Plagued by ulcers, he had internalized the struggles of basketball's ambitious Tar Heel campaigns under then-coach Frank McGuire. Doctors told him to cut down on spicy, acidic foods and take long walks, far away from radio broadcasts during the final 10 minutes of games.

Since that time, the uneasy deal struck between sanity and March Madness has wavered. We now have Prilosec OTC and vibrating easy chairs, but we also have 35-second clocks and instant replays.

Fact: we all might do well to follow my grandfather's prescription. Problem: our teams cannot not win without us.

Drawn to the glow of plasma and HD, we are chaperones to our teams' successes, proverbial "seventh men," lined up beyond the last row of the arena, guided by the delusion that we are somehow affecting the action despite the fact that the players can't even hear our cheers. As surely as if we held some mystical video-game controller, we are enabled.

This quaint concept is surely better than the alternative -- a ridiculous idea that teams might win or lose based on their our ability and performance. Perish the thought.

If our team wins, our misconceptions are only galvanized. And if they lose, well, it wasn't because we didn't wear our lucky socks, the ones so encrusted and brown that they constitute bio-fuel.

So, we put on the tattered "ACC Champion" T-shirt first worn during the Carter administration. We are suddenly stricken with Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder, rearranging furniture and artifacts, just so. We sit in our lucky chair, eat our lucky snacks, rub our lucky charms, pull down the shades on springtime, and we wait for the day that our favorite team's NCAA championship MVP validates us by saying:

"To everyone that stayed with us through thick, the thin, and the GEICO ads, it's all about you. You made this happen."

Thus, we win.

Whether we're in light blue, dark blue, red, purple, pink, or paisley, we win. We win at the semiserious sport of sports-watching. But not without cost.

According to 2004 research at the University of California-Berkeley, "Americans spend nine times as many minutes watching TV or movies as they do on sports, exercise, and all other leisure-time physical activities combined."

(What do you expect from a school that didn't make the NCAA field of 64?)

While many around the country are already engaged in spring co-rec softball or running road races, local hoops fans hit the snooze alarm and hibernate right past the Vernal Equinox. Others pitch horseshoes; we pitch fits. We're not throwing baseballs; we're throwing tantrums.

And burning calories.

Calorie-count.com estimates that casual sports-watching burns around 70 calories, and that's sitting a through a blowout. Watching a buzzer-beater, we're likely fry up at least 180. Compare this to the same Web site's estimation that 190 calories are burned engaging in "vigorous arts and crafts."

I don't even want to know what that means. However, I do know that a one-ounce pack of Wise's Puffed Cheez Doodles undoes the good of either activity.

More physical spectating can also evoke health-related concerns. Mystery aches and pains are borne of beating fists on the floor, and Carpal Tunnel Syndrome arises from gripping couch cushions for two-hour stretches. Think of the follicle damage as we tear at our hair. Then there are the gyrations and gesticulations of both joy and angst, the primordial screams of transcendence or the cries of despair.

A March 2006 report on MSNBC.msn.com noted that one fan suffered a burst blood vessel in his brain due to shouting at a sporting event.

"He spent four days in the hospital for observation and additional tests," the site said. "Then he was discharged with strict doctor's orders: don't scream.'"

The report added that one fan suffered a hernia from yelling too hard.

Income may be taxed as of April 15, but heart rates and blood pressure are surely taxed around each Ides of March.

Some preparation and understanding may widen the gap between merely pulling for one's team and pulling a hamstring while imitating the Tyler Hansbrough Virginia Tech Victory Dance across the Corian kitchen countertop.

First of all, check with doctors before starting any demanding exercise program, and properly exercising your right to root is demanding.

A pre-game warm-up couldn't hurt either, as noted by the user-edited self-help site, www.wikihow.com. (Pulling for a 16th seed may require a stretch, but it doesn't count.)

A little exercise during games can lead to better overall fitness after the tournament season, not to mention better mental capacity and perspective during games.

Recommendations by Assistant Professor Anne Mejia Downs, of the University of Indianapolis' Krannert School of Physical Therapy (at www.medicalnewstoday.com) included the following:

• Stand for part of the game instead of sitting -- do wall squats, march in place, or balance on one leg at a time;
• While sitting, do chair push-ups, neck rotations and extension;
• Lie on the floor for hamstring stretches, leg lifts, and push ups;
• Walk around during breaks.

Wikihow.com also suggests keeping food away from your seat during games, such that one doesn't sit with a remote in one hand and the spicy ranch corn chips in the other.

"Sit on a stability ball instead of the couch while actually watching the program," the site said. "Bounce a little to keep your body warmed up between commercial breaks, or do push-ups or other exercises that take your eyes permanently from the TV. Work yourself hard during the commercials, and then stretch for a short time when the commercials are over."

I myself spend halftimes shooting baskets in my driveway with my children. This serves the dual purpose of reminding me of what's truly important beyond the final buzzer and driving home the humbling notion of exactly how hard putting a round ball through a steel hoop can be, especially for 40-something, earthbound mortals.

If there is indeed a madness to the month of March, it is less in the eyes of the players or the refs than among the spectators and fans. To quote the cartoon opossum Pogo, where our physical and mental health is concerned, "We have met the enemy, and he is us."

And win, lose, or draw, there will come a time when the streamers fall down on "One Shining Moment," the television goes off, our shades go up, and we discover by the sobering light of mid-April that we've missed six weeks of our lives -- that burning incense to the pagan god of fickle fate and free throws has gained us little.

We dust off the running shoes. We emerge from our den to hack through the front lawn with a sickle. We admit that the team either won or lost on its own merits. We swear we'll never blindly invest like that again.

Until next year.