I finally get why they call it March Madness.

For those of you living in a hole in the ground—which I hear is popular in some regions of the globe these days—March Madness is a multi-million dollar enterprise that has at its core a mildly intriguing tournament that brings together the “top” Division I programs in the entire country.

You probably know it from its distinguishing characteristic—the “bracket”—which is circulated yearly around your office or cellblock. Inevitably, it also separates you from five to ten bucks—or a few grand for the Pete Roses of the world—as you attempt to forecast the future using such pragmatic indicators as “team mascot” and “school colors.”

I’m not going to discuss the betting and handicapping side of March Madness today for two reasons. First, my esteemed colleague Brenda Lee already broached this topic just a scant few days ago. Second and more importantly, I find that I’m terrible at predicting the future, but I’m amazing at taking credit for the past.

Speaking of the past, that’s where Florida’s tournament hopes are right now. The Gators proved once again that they are conscientious objectors to playing basketball in March, not unlike their football team, which seemingly packs up the shoulder pads and helmet after the Florida-Georgia game at the end of October.

On the surface, this probably isn’t all that important to you—the Ivy League sports fan—but using my trusty “transitive property” I can make an interesting observation. The Gators lost to Manhattan yesterday in the traditionally treacherous 5/12 matchup. (In this sentence, “lost to” is merely a euphemism for “got spanked and made to start crying like a little girl by.”)

The Jaspers lost to Penn on a “neutral court.” The game itself was played in Madison Square Garden, which last I checked was in Manhattan, so the neutrality of the court could and should be brought into question. Regardless, by the transitive property, that means that the Quakers beat Florida.

That’s madness.

Come to think of it, Yale beat Penn, and Harvard beat the Bulldogs. So, by the “extended transitive property” our Crimson beat the Gators.

That’s madness’ cousin—psychosis.

For a more Ivy-centric morsel of madness, let’s consider the fact that the Ancient Eight is the only conference in America that doesn’t have a postseason basketball tournament.

Of course this isn’t incredibly surprising, noting the Ivy Council of Presidents’ disdain for the prefix “post.” (For a practical example of the “postphobic” bent of our esteemed leaders, consider their stance on the I-AA playoffs in football.)

The arguments for and against an Ivy League tournament are pretty straightforward, and because I don’t really have the patience or the inclination to hash it all out here, I’ll just summarize it for you. The fans of the six non-P’s love the idea and Penn and Princeton fans hate it.

The reason for this is pretty clear. Penn and Princeton have a Microsoft-like monopoly on Ivy League basketball. They have the impressive facilities, the rowdy fans and the history that give them the upper-hand when it comes to recruiting.

In a 14-game slugfest, the deeper, more talented teams will—by some law of probability that I would have learned had I attended Stat class—always rise to the top. Of course, the Penn and Princeton fans—who also didn’t attend my Stat class—will tell you that if the non-P’s would just try harder and put more of an emphasis on basketball that they could be just as good as the Quakers and Tigers.