Yes, it’s the month I meld into my couch. I’ve been intimate with Women’s March Madness for 21 years. Every “spring'“ as winter on our bigLake refuses to give up center court, demanding another round of celebrity, reminding us who last/every year’s climactic champion is in wavy, drama-queen kind of ways, I watch. Embrace sweaty ESPN-flavored enthusiasms. And watch and watch.