Airball...

In an attempt to re-acclimate myself to American culture after having been abroad, I decided to make an effort to watch college basketball this season.

I grew up playing basketball-- yes, Jess, that's how I got my broad shoulders (wink, wink). But I loved it. It was an outlet for me, a way to take out aggression, a mechanism to learn how to overcome obstacles and an activity that taught me leadership and teamwork.

As a Chicagoan born in the mid-80s, I also grew up watching one of the most legendary basketball teams. There was no way to avoid watching Michael Jordan and Scottie Pippen tear through multiple opponents to win six NBA titles. Watching these championships created some of my favorite childhood memories.

But having lived abroad for two and half years, my love for basketball faded. Though there was a good amount of basketball played in South Africa, it is not what it is here in the United States, and people do not follow the NBA or NCAA avidly. I watched more rugby matches than basketball games, a notion that sickens me a little bit now that I stop to think about it.

So here I am, a Georgetown alumna diving into March Madness once again. There is a well-balanced amount of tension and anticipation in the air. With a Syracuse alum for a brother, the excitement inside me builds and I can feel the competitive side of me awaken. Georgetown shows skill and potential in the Big East Tournament, and I begin to believe again.

And then we lose to Ohio University in the first round of the NCAA Tournament.

Feel the air being let out of your sails? The pop of a balloon?

No, that’s just the sinking of my heart. Or the force of a big fat Georgetown airball.