Forgive me, but it is March Madness.

When I first heard that the University of Illinois Men's Basketball team was ranked fifth in the country before the start of the 2004-2005 season, I thought, that's too high. When they won their first few games without breaking a sweat, I thought, maybe they deserve it. And when they blew out the then-#1-ranked team in the country, I thought, you go to hell, Sean Higgins.

The team was coached by Bruce Weber, who had trouble connecting with his players during his inaugural season the year before. So much so that he held a widely-ridiculed "mock funeral" for the beloved previous coach who had left for greener pastures. Not too long after, something clicked and the team finished the season playing much better.

The following year, he could do no wrong. The Illini finished the regular season with one loss, and was on its way to the Big Ten tournament title, when news broke that Weber's mother died after emergency surgery. He continued to coach the team and they continued to win, taking the Big Ten tournament title. They won their miracle game in the NCAA Regional Final against Arizona, coming back from 15 points down with 4 minutes left. The only thing left to do was to win the championship game - the culmination of a story that had every reason to have a happy ending.

They lost.

And as I watched the North Carolina players and fans celebrating their fourth/four hundredth championship, it dawned on me that this wasn't right. And it was not that it wasn't some hollywood ending, where the underdog prevails against impossible odds, but that, all of a sudden, the world seemed like a more indifferent place.

A dozen years earlier, Chris Webber called a timeout that he didn't have.

Webber was the centerpiece of Michigan's Fab Five. Freshmen, then sophomores, baggy shorts, black socks, black shoes - they were something to behold and I beheld them with all my heart. And he was the one with the most talent, the most potential, but not, unfortunately, the most def.

When he retired last week, he received an inordinate number of articles dedicated to his career. It wasn't because his was something to tell the grandkids about, but precisely because it wasn't. What sportswriter can resist playing amateur psychologist?

Bill Simmons finished his article wondering what could have been. "But that's the thing about real life: You don't have a reset button, and if you make a couple of poor decisions along the way, those decisions can end up shaping the player or person you become."

And those words meant something to me.

After spending the first few days getting over the intial shock, the depression started to set in, as I knew it would. And I decided on two very similar and completely different things. First, I gave up. I gave up on ever leaving, on being happy, on finding someone, on God. Only the thought of $200,000 of debt transferring to my parents kept me from giving up on life. Second, I embraced the absurdity of it all, albeit somewhat sarcastically. I put an aerial picture of Chicago as my laptop wallpaper. I started looking at neighborhoods to settle in. I looked to buy a UIC t-shirt.

None of it is healthy, but for now it gets me through the day, and I feel surprisingly free.

Just know that when I do lose the madness, I plan to hold on to the freedom.