Christmas is the most wonderful time of the year. Runner-up is now: tourney-time in collegiate basketball.
Sport brings nations, family and friends together. Like the game of catch between father and son in the movie Field of Dreams, sport strengthens human bonds in ways that transcend words, space and time.
The first Thursday and Friday of the NCAA men's Division I tournament are two of the least productive workdays of the year. Across the country, proud alumni, everyday sports fans, and individuals who've never played a game of H.O.R.S.E in their lives are swept up into bracketology and the promise of bragging rights.
There's a little more at work here, though, than the title of office champion.
Each March, obscure teams walk out onto the court and, in ridiculously breathtaking fashion, roll around joy filled and victorious on that same field of play as the final horn sounds. Most of these 18- to 23-year-olds from some 14th- or 15th-seeded school will become accountants, teachers, lawyers, school-bus drivers, and so on; in a month or so we'll never even remember their names.
At least not their last names.
Their first names, though, we'll remember those. We'll remember that, every now and then, possible outlasts impossible. We'll remember that odds are beatable. We'll remember that the survival of faith and hope depends upon how much we nourish and share each one. Long after the arenas empty, these Davids can help us to remember that the time is always right to fan the sparks of potential and the miraculous inside each one of us; perpetually glowing embers requiring only your belief to create much needed light for the world.