March Madness took a literal turn for me in the 80s.

Des Moines Register article “New role for Hawkeye Carfino: Sex symbol” published Feb. 4, 1983

“Oh, my God. You were a stalker!”

My friend Terri held up a letter she had just pulled from a box of my childhood memorabilia—the same boxes that had followed me, unopened, for more than thirty years. We were in my basement, mid-move, wine in hand, determined that this would be the time I didn’t just relocate my past from one basement to another.

I looked at the letter. Then back at her. “Yep. Absolutely. I was a teenage stalker.”

The evidence was undeniable. Dated March 7, 1984, the letter was marked boldly across the top: Letter #8.

It was not my first communication.

The recipient was Steve Carfino, star point guard for the Iowa Hawkeyes basketball team. Not only did #15 wear the gold and black jersey with a warm smile and dark hair, but he was apparently the object of my attention.

Instead of writing the regular (why I am writing you, who I am, etc. etc.) I am going to take for granted that you have gotten my other letters…

Terri was doubled over.

“Who on earth is Steve Carfino—and how dare he not write you back?”

Fair question.

Because this wasn’t a casual crush. This was a full-on campaign to get Steve’s attention. By the spring of 1984, I had written at least eight letters, attempted a phone call from a high school pay phone (still unclear on how I sourced his contact information), and created a detailed game commentary. At one point, I had made a drawing, cut it into puzzle pieces, and mailed it to him, thinking my cleverness would get his attention.

This wasn’t admiration. This was a complete communications strategy.

It was during high school that I became a devoted Iowa Hawkeye fan. I drew the Hawkeye logo on all my folders and memorized the players’ names, numbers, and back stories. But it was Steve who was the main character in my affections.

I loved to watch the dark-haired athlete confidently run the ball up and down the court on my family’s color television console. Hawkeye basketball games were the focal point of my family’s living room on game day. Handsome #15 caught my teenage fancy.

So, if you want to know who I am and why the heck I’m writing you, you’ll have to find my other seven letters…

Reading that line now, I am both impressed and concerned. I had confidence and was fully convinced Steve would pick up my letters to read. But I was also slightly threatening. I don’t remember feeling desperate. What I remember is feeling committed.

At one point, I tried calling him from the pay phone at school. I was a good enough stalker to know to use a non-traceable phone. How on earth did I get his phone number? What was I going to say if he did answer, which he did not?

“Hi Steve, it’s me. Letter #8?”

As we continued digging through the box, Terri uncovered a newspaper clipping from The Des Moines Register, dated February 4, 1983. The headline read: “New role for Hawkeye Carfino: Sex Symbol.”

“Well, there you go,” she said. “This explains everything.”

The article opened with a description of his dark curly hair, deep brown eyes, and a grin that had captured the heart of the entire state. Sixteen-year-old me would have confirmed this as accurate.

What puzzled me most wasn’t the description—it was the realization that I should have had. I was not alone in my admiration. The article made it very clear that there were many fans. It seemed that I was operating under the assumption that I was the solo person making these communications.

Tonight’s a big game. I can honestly say that I totally have faith in you guys. We’re going to win! I’m going to write this letter during the game and in between homework…

Also included in my time capsule was a piece of scratch paper filled with my play-by-play commentary of a Michigan vs. Iowa game, algebra equations scattered throughout as proof that I was, in fact, multitasking.

- 74th straight home sell-out.

- Opened with a 3-point play.

- Rebound! Rebound!

- Boy you’re hot! You hit another one. Keep up your coolness.

- I think I like your away uniforms better.

- Stokes is on the line. Please, please, please make it.

- He missed.

- I’m going to turn the channel for a while – this game is too much for me.

At the top of the page, I had written: Official comments on Michigan game by Sandra Alexandra Wagner. This may have been my favorite discovery.

Because while I was a basketball cheerleader and a self-proclaimed fan, my knowledge of the game—actual strategy, plays, why players were doing what they were doing—has always been limited. What these notes revealed was that I wasn’t analyzing basketball. I was narrating emotion with authority.

Years later, with the benefit of Google, I looked up that game. On March 7, 1984, Michigan defeated Iowa 53–46. The loss checks out.

Back then, March Madness meant something different to me. It meant handwritten analysis, emotional investment, and a belief that my words might somehow reach the court. Now it means half-watching a game while doing a puzzle, checking my phone, and tuning in for the last two minutes if it’s close.

My husband, Garrett, is a real basketball fan. He watches the college games religiously. He understands the plays, tracks the stats, and fully invests in every possession.

I once wrote eight letters and tracked my odds of them being read. I stalked a college basketball player.

We are not the same.

Somewhere along the way, my letter writing stopped. Letter #8 was never sent. Maybe it was the slow realization that I wasn’t actually part of the story I had created. I was just a teenager trying to matter to someone who felt bigger than my world.

Living now in a world of the internet and AI, I did what any reasonable adult would do. I looked up Steve Carfino.

He went on to have a successful basketball career and later became a commentator. He’s out there, living his life. And yes, he has a LinkedIn page.

So now I have options – no envelopes, stamps, no strategy required. Now, I just need to click Connect.

I thought about it for a moment. Then I closed the tab.

Some things are better left at Letter Number 8.