March Madness

By Sally Allen

Published: March 15, 2005

I was doing some math last weekend, which should have been a good thing. However, the math I was doing was not in any way associated with the math which I should have been doing -- namely, bills, and the paying thereof. Instead, my weekend was spent watching non-stop NCAA hoops and otherwise mastering the art of Checkbook Avoidance Behavior (CAB).

I'm the self-proclaimed, dysfunctional "Queen of CAB." I have a good excuse, though. I love basketball ... and ... I hate paying bills. Besides watching basketball -- other procrastination-fest activities included reading the backs of cereal boxes -- to avoid confronting the reality of impending insolvency.

Also added to my growing "hate list" is financial correspondence, and any form of unsolicited postal intrusion. Offending letters pile up for weeks, until finally reaching critical mass -- toppling from the kitchen countertop -- causing panic in nearby children and pets. If I had a dollar for every paper cut suffered while opening useless catalogs and credit card offers, I'd be a bajillionaire ... thereby making it completely unnecessary to carry a credit card -- or six.

More Outside the Box columns

Which somehow brings me back to the original subject -- math. Specifically, the mathematics of March Madness. Solving the elaborate elimination equation requires understanding hoops on a purely hormonal level.

At my house, street ball has evolved into a neighborhood bloodsport. On any given day, there can be found at least six basketballs and/or a half-dozen rowdy boys rolling around on the driveway. The balls aren't a problem. The boys, not so much. Occasionally, girls will join the game. But, this almost never happens. I attribute this jock gender gap to "The Rules."

The Rules

#1. Wherever "boy parts" are involved, there is conflict.

#2. Girls have two words for conflict, "DO OVER!"

#3. When conflict arises:
-- Girls would rather continue playing the game.
-- Boys would rather be RIGHT. Game over.

#4. These opposing sporting styles cannot coexist on the same competitive court.

My theory is based on many years of maternal observation and/or pointless pondering -- while helplessly trapped inside testosterone-covered walls -- with three boys and a cat (now loosely defined as "male" after last week's little operation).

I am at once less than a mom, but more than a referee.

On Sunday, each member of the family (except the cat) filled out an NCAA bracket. Doing the math, I figure to have (equal or greater than) a 75 percent chance of going completely insane by April 4 ... which could be why it's called "March Madness."