So, Florida played Ohio State in the college basketball championship game, after playing in the football championship only a few months ago.
I type that sentence in a matter-of-fact way, though I can assure you that my husband's delivery of that sentence earlier in the evening was spoken with the breathless reverence of a man who has seen the very face of God. Or at least the very face of Billy Donovan. Evidently this is a sports anomaly the likes of which has never been seen in the history of all humanity and we shall never be the same, amen.
The last night of March Madness is always a reverent one in our home. There is a special meal and special snacks. My normally rational, steady, balanced man weeps like a baby at the "One Shining Moment" montage at the end of the game. He has asked me--in all seriousness--to make sure it is played at his funeral someday, along with the Razorback fight song and the theme song to CBS sports. I have assured him that with a demand like that hanging over me, I will surely pre-decease him. Which, come to think of it, probably means he'll play the Razorback fight song at my funeral. Oh, heavens.
When I heard Hubs heading up to bed, I asked him who won. "Florida," he mumbled sadly, "in a rout." He doesn't like routs in the championship game. It appears the unspoken Man Code is that such an important game should be a second-by-second, down-to-the-wire finish. Bless that man's heart--at least he has next year. And, of course, leftover rotel dip.
