Greetings, loyal denizens of the Simple Justice hotel! It’s your ol’ pal Seaton, back from the wilderness of Knoxville with a confession that’s been gnawing at me like a raccoon on a trash can lid. I don’t give a damn about basketball. Never have. Never will. The sound of sneakers squeaking on hardwood makes my teeth itch, and the only thing I hate more than a jump shot is the guy who thinks “dribbling” is a personality trait.
But here I am, parked on my couch with a Diet Dr. Pepper in one hand and a remote in the other, forcing myself to watch March Madness like some masochistic penance for sins I didn’t commit. Why? Because the Tennessee Vols and Lady Vols are doing well, and apparently, I’m contractually obligated as a Volunteer State resident to care. Continue reading
