Hokies End Season, or March Is Stupid

Hokies freshman Robert Brown had 16 points against Duke in the ACC Tournament.

I’m a Hokie which means March is a low time for me.

There is nothing more hopelessly depressing than pouring your heart into a dozen games decided in the final minute only to find that ultimately the results have no bearing on the national championship proceedings—kind of like playing Big East football.

I was at one point an optimist regarding sports, but years of watching Tech games with varying expectations has rendered me a realistic, neo-pessimist.

Being of this self-coined “new pessimism”, I didn’t necessarily expect a ton from this year’s Tech team. They lost several scorers and leaders from the previous squad and appeared as if they would rely too heavily on freshman and sophomores.

These things proved to be true, but the team made some strides down the stretch despite dropping all those aforementioned close games.

I can’t be too terribly upset about things given my own tempered expectations. So why then am I so unenthusiastic regarding “March Madness”?

I begrudgingly filled out two brackets (one for money) that felt very hollow. I’d imagine that’s what playing the lottery feels like, except that I’m giving my money to loathsome gamblers instead of public schools.

Of course, having a team involved makes things far better. That’s probably where my bitterness stems from, though this year’s Hokie exclusion lacks the anger and abandonment I’ve had the last few spring’s.

No this year there were no bracket projections or blind resume tests and absolutely no incoherent rambling from that vapid talking head Joe Lunardi.

The Techmen were unquestionably out of the at-large tournament bid running weeks ago, so fans were granted a reprieve…yet I remain uneasy.

"Like, OMGZ!!! What about Melo!!!"

And so, today I will attempt to channel the upstate New Yorker buried deep, deep, inside me. I will dig out my Syracuse T-shirt (don’t get excited it was given to me) and at least contemplate putting it on.

I will eat chicken wings and if I’m feeling lucky, I will refer to soda as “pop” and promptly throw up.

Of course, even my pretend rooting-interest appears in significant trouble with no 7-foot shot-blocking menace for increasingly smarmy head coach Jim Boeheim to brood over.

If only there was a way to avoid the trouble of March Madness and these horrifying alliances.

When does football start?