Yesterday morning, I woke up to the sound of birds squawking outside my window. Today it was the sound of steady rain pounding against the aluminum siding of my apartment. Spring comes early in South Carolina—the pollen, the humidity, oh the joy. It seems to be the same thing every year. By the time the NBA all star game rolls around, I’m so sick of hearing about the whims of Lebron James that I’ve promised myself a good dozen times, to delete my fantasy basketball app, to no longer waste anymore of my precious time on such a trivial, such an inferior, fantasy enterprise that hardly requires anything more than the brain power needed to guess which NBA star will remain uninjured. This may be a bit harsh, and in fact, I always end up a liar. I never actually delete the app. I love Anthony Davis too much. Regardless, by the end of February, I’m legitimately begging God for anything that has to do with baseball. Lately, I’ve been so bored that I bought some crypto currency simply to have something to look at on my phone.

But right around the corner is March, and the most beautiful thing about March is not a bunch of drunken college students puking up green goo in commemoration of St. Patrick. Nor is it March Madness. The NCAA is a joke now. I will no longer watch until the players get paid.

The most beautiful thing about March is the fantasy baseball draft.