Abigail M. Schilling

I got a bit into college basketball recently. It was a bit crazy (lots of yelling) and a bit stressful (lots of yelling). I tried to write about it several times. But all that came out was lots of yelling. Yelling is how I show emotion.

But here's her take on all my yelling.

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A long time ago (2005), in a land far away (Blogspot), I became friends with Abigail M. Schilling. It started out casually, as Internet relationships go. But in early March 2006 things took a turn toward committed when I realized that Abigail has the magic power called Controlling the Outcome of Basketball Games.

It was March Madness, and I was watching the first round while IMing with the Schilbot.

“We need Gonzaga to win,” I said.

“Okay,” she said.

And they did.

“We need Duke to win,” I said.

“Okay,” she said.

And they did.

Every time I said I needed a specific team to win, Abigail would say “okay,” and then someone would make a crucial three, or pull down an offensive board, or sell a charge that shifted the momentum of the entire game. At first I thought it was coincidence. Then I realized it was some sort of dark magic.

“Let’s be friends forever,” I said, because the possibilities for exploitation and riches seemed promising. It was like stumbling upon my identical hand twin and discovering that she could do dark magic. Parseltongue with a profit.

The weekend after I discovered her talent, I went to my office and talked a whole lot of shit about my brackets and how everyone ought to just give up their money right then and there. It was a sure thing, my victory. I had Abigail’s magic.

And then! she packed up her car and went to Yosemite for a camping trip. I emailed, texted, called, cried. No response. She showed me a world where I was the Queen of Gambling, and then she took it all away. I lost the March Madness pool. It was devastating. (In no small part because of all the smack talk I’d dished out and was then forced to eat.)

Eventually I forgave Abigail for abandoning me and we started afresh.

Even though our relationship was formed on the grounds of moral debauchery and my perverse dream of making bank through the misuse of innocent collegiate athletes, Schilbo and I were able to build a really solid friendship. With each new revelation about the ridiculousness of my personality or the baseness of my ethics, I have expected her to scorn me. However, Abigail embraces my flaws, and sometimes she even celebrates them. It’s very Anne Shirley - Dina Barry, only without one of us selling out and settling down with a boring man to live a life of pregnancy and doilies.

One thing I trusted Abigail with is the depth and conviction of my love for the University of Tennessee women’s basketball program. The coach, Pat Summitt, is my long-time, all-time hero. I have read everything written about her and by her, and I probably know more about her than I do my very own family members. I can recite the rosters from every Tennessee season, tell you which player came from what hometown, how many points she averaged and what her play looked like in the postseason. Growing up (and by growing up, I mean until I was 26) my bedroom was painted orange. I heart the Lady Vols.

Schilbo came to visit me in Georgia earlier this year and I took her to see the Vols play at The University of Georgia. In Pretty Woman Richard Gere tells Julia Roberts, “People's reactions to opera the first time they see it is very dramatic. They either love it or they hate it. If they love it, they will always love it. If they don't, they may learn to appreciate it, but it will never become part of their soul.” I knew that Abigail would appreciate The Vols, because that’s what kind of friend she is, but I didn’t realize she would learn to love them in her soul.

I am not sure if Abs knew the power she wielded with the Controlling the Outcome of Basketball Games thing until she met me. Or maybe she just didn’t know how to channel it for evil. For this year’s March Madness we picked our brackets together, and she forced all of the people in her office to join a pool. She played at the university where she works. She played on Facebook. She studied the rosters, memorized the stats. She was a post-season tornado. It was a fearsome thing to behold.

We dominated the entire men’s tournament. By the time the teams were headed to Atlanta, we had three of the Final Four. I don’t think Abigail wanted to get all four. It would seem suspicious.

At the same time, the Lady Vols were rocking through the Dayton regional in the women’s tournament. I cared about the men’s game for the money, but I cared about the women’s game for my soul. It was supposed to be the hardest region, but Tennessee steamrolled everyone they came in contact with. Sunday night began the women’s Final Four and I was at a dinner during the LSU-Rutgers game. I kept sneaking off to the restroom to text Abigail about the score. She responded immediately each time. Rutgers beat LSU. I made it home in time for the second game. Tennessee beat North Carolina.

Monday night was the men’s championship game between Ohio State and the University of Florida. Who did Schilbo and I have in the final? Ohio State and the University of Florida. Because, duh, magic was on our side. We picked Ohio State to win it all.

During half time of the men’s final, Abigail IMed me, expressing some concern. Florida was having their way with Ohio State, and we needed the Buckeyes to win. At stake: money, pride, bragging rights…money. I’d been dreading this moment, hoping to forever avoid it. I had to tell her the truth: Luck is a wonderful, powerful thing, especially in competitive sport. But it’s quantifiable. The men’s and women’s tournaments were drawing to a close and it seemed like she only had enough luck to make one win happen. I explained this, and left her to ponder the ramifications. Ohio State lost.

Last night was the women’s final: Tennessee vs. Rutgers. Abs and I chatted it up in the pre-game. She’d read every article on ESPN.com. She knew her stuff. Right before tip-off she said, “I am such a crazy fan of Pat.” More beautiful words have ever been uttered.

Schilbot had to work an event last night, but she kept coming back to check in.

At 8:33, she said: I’m nervous.

At 9:39: It’s halftime, and the Vols are rocking!

At 10:13: This game is kicking ass! It’s ‘cause we saved our luck.

At 10:28: This game is the best.

At 10:29: But I do feel a little bit bad for Rutgers, what with their self-motivation and all.

At 10:46: WOOOO!

The University of Tennessee Lady Vols, under Coach Pat Summitt, won their 7th National Championship.

Abigail has the magic to make teams win. An Ohio State victory would have made her famous. But Tennessee was the team that cut down the nets.

I originally thought Abigial’s basketball luck was dark magic, but now I remember that she is a Gryffindor through and through. Her loyalty is unmatched. Now I think I’ll teach her the words to the Tennessee fight song.

Corn don’t grow at all on Rocky Top, dirt’s too rocky by far. That’s why all the folks on Rocky Top get their corn from a jar. Rocky Top you’ll always be home sweet home to me. Good ol’ Rocky Top. Rocky Top Tennessee.

Corn from a jar? That’s right. ‘Cause real friends share moonshine.