You don’t have to fill out a bracket

Sports fandom produces two primary emotions: a sense of belonging, and disappointment. Some fans may experience small doses of wonder and even joy, but these are trace precipitates in the chemical reaction.

Filling out a bracket for the NCAA tournament amplifies all of the associated feelings of sports fandom. Your primary return will be water cooler conversation with your fellow employees (“Who’s in your Final Four?”) followed by stinging disappointment when you don’t win the pool (“DAMN YOU, LOUISVILLE!”). Along the way, you will cheer harder for teams you barely know, and experience greater heights (and depths) when a buzzer beater sinks or saves a scrappy underdog.

But mostly, in the end, you will lose. You will lose time and energy and hope and money.

And that’s fine. If the $5 entry fee to your office pool is worth three weeks of workplace camaraderie and the slim chance of a monetary return, go for it! Everyone should have fun during March Madness, and if the bracket enhances your enjoyment of the tourney, you should fill one out. Shoot your shot.

I was once that person. I derived pleasure from comparing teams’ coaches and playing styles and backcourts and big men. Just attempting to glean winners from the tea leaves was fun enough, and clicking on teams as I filled out a bracket was its own kind of satisfaction. The frustrations of an inevitably busted bracket were alleviated by the short-term thrill of a sharp rooting interest in each of the opening weekend’s 48 games.

But that’s not everyone’s relationship with a bracket.

Maybe you haven’t watched much (or any) college hoops this season. Maybe you spent your winter watching football and/or the NBA and/or soccer and/or hockey and/or your children. Maybe you see an empty bracket laid out before you, and it looks like an impossible maze. Maybe you get stressed out by the immensity of what you don’t know: not just whether Iona’s any good, but where the hell Iona even is.

Maybe the futility of filling out a bracket sends you into a mild despair, and the $5 it costs to join the office pool feels less like a lottery ticket, and more like a tax on your stupidity.

I am here to tell you: it is okay if you don’t fill out a bracket.

This isn’t meant to be fan hipsterism or neo-purism (“I want to watch the games without the taint of gambling!”), because gambling definitely makes sports more exciting. What I’m endorsing is the comforting embrace of reality: the tournament will unfold as it was always going to unfold, and you can watch it, or not. You can cheer for every underdog, not just the one 12-seed you picked to slip past a 5-seed. You are free to root against Duke at every stage of the tournament. You can be ecstatic about every buzzer beater. You are not beholden to a bracket. You’re free.

You’re even free from the tournament itself! Not that I endorse leaving your home, but you could go to the movies during the tournament. You could go for a scenic bike ride. Take your dog for a long walk. Build something. Clean out the garage. Spend a day with your family not even looking at a TV or your phone. Are all of those better than watching college basketball? Not necessarily! But sometimes it can feel good to get stuff done, and maybe you’re not really THAT interested in watching Dayton versus Wichita State.

And if you ARE all about that Flyers-Shockers matchup? Well, more power to you. This is the best time of year to be a casual gambler and/or college basketball fan. This is your time.

But it’s also a great time of year to take a nap. Who else wants to take a nap? I have naps going to the Final Four. (They lose to taxes every year.)