You've hurt me for the last time. I'm playing Alanis Morissette's "You Oughta Know" on my IPOD. I'm soooo over you.
You see, beloved Bracket, each March you have come to me with promises. You say that you'll make me rich, fill me with free pizza for a month or even buy me a new car. If I can only please you, it all can be mine.
But what you never mentioned was how impossible you are. I've done everything you ask: payed extra for ESPN U, alienated myself from friends and family and spent many brutal hours getting in shape (by studying North Dakota St.'s free throw percentage in close and late situations of course).
Look what you've turned me into! When Siena, the underdog from my home state, beat Ohio St., I should have been overjoyed, but as usual, you forced me into depression. I sat alone for hours mumbling, "he can't hit two three's, his percentage is too low, too low...too low."
You even made me secretive and backstabbing. The first step is admitting, so I'm coming clean: I was pushing for Missouri. It's true! I know Cornell is only hours away, but I had MU going deep...what do you want from me!
I even became delusional, believing for a minute that Fields' 70-footer could land and keep us together and happy, only to be disappointed agian. Because of you, Bracket, in my mind every whistle became the wrong call. FOUL! OUT OF BOUNDS! NO! FOUL!?!?! C'MON, REF!
Because of you, I got evicted, my car was impounded and am forced to write this letter on the back of a Domino's pizza box.
That was me then. But no more. I'm strong enough to walk away. I'll never fill you out again. I'll never spend nights awake worrying about you. I'm curing this twisted form of Stockholm Syndrome, today.
My theripist says I must learn from the past (I pay him $3,000 per-hour for that?). Remember Vermont beating Syracuse? Vermont, representing the beauty of an underdog, but there was Matt, sitting there screaming, with blood shot eyes and nubbed fingernails, for them to lose.
All that because I bandwagonned and took SU to make the sweet 16. I said after that game, "never again." But, the very next season, Texas A&M did it to me again. The tears of rage only smeared the Aggies name upon my crinkled sheet of misery.
You know, Bracket, infidelity has also been an issue. Remember 1999? Joe the Plumber (not the one you're thinking of), that's right, the guy who went to Weber St. that you had a crush on.
It didn't matter that North Carolina was a three and Weber St. was a 14 seed. It didn't matter that Joe watched as much college basketball as atheusts watch televangelists. You chose him over me. You knew I had NC going to the Final Four, but you didn't care. You have never cared about me...it feels so good to finally say it.
Imagine if I had watched these tournaments without you, Bracket. I could have celebrated the Gonzagas and George Masons of the tourney. I could revel in watching the teams who use 12 players, who all make smart passes, play defense and actually have a chance at graduating from college.
Next year, next year... I'm going to change. No more foolish pride.
So, please Fran McCaffery, please Steve Donahue, take our underdog New York mid-majors back and upset some giants. I will be on your side, cheering the loudest. Because no longer will you, my NCAA men's tournament bracket, ruin the greatest month in all of sports.
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