Diagnosis: March Madness

A routine check-up for hoop-crazed dads

Giants jumping in the paint.
Buzzer victories leave us faint.
Yet the dizziness we feel
doesn’t mean we’re sick.

Mad’s more like it. We go nuts
watching TV on our butts.
With our bracket picks in hand,
we stalk every team.

Crazy? Sure. We’re all insane.
Thanks to what gave Naismith fame.
Dribbling, passing, shooting, SWISH.
Roundball’s such a rush.

But March Madness leaves us duped.
Life is more than springtime hoops.
When the last game has been played,
will we know the score?

Like what matters when life’s through.
Will we really have a clue?
Or will knowledge of our teams
be the thing we prize.

Turn that plasma TV off.
Let’s all get up off our duffs.
Watching others run and jump
doesn’t tone our flab.

Neither does it aid our home
when our children (nearly grown)
wait in vain for us to play
or to grab a Coke.

Seasonal insanity
isn’t bad if we can see
shooting baskets with our kids
is what matters most.