The flight to Houston was fairly pleasant except for one strange incident. While we were in our descent, a flight attendant made an announcement that we weren’t going to land in Houston, but had to land in San Antonio. After many of the passengers gasped, she uttered words you don’t really want to hear from a flight attendant: “April fool.”

The weather here is overcast and a little windy, or what those from Houston call, “a beautiful day.” There are signs announcing the Final Four everywhere, and the whole town is abuzz. The favored attire is “mob casual”— warm ups or track suits. They dress like this everywhere, even in the nicest restaurants. I assume they own swimsuit outfits with Under Armor long pants.   

People are talking louder than they do at home as they grab some food and down some drinks. In a few hours, the food portion of their diet will be dropped for the rest of the weekend. In their collective stupor, they will become completely consumed by the games. Their sense of happiness or sadness, their very self-worth will be determined by the actions of a few kids who are barely old enough to drive. And before you know it, they’ll be back home and one day soon, they’ll be reprimanding their kids, “Stop goofing around. Act like a grownup and take life seriously.”