Sophomore Reid Vasquez has been unrelentingly texting his friends about his bracket over Spring Break, according to multiple sources. Despite all evidence to the contrary, Vasquez appears to be under the impression that other people care about the contents of his bracket.
“He texted me the minute the selection show was over about all the picks he was going to make,” former friend Jacob Erickson said. “He won’t shut up about how he picked Rhode Island to make the Sweet Sixteen and how nobody realizes that Middle Tennessee is good. I don’t think I’ve ever cared about anything less.”
Vasquez sees it differently, though. To him, brackets transcend antiquated notions of “having fun,” “light gambling,” and “really, who gives a shit if you’re right?” Brackets are the most important things in life for college basketball purists like Vasquez.
“I’ve had a countdown clock set to Selection Sunday ever since the night of last year’s national championship,” Vasquez said.
Vasquez claims that he picked a bracket immediately after the show because he was “too excited” not to, then spent eight hours doing research and revising that bracket, a process which is still not finished.
“I’ve still not decided on who’s going to win the Northwestern-Vanderbilt game, so I’m probably not going to sleep until I figure that one out,” Vasquez said. “I won’t be popular or fulfilled in life unless I get that game correct.”
Another former friend, sophomore Mary Testley, joined a five-dollar bracket pool with Vasquez and a few other classmates. She said it was just intended as a way to promote some friendly competition. That’s when the calls started.
“Reid started calling me at least three times per day telling me about how his bracket was doing,” Testley said. “I couldn’t be bothered to care under regular circumstances, but this was before the games even started. He called every time he switched his picks.”
Brackets are about more than winning and losing for Vasquez, though. They serve as an important social crutch to a man who cannot imagine having a conversation about anything else.
“They’re, like, the only thing people want to hear about for three whole weeks,” Vasquez said. “After that, it’s back to awkwardly avoiding eye contact.”