With March Madness On, Catch You on the Rebound

The rich man . . .

He wasn’t heartless. Although he’d led a fairly cloistered, privileged life, he wasn’t insensitive to the plight of those less fortunate than he.

So he felt piercing darts of guilt about being home day after day while still drawing a salary. He knew that it was a terrible thing to be jobless and home not by choice or need but because there was nowhere else to go. He knew that money, food, basic survival and self-esteem were potential problems for the unemployed. He took nothing for granted, feeling fortunate that his own circumstances were different.

Yet he also was a realist, aware of the brightness and exhilaration that early March offered even to those relegated to the home, if they owned a TV set and were inclined in a certain direction. He knew that even if one were poor and hungry, desperate and abandoned, it was still possible to feel as euphoric as he was feeling last week when, helpless to resist, he again submitted to his primal urges and answered the annual . . .

Call of the Ball.

Yes, spread out before him on ESPN and ESPN2, from 9 a.m. through the wee hours past midnight, was March Madness, the playoff prelude to the Big Dance, a panoramic banquet of slam dunks and other amazing feats by giant athletes with their heads shaved and baggy shorts sagging to their calves, game after game between college teams hoping to march, like General Sherman, to the NCAA tournament.

*

Other notable events were occurring Thursday, and he would have switched to CNN to check them out, yet how could he? While Bob Dole was trouncing Steve Forbes and Pat Buchanan in New York and the White House was hatching its big Middle East conference, Traviesco was hitting everything in the first half, at the break it was 35 apiece, someone was draining threes, the Rams were moving on to play Temple, St. Louis was down one in regulation, Julson was winning it for Cincinnati with two free throws and the Cards led by 14 at halftime with more to come.

Then it was Friday morning.

His wife tried to start a conversation with him before leaving the house, but he was unable to respond because Maryland’s Booth was beating someone off the dribble and taking it to the rack on ESPN. He wanted to acknowledge her, at least say goodbye, wave or wiggle his nose, but how could he when Duke’s Domzalski was wheeling into the lane and slamming it home?

He knew nothing about Domzalski or his teammate, Wojciechowski, except they were two of Coach Krzyzewski’s white guys who couldn’t jump, and that Duke was starting to unravel. He knew only that he must watch them.

But how could he when, on ESPN 2, Kansas was blowing out Colorado and Haase was fouled and got the shot up anyway, and what a great effort?

He was an educated, sophisticated, introspective man who knew something of the human condition. So he realized that he was deficient on some level, that there was something terribly wrong with him for watching Profit drain another three and Wojciechowski dish Domzalski as Maryland went to 17-11 instead of an in-depth look at “Frat Boys” on NBC’s “Leeza” or Lisa rejecting a surprise marriage proposal from Jim on “Ricki Lake” because “him and I can’t help each other anymore.”

He wasn’t made of stone. So naturally he felt contrition when watching Pollard jump-fake with a man on his back instead of Harry Smith call his CBS News colleague Dan Rather “the best television newsman who ever lived” on “Extra” and Jenny Jones advertise for guests who “are hiding a pregnancy and want to announce it on the air.”

He found himself daydreaming while watching North Carolina State play sticky man-to-man defense and Strong fill it up in a hurry on ESPN, imagining he was the one hitting the tough, running one-hander that pulled Georgia Tech within a pair. That’s what it was all about, wasn’t it, seeing others do what he never could and envisioning himself as them, vicariously introduced at the start of a game and slapping hands with his teammates (“Playing center and standing 5-foot-8 . . .”)?

Meanwhile, the spacing on the break was almost perfect for Tech.

He was thankful, deeply appreciative that, for the moment, he could watch Elisma go off the dribble in traffic and take it to the rack without hearing what he knew he ultimately would have to hear if he were to continue watching through the day and into the evening.

The Voice from Hell.

“HEY, BABEEEEEE!!!!”

He daydreamed again, his lips parting in a thin smile as as he envisioned Fuller going strong to the hole and slam-dunking Dick Vitale through the basket with authority.

He shuddered while contemplating Vitale, the loud, grating, self-promoting clown of a basketball commentator, ever talking, ever spewing irrelevant trivia, ever calling attention to himself.

The phone rang. He would have answered it, except that Kansas State was setting some heavy-duty screens inside against Oklahoma State, Dies missed a chip shot, Swartzendruber was fouled, the Cowboys were shooting blanks and Monmouth was pushing it up the floor against Rider with players who looked like Woody Allen.

He wondered what he was doing watching Monmouth and Rider, yet in his heart he knew the answer. The Dow Jones was off a whopping 170 points, the Food Channel was onto a great source of fiber supplement, bitter cold was gripping the Northeast, and he didn’t care.

The Call of the Ball was that strong.

When Swartzendruber stepped to the line with a chance to put away the Cowboys, he imagined that he was Swartzendruber. Swish one, swish two.

Then, reality.

“Honey, I’m home!” It was his wife. The hours had passed faster than the Jayhawks in transition. He hadn’t cleaned the house, hadn’t thought about making dinner, hadn’t risen from his seat since Smith came from the other side to reject Albano and spark the fans to get into it.

He knew he’d have to think and move fast if his wife was to be mollified. He didn’t feel sorry for himself, though. He knew that a full evening of televised ball awaited, and hours and hours more on Saturday and Sunday.

Contemplating the weekend ahead, he knew above all that he was a rich man.