Spring is broken
As I hosed the 2 inches of pollen off my 7-year-old warrior of a car I realized it is finally spring.
I live in Spring, so it always is, well, spring.
We celebrate the season by turning up the volume on the train horns that run through what is known as "Old Town Spring". That part of our unincorporated city is home to thousands of signs all touting something "fried". There must be some rehab area near us because all those citizens shopping are limping. They also wear athletic jerseys. How old must you be to not bare your saggy flesh wearing an NBA jersey? The owner of one restaurant is also building something that requires 20 guys with nail guns. All the trucks are double parked or backing up. The beep beep is nonstop. Let's face it. It is spring.
Millions will pretend they know something about college basketball. Millions of broadcasters will pretend they know everything about college basketball. It is March Madness. That is an expression trademarked by CBS even though that term was used for the Illinois high school tourney in the 1950s. I lived to watch that tourney on WGN in Chicago.
There was only one class of ball when I was in high school. Illinois turned to about 20 classes since then.
The best-nicknamed matchup had the Pekin Chinks playing the Cobden Appleknockers in a 1960's final. Pekin didn't seem to get the possibility that their nickname offended a group of our citizens. They are now called the Dragons. The Appleknockers didn't offend anyone that we know about. A deaf school in Pennsylvania is my all-time nickname winner. They are the Deaf Leopards. I am not kidding.
I have kept my promise not to fill out a bracket. It is my way of celebrating spring. No hassles, and no last-minute buzzer beaters.
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