Something about the tourney reminds me of a family reunion, a bunch of people who come together once a year to celebrate that one thing that they have in common. All those familiar faces reappear–a year older but just as crazy. And isn’t that what we love? Remembering each other’s idiosyncrasies? Savoring the crazy and being loved anyway?Every family has the usual suspects. There’s the disgustingly virtuous cousin that everyone loves to hate and the departed and revered patriarch.
We all recognize the Italian guy with the sketchy hair who just doesn’t quite seem trustworthy (who may or may not have vacated two Final Fours.)
Remembering these coaches reminds me that my March Madness family shares more than basketball in common. They’re all a bit off their rockers. But I don’t find this a bad thing. I treasure my annual televised encounters with them precisely because they’re nuts in their own endearingly unique ways. I wouldn’t want them to be any different. Maybe that’s what it mean when “I love someone like they’re family.” When we’re all together again, I realize that it is good for us to be here.