Not the kind you think: I HATE this time of the year with a passion. Every sports radio station has 24/7 coverage of college basketball and it's annual "Road to the Final Four" marathon. I've got a brother in-law, Keith, who pours over bracketts like he's trying to decipher some ancient egyptian text while I call him everyday asking "How's your bracket look now" just to mess with him.
No, my March Madness is that time seems to come to a stop while I wait for the first of April and Opening Day. I don't want to hear the percentage's on when the 12th seed plays the 5th seed, or see 55 minutes of NCAA basketball on a 60 minute episode of Sports Center. I ABSOLUTELY do not need to see Dick Vitale and his bug eyes screaming about "PT Players" and "Diaper Dandies": Seriously, WHO TALKS like that? Listening to that man talk is about as enjoyable as listening to those idiots on CNN, or MSNBC, or wherever sit around and yell at each other for an hour.
What I want is a warm Spring night, with Orsillo and RemDawg in the booth laughing it up. I want Daisuke Matsuzaka on the hill mowing the hitters down, while Schilling and Beckett assume their position on the top step of the dugout. If you've never seen this, it's quite the scene: Schilling talks non-stop, while Beckett gets into a rythm of nod, lean, spit, nod, never saying a word back. Is he even listening? Or is he just hoping Schill will wear himself out, only to realize much to late that's impossible?
You can have the Final Four: I want the last inning, 1 man on and the Sox down by 1 when Papi comes stomping to the plate, followed 3 minutes later by the faint sound of "Dirty Water" being played while the big man circles the bases and Fenway goes wild. Give me Manny hitting them off the coke bottle, Lowell making like a Hoover vaccuum at third, sucking up everything that comes his way, and JD Drew roping doubles in the gap.
Most of all, give me that hour every night, before my kids head to bed, for Rakes to hop up in my lap and watch the first few innings with me. I love to watch his face when Manny or Papi come to bat, or when the ball is hit to the outfield, and when it's caught to hear him shout "He did it Dad; He DID it!"
16 Days, 18 hours, and 43 minutes until Opening Day.