To say that the lessons on enlightenment and ego from our trip to Durham haven't really stuck would be generous indeed. While the first stop on the Golf for Enlightenment Tour generated lots of reflection and conversation, in the four weeks since there's been a lot of backsliding, if reverting all the way back to where one started can be captured by the word "backsliding."
As I woke up today, I was in 6th place (out of 256) in the Whittom-Siegel March Madness Pool. My daughter was in 2nd place, and my son was in sight of the leaders too. I could have just enjoyed the moment. As my daughter reminded me, "if there was going to be a week of the tournament in which we thrived, it would be when a new Charli XCX album was dropped." I should have listened to the album, my eyes closed.
But I couldn't will myself to do it. Rather than just reveling in the connectedness that the pool brings to friends and family alike each year, my mind started to wonder to all the wrong places. Just as I did when I stood in the 13th fairway at Duke, I said to myself, "I've got this." I was going to win the pool. I started to imagine the non-existent awards dinner that follows the pool each year; the menu that's picked specifically for the champion's tastes; the picture that's taken of all the entrants, lined up in tiered rows at the end of the ceremony, me in the center. And of course, my acceptance speech.
Thank you, Craig; thank you Howard, for that very kind and generous introduction. Truth be told, I haven't been invited to an awards ceremony since being selected as the starting goalie on the Lawrenceville School Lower School Intramural Soccer All-Star Team. Not exactly the Masters' Champions Dinner.
To you Howard — I wish I could say that I’ve always admired your poetry. The limerick was never my favorite poetic form. Of course, now that Bono has embraced it, we all have to give you and the limerick a second look. Or perhaps we just have to rethink the Bono brand.
And they struggle for us to be free From the psycho in this human family Ireland’s sorrow and pain Is now the Ukraine And St Patrick’s name now Zelenskiy
As Chandler’s girlfriend, Janice, used to say on Friends: “Oh. My. God.” There was one headline writer who I think got it even better, “Hell is Nancy Pelosi butchering a limerick from Bono about Volodymyr Zelensky for St. Patrick's Day.”
But whatever you think of the limerick, Howard – I think even your greatest admirers would agree with me that 45 stanzas were a bit over the top for the post-pool poem. Yes, there are many words that rhyme with Cole Black. But did you have to include so many of them; and in particular, did you have to include crack, quack, hack, dental plaque, wise crack, anxiety attack, megalomaniac, service cutback, and nymphomaniac. Candidly, I don’t think, as you suggest, that I gave anyone a cardiac. And I really would have preferred being compared to Steinbeck rather than Kojack. But I appreciate the effort nonetheless. Really. I do.
Before I go any further, I want to call to the stage Grant and Steve. Grant, Steve – Please come up. I know this is a bit awkward. But please humor me.
For those of you who don’t know Grant and Steve, they hold the record for the all-time low scores in the pool. I want to share the stage with them. Many years ago, I held the record for the all-time low score. And what most of you in the audience probably don’t realize, there is a genuine -- and great -- skill to coming in last place in a pool like this one. You see, last place is the short-term consequence of taking great risk for a potential winning entry. Anyone can pick favorites and, like a good prep school gentleman from the early 20th Century, come in gracefully in the middle of the pack year after year. But only someone ready to be ridiculed by their friends for coming in dead last could pick North Carolina State to win the national championship in 1983, or UCLA for the 2021 Final Four, or Auburn and Texas Tech for the 2019 Final Four.
Grant, Steve – like many great bracketoglists, and great hedge fund managers too, you didn’t look to pick the most games correctly. That’s for sure. You tried to find the bargains, the overlooked basketball gems that the riff raff look past. Of course, it’s possible that you guys didn’t really put much effort at all into your selections. Or maybe you just picked winners based on which mascot would beat the other team’s mascot in a UFC bout. Either way, I’m proud of you. And I’m proof that if you stick with your silly methodology, someday, you could be holding the trophy.
[Music starts to play in the auditorium.]
Why is the music playing?
[Craig, from offstage] – It’s time for dessert.
I just got started with my speech.
[Craig, from offstage] – We know. That’s why the music is playing.
What’s for dessert?
[Craig, from offstage] – Yankee ‘Nana Pudding. Your kids made it for everyone.
I love you all.
At 3 p.m., I got a call that Baylor, my pick to win it all, had lost in overtime to the dreaded Tar Heels of the University of North Carolina. My bracket was busted. Or so I thought.
I'm not sure whether to think the dream was good while it lasted, to be embarrassed that that's where my mind wondered, or to try to refocus on the here and now. I think I'll go for a run.
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