A: Long Enough to Build a Rocket

Q: How long does it take to play 1.2 seconds of college basketball?

Here’s how I spent 1.2 seconds of March Madness Time, which is different from regular time in that it moves more slowly than Mrs. Butterworth across a dinner plate:

Read a novel, made a quilt, chopped down a tree. Built a rocket.

Watched Hoosiers, finished my basement, ran with the cheetahs in Kenya. Sat in LA traffic, discovered two new solar systems.

I’ll bet you didn’t know you could grow a redwood tree in the time it took Creighton and San Diego State to play 1.2 seconds Sunday afternoon.

Does anything say “excitement’’ quite like watching referees standing at a scorer’s table, staring at a computer monitor? Evidently not. It’s not enough that a mountain of timeouts hoarded by control-freak coaches-X-endless-fouling-and-trips-to-the-free- throw-line = two minutes that last longer than the Rolling Stones.

Mick Jagger after watching 1.2 seconds of college basketball

No. To that we add the latest sport, monitor gazing. It used to be limited to the NFL and department store shoplifting cases. Now it’s everywhere, giving new meaning to the word Madness.

ESPN.com:

Creighton's last gasp with 1.2 seconds left ended in ambiguity, as a full-court pass by Scheierman went out of bounds, seemingly ending the game. But after SDSU players stormed the court, officials went to the replay booth and both teams huddled. The officials never made a determination of who the ball last touched, as Creighton's Arthur Kaluma and SDSU's Aguek Arop both leapt for the ball some 90 feet from where it was inbounded and appeared to touch it at the same time.

After a long delay, the officials whistled the game over amid a blur of confusion. An NCAA statement after the game said officials "ruled the clock hit zero before the ball touched out of bounds" and time expired.

Wow, what a magical ending to that game. Players wandering around the court, fans in half-hugs. Look at all that quasi-am energy. Were we not moved?

Science (or something) has proven a team can’t get a shot off in .3 seconds or less. All you can hope to do is volleyball the ball toward the hoop. Creighton had no chance in other words, regardless of how much time the refs might have restored to the clock.

And yet there I was, circumnavigating the globe on foot in 1.2 seconds.

I’m a Luddite when it comes to “innovation’’ in officiating and timekeeping in sports. I’d ban all reviews. I’d happily trade errant jabs at perfection-via-technology for flow and pace and adrenaline and all the stuff that makes sports compelling.

(Luddite: a person opposed to new technology or ways of working)

Nothing wrecks the energy of a game like a replay.

Once more: Games are coached by humans, played by humans, officiated by humans. Humans make mistakes. That’s OK. You don’t get a do-over on the PGA Tour if you shank a tee ball into an alligator pond. A hanging curveball is forever.

Let ‘em play. And ref.

Now, then. . .

GREAT WEEKEND OF HOOPS. HOWEVUH. . . Do we really want to watch San Diego State play Florida Atlantic in the semis? Is that the best use of a Saturday night? I’m all for upsets, but upsets need to know their place. Which is in the first weekend, not in the Elite 8.

I want the bluebloods in the Final 4. Does that make me a Republican?

Having watched SDS and FAU this past fortnight, I can see they’re talented. And I understand part of the tournament’s appeal is, you don’t get a second chance. But the idea that Florida Atlantic lost to Middle Tennessee which lost to St. Bonaventure which lost to Canisius which lost to Marist (twice!) which lost to Binghamton, well. . .

Does anyone have Duke’s cell number?

Is UCLA doing anything this weekend?

This will be like watching the Reds and Pirates in the NLCS.

Geez, Doctor. Miss some sleep last night?

Maybe. Nothing that a ‘Bama-Marquette semi couldn’t have cured.

NOW THAT THAT PESKY BASKETBALL BUSINESS IS ALMOST OVER. . . We can all get down to what really matters: Preparing for the NFL Draft. Only one more week of actual compelling athletic competition separates us from spending hour upon hour talking about nothing, er, the draft. Never have so many spoken so loudly while knowing so little. Can hardly wait.

SPEAKING OF. . . Much local concern over the RB situation at PayJoe Stadium. I say, big freaking deal. You say?

The NFL game has evolved to an extent that having a great running back is practically luxurious and damned near frivolous. Like having a three-car garage. This isn’t 1965 or even 1995. Jim Brown mastodons no longer roam the earth. In 2023, Emmitt Smith would be a useful back, but only if he worked on his blitz pickup.

We exaggerate, of course. But how much?

RBs are to QBs what hood ornaments are to Lamborghinis. Five of the top 10 running backs last season worked for teams that missed the playoffs, including the three most prolific. Josh Jacobs ran for 1,653 yards. His team went 6-11. (Name for whom Jacobs played, win fab prizes.)

Meantime, of the top 10 passing-yards QBs, nine made the postseason. Of the top 10 rushing teams, six made it. Mock drafts suggest as many as four QBs will be among the first six players taken. The first RB off the board is Bijan Robinson, predicted to go at No. 30. Seven offensive tackles might go ahead of Robinson.

You don’t need a great running game to win big. You don’t even need a very good one. You need only the threat of a good running back. Like Joe Mixon, say. If Mixon wants to come back at a bargain-bin, SteinMart rate, bring him back. Take the savings and spend it on an edge rusher, a safety or a tight end.

I LOVED COVERING JIM BOWDEN and the Reds clubs he produced. Bodes was always up to something, and you can take that however you choose. But man, the talent he brought in. Neagle, Smiley, Harnisch, Schourek, Brantley, Shaw, Deion, Mitchell, Gant, Casey, Vaughn. Junior.

James G. Bowden IV drafted Votto and Dunn and Aaron Boone. He got Davey Johnson to work here, and Jack McKeon. Ball-o-nomics will assure the Reds will never see a collection of stars like that again.

Still, I got a chuckle out of hearing him Sunday, on the radio with Chick Ludwig, saying the current Reds are “doing it the right way’’ by going young and cheap. Bowden would never do that.

He was always The Young Man in a Hurry.

RIGHT NOW IS WHEN I miss having a good Reds team the most. Anticipation is part of baseball’s appeal. The idea that six months of relevant competition is about to begin. The notion that, on Labor Day, we’re still tuning in. The Brewers have managed that, in a smaller market. The Indians aren’t far behind.

Baseball’s Hope Metaphor works better as a concept here, for now.

What might you be doing on Labor Day? Where might your affections have settled?

TUNE O’ THE DAY. . . Frequent Perusers might know of my affection for Little Steven’s Underground Garage on the extraterrestrial radio. Sunday, I heard the worst cover, ever, of a good tune, and it came from a surprising source: Muddy Waters, doing the Stones’ Let’s Spend the Night Together. Inexcusably lame.

What in your mind is a cover that was better than the original? Easy for me: Hendrix doing Dylan’s All Along the Watchtower. Surprisingly, Aerosmith covering Come Together is strong. Public Enemy sampling Buffalo Springfield’s For What It’s Worth is also very good.

Yours, please.