It's March, and I'm Mad

I'm not mad meaning angry; I'm mad meaning crazy.

I'm not bad meaning bad; I'm bad meaning good.

I'm not fat meaning chubby; I'm phat meaning a poor speller.

Yes, it's that time of year again; time for all the Cinderella analogies to enter the college basketball world. Which team is being fitted for the glass slipper? Whose going to turn into a pumpkin at midnight? Which player looks the prettiest in a sequined gown? You've heard them all.

According to many recent published reports, US workers will lose $3.8 billion in productivity while filling out brackets and following March Madness at work. In a related note, my own research shows that you will waste between 30 seconds and 6 minutes each day reading my blog. This is time you and your employer will never get back. It's gone. I'm sorry.

The official team of the Undaground blog remains the West Virginia Mountaineers. I did receive my education there and have remained a loyal, somewhat-emotional-bordering-on-manic-but-not-in-a-dangerous-way fan ever since.

WVU's game is 2:45 tomorrow and our opponent will be the Southern Illinois Salukis. You may have seen their cheerleader in the news lately. She's the one who kept cheering even after being loaded on to a stretcher. That was kind of creepy, dontcha think?

As a youth, I once pulled a groin playing indoor kickball. It was about the time I grew 10 or 12 inches in a few months so my legs were longer than I had anticipated. Some called me awkward at this time; I preferred the word "coltish". I knew that the whole gym class was counting on me so I pulled my lifeless left leg across the gym floor in order to get to first base. I guess I can kind of relate to the strange Saluki cheerleader. The major difference was that people cheered for her as she was carted off; I just got some strange looks and a pass to study hall.

Another time, I cut my wrist with a Cutco knife. I was trying to slice a rotisserie chicken and the dog distracted me. The chicken fell on the floor, and it sat there for longer than 5 seconds so we couldn't eat it (according to the official 5-second rule). Later, at the hospital, I had to assure the lady at the front desk that I didn't need mental counseling. It was an accident. I just wanted some chicken.

That last story has nothing to do with the cheerleader; I was just thinking about poultry.