevitable bar tabs and crazy encounters with rabid Louisville fans on the street.  Friday morning was a wash.  The market for the early session tickets was weak, and I started off in the hole when I had to sell two for the price of one.  This situation would rectify itself that night, though, when Louisville and Georgia Tech played back-to-back on the same ticket.  Both schools have strong basketball followings and tradition, and both are a 3-4 hour drive away from Nashville. 

Alas, I wasn’t the only scalper on the scene.  It was like the pit of the stock exchange out there.  Potential buyers were being swarmed by all sorts of sellers, from ladies whose husbands couldn’t make it to seedy-looking pros with handfuls of tickets.  Still, there were a lot of fans needing seats, and I had a good pair on the first row of the second deck.  I was able to make a nice bit of profit there.  I figured I’d stop in a sports bar with this flat-panel plasma screen I’m in love with to watch the game and grab some dinner.

That was my first mistake.  This TV sings a siren song that I can’t ignore.  I’m stunned by its clarity and brightness, and I can’t take my eyes off it.  Even the New Mexico cheerleaders who came in for dinner drew my attention away from this beautiful television.  I was entranced, and I neglected to keep an even pace with the pints I was putting back under the spell of this machine.  Before I knew it, I was sloppy drunk, staring at a huge tab and a date with my much crappier TV for the late games. 

This pattern repeated itself Saturday.  I faintly remember watching a drunk Florida fan trying to talk to a horse while the carriage driver haggled with his buddies about fares for a sightseeing tour.  This guy was convinced that the horse wanted him to ride bareback.  Things deteriorated from there, and I got out of there before the cops showed up.

Sunday was the real kicker, though.  With Louisville, Georgia Tech and Florida fans all needing tickets for the same session, it was a seller’s dream.  Getting rid of my tickets was easy, and I made a handsome profit quite quickly.  Of course, I stopped in for lunch and a beer with a fat wad of twenties just begging to be spent.  And spent they were.  One beer turned into two, and so on and so on.  Mid-afternoon I switched bars to as bigger one with more TVs and a better sports package.  It was swarming with Louisville fans who couldn’t get into the game.  Scalpers were reportedly asking $500 for good tickets. 

I was more interested in the Duke-Mississippi State game on one of the smaller screens, but the Cardinal fans were on fire.  They were kicking Tech’s ass, and the fans were in a frenzy.  It was like Mardi Gras in there on a Sunday afternoon.  There was this dude dressed in a bright red Elvis suit leading cheers after big baskets.  He would run in front of the projection screen and yell out C-A-R-D-S CARDS!, all the while signing out the letters YMCA-style.  The Louisville folks ate it up.  This guy could’ve charged for autographs after the game. 

I don’t have any idea how much money I spent there, or when I left, or how pissed-off the Average Jane was when she found me passed out on the couch while the sun was still out.  All I know is I woke up to dinner and a slightly bemused wife who took things in stride pretty well.  That, and a pounding headache.  Thank God the Sweet 16 didn’t start until Thursday.  I needed a break.

But did I get one?  No way.  The Sweet 16, and the ensuing Elite 8, were marvelous spectacles that have me firmly in the March-Madness-is-the-best-sports-event camp.  Game after game went down to the wire, some needing as many as two overtimes to sort out.  Believe me, Illinois, Carolina, Louisville and Michigan State all earned their trips to St. Louis the hard way.  I feel like I was playing in the games myself after being on edge for four straight days last weekend.  My only complaint comes from the Last Second Play department.  With the combined coaching acumen of Lute Olsen and Tubby Smith, two venerable coaches who’ve been around this block many times, how in God’s name did Arizona and Kentucky run such ridiculously crappy plays in crunch time.  Arizona didn’t even get off a shot when they could have beaten Illinois in regulation, and Kentucky had its chance to beat Michigan St., but wasted too much clock getting into the offense and wound up with a contested, fall-away desperation 3, even though they were only down one point.

Here’s to a potentially great Final Four.  If it’s half as good as the last weekend, this tournament will go down in Average Joe annals as Best Tourney Ever.