George Mason? Are you kidding me?

I feel like Jack Nicholson from “The Shining” right now. I’m talking to myself, screaming at the television, looking unbelievably disheveled and waiting for some spirit to write REDRUM on my walls.

Arguably the craziest tournament in history and I’m locked in a one bedroom cell screaming “Morrison, you wiener” at the top of my lungs to myself.

Needless to say, that phrase late Thursday night probably did not endear myself to my new neighbors.

You see, I moved to Houston from Chicago two weeks ago for a job, leaving all semblance of the life I once had. Good move, Jeff.

My only connection is through the 21st Century staples, e-mail and cell phone, not to mention the fact my lack of a social circle in my new locale has forced me to watch the entire tournament alone.

Not something I would recommend to anyone.

Usually, people find themselves surrounded by others similarly astonished at the twists and turns of March Madness, whether it be at a bar or simply plopped down on a couch.

There could be high-fives, hands on the head in amazement or rabid discussions trying to decipher how tournament events happen.

Me? Well, I’ve had some nice discussions with myself.

“Hey Jeff, how about this Tyrus Thomas? First round pick for the Bulls?”

“Jeff, doesn’t Tony Skinn sound like a porn star’s name?”

“Jeff, who are your top five teams for next season?” (North Carolina, Kansas, Florida, Georgetown and Wisconsin with UCLA, Villanova and Ohio State close behind for those of you curious).

Silence.

Now don’t get me wrong. I am a social person. I have photographic evidence. But adjusting to a new city and a new job during tournament time doesn’t leave much time to meet new people.

And I’m definitely not going to be that weird guy at the bar sitting by himself. That’s worse than being alone in my apartment.

I felt almost like I was paying my penance for being able to spend my senior year consumed by the Illini’s amazing run.

When my craziness reached its peak the other night as Gonzaga blew a 17-point lead to UCLA, I pointed my finger up at the sky, smiled and simply said “touch‚,” knowing that a higher force was having fun with me.

The instability of the tournament when watching it alone leads to many things.

Your favorite team losing because the referees from the Penn State game decided to show up again leads to throwing anything and everything you can find.

Wichita State beating Tennessee just like you picked in your bracket means a lot of yelling “I knew it,” while people walking by your apartment are calling the authorities telling them to fit you for a straitjacket.

Kansas losing in the first round? Well, that just makes me happy.

It even leads to the widest range of emotions which brings me to George Mason.

The Cinderella of all Cinderellas.

Beating Michigan State, a team I had going to the Elite Eight, driving me to rip up my bracket, and then forcing me to become their biggest fan when they crash the party that had UConn on the list.

I sat back and tried to look at this logically.

A big reason that this season’s tournament is so damn screwy is because of the lack of a dominant team.

Duke, UConn, and Villanova – the three teams that were the focus most of the season – all have flaws.

Last year, there was little doubt that North Carolina and Illinois were the best teams.

Two years ago, UConn and Duke played in the national semifinal when everyone said they were the best teams.

This year? Who knows.

Essentially, this season was built along the weak storyline of Gonzaga’s Adam Morrison and Duke’s J.J. Redick scoring at will.

Two players that were made to be bigger than life, but have so many flaws that NBA Draft experts are split down the middle on how good they actually are.

Both had a chance to lead their teams into the Final Four. Both left the court crying, unable to accomplish the feat.

Then it hit me.

This would have happened any year.

Dominant teams or not. Dominant players or not.

The tournament may be the only entity in our universe that is unexplainable by any means of research, statistical evidence or logic, but there is one thing I’ve found true.

Don’t shield yourself from the madness.

Embrace it.

Or it will consume you.

Embrace the fact you’re not going to win your bracket.

Embrace the fact sometime soon a No.16 will beat a No.1 seed.

And embrace the fact you need to share in the insanity with as many other people as possible.

Take it from me.

I’m surrounded by pizza boxes, beer bottles, a laptop open to eight windows of college basketball information, a pile of clothes I probably should wash and my own mind trying to comprehend what’s going on in the tournament. (It doesn’t help I have to listen to Billy Packer).

George Mason?

Three more games?

Is it ironic that they play “One Shining Moment,” after the championship?

Here’s Johnny!

Jeff Feyerer is a former Daily Illini columnist. He can be reached at [email protected].