I used to be a total addict at tourney time. When younger, and free of
things like work and with a desire to spend money I really didn’t have, watching
basketball at a watering hole was just natural. Spending Thursday-Sunday that
1st week meant I could sluff off and kill time with friends.
My then best friend was a Minneapolis native, and we killed a few
March Madnesses off at the Mall of America. Patriotic to celebrate sport inside this
lasting monument to American consumerism. We’d go to the top floor where all the bars were, eat plenty of greasy food, drinking all of the world’s favorite
The games always seemed exciting. We’d have our brackets worked
out five different ways, with $10,$20 or $50 in the mix for a bet. The buzz
after a game-ending miracle shot, or a David smacking around a Goliath for 39
minutes, only to fall short, was a pleasure to be apart of.
The last picture is just a gratuitous shot of cheerleaders that will be cheering their bobby socks off for 6'1"-7'1" muscular athletes trying to put an orange ball through a hole. They (the athletes) will wind up with one or two of these females as conquests after the fray of battle that is March Madness. And usually will forget about these happy lassies before the sheets dry. Yet, we give athletes such credit for their work, and sometimes forget, they can be every bit the morons we dislike on Wall Street. (Yet, I too wish I'd been one of these morons for a year...)
Though I am back to blogging, here, I will not devote too much time to posting. Likely a post or two every couple of weeks at most. Depends on my ambition.
Like friendships, athletic endeavors and women, I never really know the outcomes of my efforts. The conquests are few and far between. And my ambitions are usually scattered.