March Madness is making me madly march around.

I grew up playing basketball, watching basketball, talking about basketball, and – later in my career – humbling aspiring student-athletes in our church gym through the game of basketball. I went to basketball clinics growing up, won actual trophies (and not those lame “Participation Awards” we have nowadays) that related to excelling in the sport of basketball.

So it’s safe to say that I know my stuff when it comes to basketball.

I’m in a free NCAA Men’s Basketball Tournament Challenge through I joined up with five other people to form our “league”. You earn points for each correct winner you predict during “March Madness”.

I’m now officially in 6th place in our group.

Dead. Last.

One thing I didn’t mention: the five other people are my wife and my four Elementary school-aged children.

Oh, and here’s the topper: the overall leader is our 6-year-old daughter.  Yeah, the exact same kid who gets scared when people are dribbling a ball near her.

That’s right. Mr. Basketball is getting crushed by Ms. Dora the Explorer.

What if all of life worked this way? What if the ill-equipped tried to take over this planet? What if your neighbor could waltz into your operating room with gardening tools, insisting on assisting? What if your dog drove the school bus on all your kids’ field trips – blindfolded? What if – horror of all horrors – your boss tried to do your job?

It’s got to stop, right here, right now. This Monday Musing is a call out for sweeping reform. I propose that, from this point forward, only the highly-qualified may be allowed to enter any sports-related predicting opportunities. Amateurs need not apply. Go back to playing with your dollies and your video games. Leave this stuff to the experts.

Maybe that way I’ll be able to finally win my family bracket.