Nothing But Iron: I’ll Have What He’s Having by Steven R. Lagman, M.D. C.A.S.W. May 6, 2008 Mark Hamilton doesn’t care that he won the Pride Pool. I didn’t ask him if he cared, but I didn’t have to. Mark went to college at Kansas. His favorite team, which he has picked every year since the inception of Pride, won the national championship. As a fan of one of the sixty-four losing teams and as a long time Pride participant who has never won the pool that I myself invented, I am envious. As envy goes, it is a mild case–more celadon than asparagus . . . We interrupt this NBI for a what the hell? alert . . . Celadon is a pale shade of green, courtesy of Google and Wikipedia. Asparagus is a spear-shaped vegetable that holds a second job as a deeper shade of green that might represent severe envy on the green-with-envy scale, especially if you are on hallucinogenic drugs. I marvel at what a bizarre writer I can be in the era almost limitless electronic access to knowledge, or at least what we perceive as knowledge. We now return to our regularly scheduled sportswriting . . . Were I serious about my envy I would donate all of my red clothes to Goodwill and replace them with blue stuff. I would trade Badgers emblems and motion W’s for embroidered Jayhawks and fully upright KU’s. I would trade in my fully upright upper midwestern dialect for middle midwestern vernacular that finishes with a hint of drawl. I am not serious with envy. In fact, my brain reminds me on a regular basis that I am actually living the dream. Well, maybe not the dream, but definitely a dream. True, my team has not won a national championship since 13 years before I was born, but it did win 31 games this season, a conference title and the Big Ten Tournament. Relative to the fortunes of most teams that is damn good. True, there are those who try to de-legitimize these accomplishments, but I can make their voices all but disappear by striking my head forcefully against just about any hard surface. True the voices return when I regain consciousness, but, as fan experience goes, there are far worse roles than that of UW loyalist. Still, I look at the top three teams in the country–Kansas, Memphis and Davidson–and I wonder if and how my team will ever be that good? I caution myself silently about the perils and small-mindedness of greed and lust. Then, I imagine Mark in the day’s after his Jayhawks cut down the nets. He is ecstatic, not unlike Meg Ryan in that most-memorable When Harry Met Sally deli scene–only Mark is not faking it. And I say to myself: I’ll have what he’s having. Parting thoughts on the National title game: 1) Yes, I really do think that Davidson is the second or third best team in the country. 2) I love my Badgers, but am I far off base to think that there is a division’s worth of talent still separating Wisconsin from the truly elite programs of the country? I realize that I must be patient. 3) I tired quickly of the second-guessers critical of John Calipari’s coaching, including Calipari himself. Isn’t it obvious that Memphis players, despite wanting to win more than any of us could ever know, simply faltered down the stretch? Isn’t it obvious that Kansas pulled off an amazing, improbable, but thrilling (unless you live in or used to live in Jayhawk-hating Missouri) comeback worthy of a ladder and scissors sharp enough to cut nylon? Can’t we just leave it at that? Are any of us smarter than Calipari and if so, why is it that we have not coached a college team to the championship? 4) Football, specifically the BCS, must really hate basketball and the well-deserved pomp and circumstance of the latter’s post-season. The Final Four is like a powerful lens that magnifies the fraud of the BCS. More on that in the winter. Sunday is Mothers Day. I heard on the radio that you can buy your mom a giant stuffed animal at BigPlush.com. Some of the animals available on this web site are "taller than an NBA player." Here is my advice: Hurry up and don’t do this. Sure, at first your mom, because she is your mom, will be touched. She will think, or at least exclaim, "Oh, honey, how thoughtful!" Then, after a few days of trying to figure out what the hell to do with a mother’s day present that won’t even fit through the attic door, it will hit her like an eight-foot-tall fake panda: I raised a complete idiot. I suggest a life-size bouquet of real tulips and a nice dinner, with leftovers that will easily fit in a small plastic container. Did I mention that I have a mother? It’s true. Her name is Gayle, and she became my mother on the day that I was born. She had me by urgent C-section because the doctor thought I was in trouble. I think I got out in time, but my brothers tell me I was delivered a few minutes too late. My mother lives far away, so for Mothers Day I am going to send her some pictures of tulips that I grew especially for her, and I am going to sell her time share. I can manage the tulips myself, but I need your help with the time share. Mom and Ken, her husband of seven years, bought the time share because they envisioned themselves, as many of us do, traveling to exotic far away places in their retirement years. They also figured it would be a good investment because they could easily sell it, or so the salesman said, when they were no longer able to use it to its full potential. For awhile they used it well. They traveled to beautiful accommodations on the island of Kauai for a honeymoon equivalent that must have been one of the most memorable trips of their relatively short life together. But now, sooner than they expected, they realize that the time share is not for them. Sure it would be nice to see the rest of the world together, but they instead prefer to see children and grandchildren and brothers and sisters and classmates and golf buddies and old friends who might not be around the next time they pass through. Unfortunately their time share points don’t accommodate destinations like Dubuque, Iowa, and Tigerton, Wisconsin and Yankton, South Dakota. So here’s how you can help: Go to your bank and tell the nice bank people you would like a loan for $26,000 to buy a time share that sells new for $60,000. Send the money to my mom and she will give you a cool time share whose home base is Cibola Vista Resort and Spa in Peoria, Arizona. (http://www.cibolavista.com/). Alternatively you can asked a friend to do this. Reasons you should do this: 1) You don’t have a time share, which means you need one. 2) You have a time share, but only one, so you need a second one. 3) You have no friends or family who would ever want you to visit them. 4) All your friends and family live in exotic places covered by time share points. 5) It is dirt cheap. In other words you can’t afford not to buy it. 5) My mom changed and washed over 2,000 (estimate based on 1960 U.S. Census data) diapers for me when I was a baby and if I sell her time share for her, we will almost be even, well not really. 6) You owe me because I have given you years of free sportswriting without a single pixel of self-serving commercial advertising. In summary, this offer won’t last! Buy my mom’s time share before midnight tonight! Not sold in stores! Only one time share available! Sold on a first come first served basis! No payments until May of 2008! _____________ Nothing But Iron is an amateur sports column dedicated to my mom, Gayle, and to Kelly, the mom of my sons. The author apologizes for berating any idiot readers who ordered giant stuffed animals for Mothers Day gifts, and he acknowledges that even idiots have feelings. The author thanks you in advance for buying his mother’s time share. Please e-mail the author for more information. If you wish to make an offer for less than the asking price, let the author know and he will discuss it with a manager. ©2008 DrTM Enterprises. All rights reserved.