Whoomp, There it Is!

I am a basketball fangirl.

I can't tell you how you get a touchdown in American football, or how long a baseball game lasts. But I can tell you anything you want to know about college basketball. Men's, of course.

My dad didn't get into basketball until he was in his senior year of high school. He'd moved to another city for his last year and only connected with a few of his classmates. Like me, he was graduating a semester early, so he had no reason to get to know these people for just a measly four months.

Still, he came close to one kid who would drag him to Freedom Hall to watch the Louisville Cardinals play. My father fell for the team fast and that is the team he is dedicated to today. And this makes November to April Basketball season in my house. If there is a game being played, we were watching it.

My sister picked Memphis as her team after winning a bracket contest when she was young. My brother was addicted to basketball since he was small and ended up playing more than watching. His team is Michigan State.

I never got into basketball, until I was in my preteens. I mean, I played on a basketball team in elementary school, but looking back, it was because my parents were going through their first separation and I thought it would make my dad happy. Finally, during the second separation, I won. I won my bracket with the Kansas Jayhawks and got to laugh at my family, who had made fun of me for picking them. They became my team.

Now, I have three teams. Living in New York, I don't get to see a ton of Kansas games before March starts. The Big East is broadcast throughout my home, so I have my BE team: Notre Dame. Basically, it's to piss off all of my family who hates them.

Last year, I adopted my final team.

My dad's dream was to go to a Final Four. I managed to hit a great year to apply for tickets. Because of the recession, there were not as many people willing to throw down the $360 to get into the raffle for NCAA Final Four tickets. I was only sixteen, probably not even legal to have done it. The internet hasn't yet found a way to prevent underaged kids with debit cards from buying stuff they shouldn't be allowed to.

The guys at work laughed at me, my brother laughed at me, my father laughed at me. They all said I wouldn't get those tickets. When the small, one page letter came in August, months after I'd submitted my information in March, I assumed it was to tell me I lost. I was wrong. I was getting two tickets to the Final Four. Not the best seats, by far, but not in front of the television either.

I had been walking to work when I read the letter. I ran home immediately, screaming, "Daddy!" He thought I was hurt. He really didn't react when I handed him the letter. He was too stunned. My mother tells me that he immediately began planning, searching hotels and the like, while I was at Rite Aid.

The next April, my dad and I took a road trip to Indianapolis. We stopped at Niagara Falls, too. We went to Ruth Chris. We went to the games. And we fell in love with the Butler Bulldogs.

It was impossible not to. I mean, the stadium was only seven minutes away from their campus. It was an amazing feeling, having nearly everyone in town be happy to see the Bulldogs there. It helped that my sister's roommate, Missy, loves Duke. I would have loved to see the Bulldogs take them down.

This year has been different. I haven't gotten to have my half a year worth of basketball. I've gotten clips and snatches and scores during classes. I got to go to a tiny bit of my sister's March Madness Party. But I've missed a lot more.

Butler is in the Final Four again. I was on the train, just barely, when they beat Florida. It was the only good news I had to hold on to. VCU beat Kansas, but that's okay, for once.

Now it's the day of the first two games of the Final Four. I'm in my Butler Bulldogs tshirt from Walmart in Indianapolis. Watching VCU and Butler trade points back and forth.

It's just not the same when I'm not home.