Nothing But Iron: Madness by Any Other Name by Steven R. Lagman, M.D., C.A.S.W. March 15, 2005 In five days I watched (10), coached (3) or played in (2) fifteen basketball games. Pardon me if my hockey coverage is a little spotty. Before I go on, I will adhere to NBI tradition and offer creative excuses for this latest writing sabbatical. First you should know that my computer has not been invaded by a virus or a fungus or any other electronic microbe and it is not appearing before Congress to discuss its steroid use. My web site is not frozen or suspended or past due. I do not have mono or multi or writer’s block or keyboard itch or any of the hundred or so other afflictions that could stop a sportswriter live in his tracks. I am here. I am well. And I am grateful to those of you who asked the question, "Hey, slacker, where’s my NBI?" It is flattering that you noticed. Much of my absence was spent in the selfless pursuit of scientific knowledge. At the end of February Kelly and the boys and I were engaged in a comparative climatology study, during which time the climatological variables of two disparate regions of the country were painstakingly analyzed and contrasted with one and other. The details of our findings will be published next month in the Journal of Why Living in Maui Beats the Hell out of the Mainland Existence. The short version is that the sun shines in both places, providing brightness, when not obscured by clouds or tall shadow-centric groundhogs. The important conclusion was that sun shining on the islands of Hawaii also produces the curious by product of heat. Bizarre, I know. During this important research I periodically envisioned myself writing a column or two for my frozen compatriots in the Midwest, only to find myself paralyzed by indecision. Do I skip, boogie boarding, snorkeling with sea turtles, whale watching, hiking through lava rock fields, walking on soft sandy beaches, shopping for sarongs and flowery flip-flops, or sleep in order to meet self-imposed writing obligations? The answer, as you know now, is that I didn’t skip any of it, though I never did find a sarong that didn’t make my 'okole look big. Enough about science. We need to talk about my tan, but only long enough to say, enough about that already. I have said it before, and I repeat it for the benefit of new readers: It is not a tan. Venus Williams is not tan. UPS trucks are not tan. I am not tan. Pallor, the common color of Wisconsinites in winter, is not the natural color of a card-carrying (Visa and Blockbuster Video) hemi-Filipino. Brown is the color of my siblings. It is the color of half of my ancestors. Therefore, I am entitled to brown. In case you wonder, I don’t really care at all about tan commentary, which makes it perfect substrate for an amateur sports column, not to mention taunting e-mails from my smart-ass brothers. Well, I’m off to my spray-on appointment. During the time I was reclaiming my natural skin tone, I lounged on the beach for a total of seven minutes and fourteen seconds, which is the maximum cumulative beach lounging time before I become a complete lunatic from inactivity and sweat in various bodily crevices. Had I spent more time just sitting around, I would probably have read Jose Conseco’s stunning exposÁ about cheating baseball players. His book, according to people making claims about it, claims that some of baseball’s most prominent players took steroids, also known as unnatural male enhancement. Gasp. Later this year the book’s publisher, Astounding Revelations, Inc., will release another work by Chris Columbus, IV, in which the author offers compelling evidence that the world is not flat. No doubt both will prove to be big-time eye openers. I myself hope to cash in on revelation craze by writing a shocking piece, no pun intended, on Gene Keady’s comb-over hair style. Please keep that information to yourselves until the book is released. The element of surprise is essential in a literary work of this importance.Speaking of books, the Marquette basketball program is set to release its season highlights in a videotape called We Beat the Real Wisconsin, But Where the Hell Are We Now? Yes, I realize that a video is not a book, but I had to insert that little jab somewhere in order to fuel the now-dormant UW-MU rivalry, while the teams play in separate post-season tournaments. I mention the NIT in a derogatory capacity, and that is unfair because it represents an opportunity for many teams to end their seasons on positive notes. So what is Arkansas’s (pronounced Ar-KAN-sasasis) problem? The Razorbacks, according to news reports, refused a bid to the NIT. That’s just wrong. Unless you are profoundly weak minded, you play basketball until you aren’t