Madness!

hooray! i love march! so many cool days-- pi day, ides of march day, st. patrick's day...and of course...MARCH MADNESS!!!!! this year, i'm in three (THREE!) pools and apparently, it makes me really like exclaimation points!!!!!!!!!!!

okay, for seriously. this is tres important stuff. at stake: nearly $4,000. sadly or fortuitously (ask me when the final seconds tick down and a new champion cuts down the nets), i decided to share my potential winnings or losings with Y this year. it's a good way for me to hedge my bets now that NCAA basketball has become an exercise in over-analysis for me. i've won three pools but have been in a three year dry spell (for shame)--and since the first pool, i've acquired a little too much knowledge about the games, the teams, the hot stars. i even got my poor innocent friends into--dragging them to vegas a couple years back, forcing them to throw their money (and ear drums) away on parlays, weeping into their vodka tonics over missed spreads. oh good times. but too much knowledge, as any seasoned bracket buster will tell you, is the WORST kind of knowledge to have.

so this year, since Y and i are sharing the wins/losses, i decided to try a two-pronged bracket strategy: (1) my real picks. you know, where i over-think, bite my nails and engage in a pick-erase-re-pick cycle of self-destruction, and (2) my Mascot strategy: choose the mascot i prefer. Great Danes or Cavaliers? The Wolf Pack or Blue Jays? Fightin' Illini or Salukis? dude. i learned so much. did you know that an Illini is a Native American tribe? we once thought it could be a magician. luckily, a great dane is still indeed a dog. heh. depending how i fare, i'll do the mascot strategy again. next time though, i'll pick which mascot will win in a street fight.

A Fan of Losers

i'm a huge sports fan. but a fan of losers. lovable ones, but losers nonetheless. case in point: my favorite basketball team? Utah Jazz. two straight losses to the effen Chicago Bulls in 1997 and 1998. favorite baseball team? The Mets. let's not talk about this past season, 'kay? and for a while, my favorite football team was the Buffalo Bills. need i remind you of the four straight Super Bowl losses in the '90s? don't think so.

there's something about getting behind an underdog, hoping against hope that the little guy can slay the biggest and brightest (and usually, the most over-hyped and un-deserving!). but sometimes-- and this may be sacrilege-- but sometimes, we love the losers more when they remain losers. when an underdog gets slaughtered during a game...or worse, when they get this close only to lose in the most heartbreaking fashion...it's what i love about sports and it's what makes some sports heroes tragic ones: terminally flawed, perpetually questioned, easily embraced. which is why this article, by ESPN Page 2 writer Eric Neel, really resonated with me. first, Neel is a gifted writer. second, he's able to convey the complexity of sports-love in a way that completely escapes me. his reasoning for why he wishes Peyton Manning doesn't win this coming Sunday (though i still hope he does) is pitch perfect.

Heartbroken. But I Still Live For This.

Mets v. Cardinals, game 7. it was the bottom of the ninth, 2 outs, bases loaded. the count was 0 and 2 and the batter was known for pulling out the Big Guns this postseason-- 7 homers already in 9 playoff games. could it be 8 tonite? will The Mets go to the World Series just like so many predicted they would? could there be a better way to commemerate the 20th anniversary of the LAST time The Mets won the World Series?

there was so much build-up, so much on the line. i could hear my heart beating outside of my chest even as other fans were chugging down cheap beer and chanting 'We Believe.' my stomach was in knots; my eyes half-covered in fear and hope. this is why i'm a sports fan. for moments such as this. that camraderie you share with strangers in those moments where Your Team is on the cusp of something possibly great? you can't fake that feeling, that shit is real. when Endy Chavez made the absolute most incredible catch at the top of the 6th inning, one that will be replayed for decades to come. Chavez was super-human, leaping to what seemed like a hundred feet off the ground, to just snag a ball heading outta-the-park. even miracles don't dream up plays that good. those of us at the bar, we cheered even at the replay. i could barely breathe afterwards. you really don't fake moments like that. after it happend, i thought it was fate...that The Mets were destined to get their dream.

but alas, i was wrong, and the dream died right at that last at bat. we were down by 2, at the bottom of the ninth, at the bottom of our batting order. hope returned when we got three batters on base (2 hits, one walk) and i thought we were writing our storybook ending when Carlos Beltran came up to bat-- he of the 7 homers. but it was not meant to be. in what felt like a million years but was barely a two seconds, the 0-2 count quickly turned into a crisp strikeout, sealing the end of what had seemed to be an Amazin' season. watching the Cardinals celebrate on our home turf? watching Paul Lo Duca's blank stare, Willie Randolph's head shake? it broke my heart. what does a fan do? well, I just start counting down the days till next season. as the saying goes...there's always next year.

Tennis Fever!

