By Allen Hamrick
“March madness,” they holler – a time of basketball’s finest teams cracking the whip on the courts, but… March is not just the month hosting basketball’s greatest tournaments, it is also a tug of war with winter against spring, ice against mud and plants against frost. The collision between the two titans- winter and spring- creates a unique whiplash, it sends our ancient internal instincts into a tailspin.
In the span of a 24-hour day, we can be face to face with a snowstorm and in the very next few hours sweating in the sun. The sun is bright enough to light the universe and drive your yearning for the outdoors into chaos. The weather is both typical and unpredictable as the winter’s cold air masses from the north won’t turn loose of their desire to snow in June. The push of warm air masses from the south with their wet humidity laden fronts are too much and eventually win out.
With spring sports warming up bullpens and the asphalt, the wars between the two titans are most visible. March winds, cold weather, hot weather – all are part of the game of chance, the chance that it can be a good day or a bad one. Baseball and softball players find themselves in a twisting game trying to predict where the ball will be in the ever shifting winds, an exercise that will drive a player mad. Ball players, as well as track athletes, stand shivering through sleet in one game as fans are wrapped in blankets and the next night it’s so warm the air conditioners are blowing.
If you’re an angler, the rivers and lakes don’t fare any better. March is psychological, a thermal shock wave. On 60 degree days, the warm sun whispers to the fish that it’s time to get busy because spring is almost here. Then, the snow hits, sending a cold flush of water shaking up the bite of the fish. Streams, rivers and lakes turn into chocolate milkshakes, and trying to find fish to bite is like using smoke as a crank bait. Fish are visual hunters, and while, yes, you can catch them in muddy water, you may as well cook snowballs for dinner if you can keep the pot cold enough. The laws of nature are not on the angler’s side.
People are hard-wired to know when the seasons change so we can adapt to the situations in all months except March. Our ancestors have depended on reading nature’s signs. When March comes, our instincts are bombarded with desires that can’t be followed. One morning the biting chill drives us back to the fire, and in the same afternoon, the warmth triggers spring fever and a restless urge to get stuff done. We respond to the lengthening days with a frantic and often irrational sense of purpose. We are fueled by the greening landscape and glossy seed catalogs, and with pure desperation, we try and rush spring to win the duel. Our lush Eden-like landscape we have dreamed of all winter is nearly here. Why? Because March is considered the month of hope. Regardless of the weather, we view the world as becoming new, and we get restless. Everything we do in March, from carrying in and out the trays of seeds to washing the car in the snow, is a bet that winter won’t be around much longer.
Alas, we steady on knowing that on the other side of that mud soaked, snow-covered March hill, the sun will eventually win. We want to be there when the trees are budding, and the first sprouts of fresh grass begin to make you fire up the mower. So, gear up – spring sports are here, even in the cold and damp and windy, but they’re here, nonetheless. Breakout the coolers and field jackets, and let’s get ready for March sports.
