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As I’m writing this in mid February, the Ohio State basketball team is ranked No. 1 in the country. And that’s great news for the school and its fans, especially those looking for a reason to wear their gear outside of the football season.
But the Buckeyes’ success probably is going to end up costing me money. It has to do with my March Madness brackets.
I am only vaguely aware that there is a basketball season before March, when I start scouting my picks. I can’t get into basketball like I can football. This may relate to a childhood trauma of being forced to play basketball in middle school. I was put in my first game ever during a pre-season tournament, despite not actually knowing a single rule. I looked at my dad in the stands and, seeing my panic, he pointed which way for me to run. Throughout the entire game.
So, anyway, I reserve my enthusiasm for later in the season, because I am nothing if not a bandwagon fan (and gambler).
The tournament, though, I get.
I don’t need CBS announcer Gus Johnson shouting to get excited about a No. 15 seed maybe upsetting a No. 2—even if I have the second seed advancing to the Elite Eight on my sheet.
But like most office workers in Columbus, I will pay my entry fee just for the glory of correctly picking that 15-over-2 upset. Gambling on March Madness is the great office equalizer.
While I freely admit that my basketball knowledge has not evolved much since middle school, I have learned a little something about office pools. In Central Ohio, to have a fighting chance of winning your pool, two things must happen: You must choose the winner and the winner has to not be Ohio State.
Because everyone picks Ohio State.
We are, like many others, I imagine, gambling homers, especially when it comes to the amateur wagering of March Madness brackets. The novice likely will take the hometown team.
So, it follows, to stand out in your pool you can’t have the same team everyone else does.
When Ohio State is really good, as it has been all season (or so I hear, I’m not really paying attention yet), it will be advanced on brackets farther than during a run-of-the-mill good season.
If you have all four of the teams in the Final Four selected correctly and Ohio State is among them, you’re probably in the hunt. But imagine a worst-case scenario of the Buckeyes advancing to the championship game . . . half the people in your pool probably have chosen them.
See the problem?
For you to win, they have to lose, and that’s just not sporting.
It’s what gamblers (or one I know, anyway) calls a bittersweet win. You could potentially win big and the right to rub it in your co-workers’ faces. But is that worth a Buckeye loss?
Happily, despite OSU’s success in recent years, I have never actually been confronted directly with this scenario—and not just because I probably don’t count as a true basketball fan.
I’m also a terrible gambler.