WOO! this year's u.s. tennis open has been awesome! two names: blake v. agassi! i stayed up into the wee hours watching their incredible five-set slugfest. agassi, someone i use to root against, has grown on me more as he ages-- he's a legend for sure; no one has a return like he does. but blake-- how can you root against this guy? all week the media has been hyping this match (blake was a wild card-- it was never a sure thing that he'd even make it this far) and it never disappointed. up until the fifth and final set-- the tiebreaker in fact-- the match could have gone either way. man, i wish i could have been there.

i've attended the u.s. open every year since 1998-- when my dad scored tix from work and i got to see my beloved pete sampras play live for the very first time. i loved sitting at arthur ashe stadium at night-- the u.s. open is the only slam with night matches-- the crowd's electricty and under the bright lights fuels the players and is nothing short of exciting. i feel privileged to be a part of some classics-- including the sampras v. agassi QF in 2001-- 4 straight tiebreaks! man, that was a good nite. and if you ever go, don't just glue yourself to center court action-- always, ALWAYS walk over to the smaller courts--especially the grandstand stadium-- where the seats are not assigned and you are so close, you can feel the court vibrate with each smash of the ball. if you're lucky, you may encounter a match that doesn't just feature dynamic players, but even more dynamic fans. my favorite fanatics: guga's brazilian contingent and the sricha-fans. they are INSANE, but i love 'em.

this year, the open has seen a few changes. first, the courts are now painted blue so that both players and spectators could see the ball better. i wasn't sure if i liked it at first-- i'm old school-- but as i sat way up in the upper tier of ashe watching the nail-biting hewitt v. dent match, i appreciated the court's bold blue. also, the grounds at flushing meadow-- where the open is held-- has received an aesthetic upgrade-- more trees and flowers but also a new set of fountains framing the entrance to ashe stadium. but the biggest change of all-- the fantastic weather! i can't remember a time when the open hasn't seen its share of chilly, windy september nights or days pouring streams of rain. this year, however, september has served up seven days of amazing weather. the combo of low humidity, sunny skies, and amazing matches makes me itch for some court time as well. if only it could inspire me to hit the ball with as much heat as sharapova-- minus her grunt.

Worst Ballpark? Maybe. Charmless? Definitely Not.

last sunday's NYTimes featured a great (and personally resonant) story on the impending demise of Shea Stadium as the home of NY's terminal underdogs, The Mets:

http://www.nytimes.com/2005/07/03/nyregion/thecity/03feat.html

if you're not a Mets fan, you just won't understand the magnitude of this. Shea Stadium is F-UGLY. it was built at the furthest stop of the #7 train, nudged between Flushing's Asian Center and a no-man's section of Queen's, squarely sitting in the direct flight path of Laguardia airport. the stadium itself was constructed in this half-ass manner, disguising a shoddy interior (which smells as if it hasn't been cleaned since its opening in 1964) with a garish splash of bright blues and oranges throughout. and don't even get me started on the over-sized baseball figures lit in neon on the stadium's side. this was not a place built for dreams to happen.

but in spurts, dreams did happen, and continue to. many times these dreams came in the form of miracles-- think Game 6 of the 1986 World Series and the ball Mookie Wilson hit that rolled through Buckner's legs--providing the team with a moniker even a losing record can't shake off. My love affair with the Miracle Mets started 20 years ago, when my uncle took me and my family to a game right in the heat of summer. we had box seats, four rows behind left field. it was mitt night and my brother and i didn't just have our first stadium hot dog, but our first taste of Mets euphoria. there is nothing better-- or cheesier-- than shrieking and dancing in the orange-clad stands with a crowd of giddy strangers, watching a giant (and kitschy) red apple rising out of that top hat behind centerfield, signifying that the home team had hit a ball outta the park! this is what it means, i thought, to be a sports fan.

my brother and i were hooked. the 1986 World Series victory cemented The Mets as Our Team, continuing even through our move to Maryland 5 years later, through the team's frustrating and sustained downfall in the early-mid 90's when they were the butt of EVERYONE's jokes. we remained loyal even still, when we thought it couldn't get any worse in the late 90's-- as fate (and money) would dictate that our hated hometown rivals-- and superiors--the NY Yankees, were destined to rekindle their history-cloaked dynasty, forever relegating The Mets to second-class status in a city fixed on drawing a line between winners and losers.

Losers or not, The Mets will always be lovable ones, characterized by a blue-collar determination and a badass charm that shines beyond the shadow of Yankee lore. sure, i have no idea if and when my Mets will ever feel the glory of another World Series victory (can we please get a new relief pitching staff?), but i'll never forget these games at Shea. Their life began when this park opened its doors, so Shea is very much a part of the team fabric, woven into every bruise that defines The Mets gritty personality. and despite its downright ugliness, despite it being labeled the Worst Ballpark Ever, it's still worst in the best way: it's the perfect symbol for underdogs, both on and off the field, who return every year to play and cheer for the hope of miracles.