“I am so pleased to hear your species admit to “March Madness,” he said. He was watching television on a Saturday morning and seemed unusually content in the shape young woman in the “hippie” attire of the 1960s. “Actually I think your collective madness extends throughout the year, but any admission is cool, man.”
“Collective madness?”
“Your species whacks itself out a lot man, and it’s not
groovy.”
“Whacks itself out?”
“Yeah, you man … like wars and things. Bummer.”
“So you think that is what March Madness refers to?”
“Uh, yeah. Like when you all flip out at once. Far out.”
“Uh, C.W.,” I said. “Or whatever your name is …”
“Celestial Foreverness.”
“C.F., that is not exactly what ‘March Madness’ refers to.”
She snapped her head around to look at me. When her jewelry
had stopped clanging, she said, “What else could it mean? Don’t be puttin’ me
on, man.”
“It’s a basketball tournament.”
“A what?”
“A basketball tournament.”
“Aw man, you mean where they toss that little ball around?”
“And into the hoop.”
“Oh wow.”
“Now, are you going to the supermarket with me? If so, you’re
not going like that.”
“Just a minute,” she said. “I want to watch one of those
games.” She flipped through the channel until the screen light up with players
bounding across the court, following a young man dribbling a ball. She leaned
forward and forgot I was standing in the room.
“I’m about ready to go,” I said.
“Don’t bug me man,” she said. “This game only has five
minutes left. Be cool.”
I shrugged and finished getting dressed. Fifteen minutes
later, I came back into the room. She hadn’t moved. “Ready?”
“Only four minutes left,” she said. “Go do something.”
I collected the trash, took it out, and used up another
fifteen minutes. “C.W.?” I yelled from the next room.
“Three minutes left,” she yelled back. “Chill out.”
There is no arguing with him when he is like that, so I sat
at the table and completed the grocery list I had started. Fifteen minutes
later, I checked in again.
“Two minutes and it’s over,” she said. “Hold your horses.”
I gave up. She didn’t even notice when I left. Outside, I
could hear her yelling, “Miss! Miss!”
Sometime later, I returned from shopping and carried the
first load of groceries into the house. To my surprise, she still sat in front
of the television completely absorbed in the action.
“Another game?”
 |
| Man, the only thing wrong with wars and basketball games is that they both last too long. - C.W. |
“No man, same one. Eight seconds left. Don’t bug me.” At
that moment, a player tossed the ball onto the court. Another player caught it
and immediately received a judo chop to his wrist. A whistle blew, action stopped,
and the screen shifted to a commercial. C.W., or rather C.F., relaxed and
looked up as if seeing me for the first time. “I see why your species digs this,”
he said.
“And why is that?”
“Keeps your minds off doing anything really destructive.”
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