[Editor's Note: Before you read the first paragraph and exclaim (even if you are exclaiming in your head), "What the HELL is Kristen talking about? She HATES basketball!" I would like you to look at the orange text in the upper right-hand corner of this page. Yeah. See that? Most of you skip over this after you click on one of those little circles and then you are confused at the first person narrative that seemingly has NOTHING to do with me. So I'm just clueing you in now. Up front. Before my inbox jams with emails. For the record: Kristen: dislikes basketball; does NOT dislike people who love basketball with a passion.]

March Madness. This is usually my favorite time of year. Lots of basketball games that bring out intensity, drama, competition, loyalty and plenty of alcohol, late nights and good times-- not to mention that chance to win some big money.

I just re-read that sentence and I think that I do sound a little crazy. Or more like a 50-year old man with some distinct vices. And to be honest, this year I have started to wonder if the madness hasn't finally gotten to me.

My mom asked me last night if I had my fill of basketball and I realized that I had. Completely. Why should I care if Kent State has made it to the Sweet 16? Granted, I spent one night in high school trying to talk my way into a bar just off Kent's campus but what connection do I really have to any team full of 20 year olds? It's just a tad pathetic when I feel more of a sense of accomplishment and cleverness from picking Southern Illinois to make it to the Sweet Sixteen than I do from the work I do every day.

Yesterday, I found myself yelling at my television, hoping that Duke-- my most hated of rivals-- pulls it out in the last few seconds so as not to ruin my pool. More than a few things are disturbing about this scenario, not the least of which is that I can have a "most hated of rivals." I am a 30 year old female HR consultant, who couldn't make a three-point shot if someone put a gun to my head. Yet, I take this game so seriously that I can spend a half-hour giving someone all the reasons that Carolina sucks and Matt Doherty sucks even more. If that isn't "madness," then I don't know what is.

My ties to the game are through my school and our season finished yesterday in a heartbreakingly close game. I spent the last few months watching their games religiously and even travelling to see them a couple of times. It can be entertaining and comfortingly consistent, but it can also be frustrating and saddening. And I realize that I take it all a little too seriously. So, maybe I will take this chance to step away from the game and learn a few lessons "off the court."

This March, I am going to get out of the house a bit more often on Thursdays to Sundays. I am going to quit studying my bracket and peruse a book instead. I am going to follow-up with a phone call to a friend in Atlanta instead of worrying about who's going to be playing in the Final Four in Atlanta. I am going to have a conversation that revolves around Dick Cheney instead of Dick Vitale.

As for the rest of the NCAAs, I will watch off and on. And on Monday, April 1, I confess that I will make a point of watching the 2001-2002 men's basketball season come to a close and probably tear up at the strains of "One Shining Moment" (because I am still a girl and can cry over silly television anthems and cheesy montages). But, maybe next November, I'll remember that life is a participatory game, not something to watch on TV.