March Madness is a time for a bit of cognitive dissonance for me.
Even though I played in it for three years, I try to avoid watching the NCAA tournament. At its highest levels, college basketball is an abusive and exploitative industry built on the backs of often-disadvantaged young people.
The argument that those young people are getting their educations paid for has never held much weight with me. When I was in college, our basketball team's graduation rate hovered around 10 percent and many of those who did graduate took with them nearly worthless degrees in subjects picked for them.
There is also the problem of proportionality. A college degree might have been reasonable compensation for the average NCAA tournament participant forty years ago. But when the NCAA pockets roughly a billion (with a B) dollars in exchange for three weeks of basketball, this is no longer the case.
So if not money, what of the fame?
I am told often that I should more thoroughly appreciate that I was once the subject of so many fans' adulation. While it is true that being on the court in front of 14,000 people was intoxicating in its way, it is also true that my teammates and I endured remarkable amounts of physical and psychological trauma in order to reap this reward. (Look no further than the recent news that my second head coach, Larry Eustachy, has created a "culture of fear" at his current home, Colorado State University.)
This is not to say that all college sports are worthless. In fact, I speak often of the many traits my own college sports experience helped cultivate in me—things like confidence, perseverance, and resilience.
However, I believe those traits could have been cultivated without being made to feel worthless by coaches, without causing lasting damage to my body, and with a fair share of the revenue my teammates and I were generating.
Paul Shirley played for the Iowa State Cyclones and spent eight seasons in pro basketball. He’s now a writer living in Los Angeles. This post originally appeared on his Facebook.
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Grieving couple comforting each other
This response to someone grieving a friend might be the best internet comment ever
When someone is hit with the sudden loss of a friend or loved one, words rarely feel like enough. Yet, more than a decade ago, a wise Redditor named GSnow shared thoughts so profound they still bring comfort to grieving hearts today.
Originally posted around 2011, the now-famous reply was rediscovered when Upvoted, an official Reddit publication, featured it again to remind everyone of its enduring truth. It began as a simple plea for help: “My friend just died. I don't know what to do.”
What followed was a piece of writing that many consider one of the internet’s best comments of all time. It remains shared across social media, grief forums, and personal messages to this day because its honesty and metaphor speak to the raw reality of loss and the slow, irregular path toward healing.
Below is GSnow’s full reply, unchanged, in all its gentle, wave-crashing beauty:
Why this advice still matters
Mental health professionals and grief counselors often describe bereavement in stages or phases, but GSnow’s “wave theory” gives an image more relatable for many. Rather than a linear process, grief surges and retreats—sometimes triggered by a song, a place, or a simple morning cup of coffee.
In recent years, this metaphor has found renewed relevance. Communities on Reddit, TikTok, and grief support groups frequently reshare it to help explain the unpredictable nature of mourning.
Many readers say this analogy helps them feel less alone, giving them permission to ride each wave of grief rather than fight it.
Finding comfort in shared wisdom
Since this comment first surfaced, countless people have posted their own stories underneath it, thanking GSnow and passing the words to others facing fresh heartbreak. It’s proof that sometimes, the internet can feel like a global support group—strangers linked by shared loss and hope.
For those searching for more support today, organizations like The Dougy Center, GriefShare, and local bereavement groups offer compassionate resources. If you or someone you know is struggling with intense grief, please reach out to mental health professionals who can help navigate these deep waters.
When grief comes crashing like the ocean, remember these words—and hang on. There is life between the waves.
This article originally appeared four years ago.