eligible to play anymore. Before long you play basketball until your joints are too swollen, so why waste opportunities now? Here’s a tidbit left over from the regular season. I watched a portion of the Illinois-Purdue romp. With 8:00 left the Illini scored to go up 74-36. "Illinois is on a 14-3 run!" blurted the television announcer. More like a 74-36 run. Too bad to see Keady go out on such a dismal season, but I bet he can take it. A friend told me she hates the Illini because "they are so cocky"? The problem, for non-Illinois fans, is that they are not cocky enough. Cocky teams don’t hustle, play defense or share with teammates. They see no reason for it. That is not to say, given the ever-increasing importance of dumb luck as the tourney progresses, that Illinois will necessarily win the big tourney, however, that scenario is as plausible as it has ever been. When I think back to the Michigan State championship team of 2000, I don’t remember that team being any better than this year’s Illini. Lastly, the death of Bruce Weber’s mom will prove to be more inspirational than distracting. It could carry this team to the Final Four, and perhaps beyond. Rumor has it that some Illinois players will be riding their motorized scooters the short distance from Champaign to their tournament venues. Thank you to the Iowa Hawkeyes for entertaining me by beating Michigan State in the Big Ten tournament. I can trace my affinity for MSU losses to the day I realized that Tom Izzo is a whiner. I was there as the Spartans succumbed. I cheered for Iowa. It helped. I had fun. Wisconsin’s win over OSU, which followed the Iowa-MSU game, was the dessert course. I left the B10T early Saturday to return home for coaching duties. Before leaving, I asked my friend Brent Feller, who was kind enough not only to share his hotel room, if he would cheer for the Badgers in the quarterfinals, when they played his Hawks. Brent politely declined, but did wish me good luck. I am certain his intent was to offer a little less luck than the Badgers found, as Alando Tucker banked in a three at the buzzer to win a trip back to the tourney final. Brent was convinced that Iowa would have to win the B10T, the Illinois lottery and get a pardon from the governor in order to get an NCAA bid, but he was wrong. Iowa and the Big 10's other four selections–Illinois, MSU, Wisconsin and Minnesota, are all deserving, based on the principle that the best 65 teams in the country should be included. On the return trip from Chicago, I commented to myself, with occasional expletive enhancements, on the stupidity of the Illinois Tollway. Then I realized that a Tollway can’t be stupid because it is inanimate. That realization led me to this one: The Tollway is brilliant. People pay money to use the roads that take them to places like Chicago to spend more money to support the local economy. Don’t be surprised if you see toll booths around Madison. Don’t be surprised if they sport the NBI logo and a sign that says Illinois residents pay double. Hey, if you can’t beat them, at least get a share of their profits. Reader Mark Hamilton told me he wanted to talk brackets. We never found a time to discuss my views, so I will share them now: I have no idea who will win the national title. Many of you, having followed my picks over the years, already know that. It would be convenient to rely on 31-win Illinois, but where’s the originality in that? I think for Mark’s sake, given that he’s a Jayhawks fan, I’ll take Kansas over Bucknell in the first round. Speaking of madness, Martha Stewart is out. At this time I would like to thank the taxusers of our legal system for their diligence in making America a safer place for these last five months. At no time during Stewart’s incarceration did I feel the threat of decoupaged boxes, cockscomb Valentine wreaths or flower arrangements in eggshells. Though I am reasonably comfortable that Stewart is reformed I continue to lock my doors and secure my cockscomb after dark. Lastly, I leave you with the word solipsistic. I have no idea what it means, or why it would be used in a publication like Sports Illustrated, which should remember its obligation to simple-minded sports folk like me, but it was there, right in the middle of an article on sports, so I report that finding to you with great solipsistism, not to mention solipsistitudinality. Only thirty-two deliberating hours until the Pride Pool bracketeering is closed. Don’t rest. __________________ Nothing But Iron is an amateur sports and other stuff column published whenever the author, who is not tan, feels like it. Nothing But Iron probably regrets any inconvenience caused by the latest publication delay. ©2005 DrTM Enterprises. All rights reserved.