How do you fill out a March Madness bracket? It’s a common question this time of year.

The first lie you tell yourself in March is that you’re going to be logical about this. You sit down with the bracket like it’s a tax form. Coffee on the table. Maybe a little swagger. This year, you say. This year I’m doing it right.

Five minutes later you’re circling a 12-seed because their mascot is a bulldog and bulldogs, historically speaking, look like they can handle a late-game press. Welcome to March Madness.

The bracket is part sports analysis, part personality test, part beautiful public mistake. Everybody says they have a system. Most of us are just dressing up gut feelings in statistics and hoping nobody notices.

Still—there is a way to do it without completely embarrassing yourself in the office pool.

How to Fill Out a March Madness Bracket

Start with the boring stuff: the 1 seeds.

Most years, they’re there for a reason. Deep roster. Legit defense. Coaches who look like they’ve survived at least three separate tournament heartbreaks and kept receipts. Don’t get cute here. One of them usually makes the Final Four. Sometimes two. Occasionally three if the basketball gods are feeling predictable, which they rarely are but hey, hope springs eternal.

Then come the 8-9 games. These are coin flips wearing jerseys.

Don’t overthink them. Pick the team whose style you trust more: maybe a defense that turns games into bar fights, maybe a backcourt that can shoot the lights out. Or just pick the team you’d rather watch again on Saturday. Life’s short.

Now we get to the 5-12 matchup. The bracket’s favorite little chaos portal.

Every year somebody in a 12 seed ruins a perfectly respectable program’s weekend. It’s basically tradition at this point. The trick is not picking every 12 seed like a caffeinated nihilist. Choose one. Maybe two if you’re feeling spicy.

Look for the mid-major with an old point guard and a coach who looks like he still prints MapQuest directions. Those teams are dangerous. They run their offense like a dinner reservation: on time, organized, and nobody’s rushing.

Next rule: ride a hot guard.

March is guard play and nerves. Big men can dominate in January. In March, the ball ends up in a jittery sophomore’s hands with 11 seconds left and the season on the line. If a team has a guard who can create a shot without looking like he’s solving a geometry problem, that team can go places.

Trust defense, too. Offense can disappear faster than your bracket credibility on the first Thursday afternoon. Defense travels. It shows up even when the shots don’t.

And then there’s the most honest part of the whole process: the irrational pick.

Maybe it’s your alma mater. Maybe it’s the team with the coolest uniforms. Maybe it’s a school you watched randomly in December and thought, huh, those guys are fun. Go with it. One weird pick is the seasoning. Without it the bracket tastes like plain oatmeal.

Just don’t turn the whole thing into a circus.

Finally, pick your champion.

This is where people suddenly act like Wall Street analysts. KenPom numbers. Strength of schedule. Offensive efficiency. It’s all useful, sure. But the truth is simpler. Pick a team that defends, rebounds, and has a guard who looks comfortable when everything gets loud.

Also—minor detail—pick a team you won’t hate watching six times in three weeks. When you’re done, step back and admire the thing. It’ll look clean, confident, almost responsible. It will also be wrong.

By Thursday night some 13 seed from a town you thought sold tractor parts will have detonated half your bracket. Your champion will look shaky. Your bold upset will lose by 22.

And that’s the point. The bracket isn’t about being perfect. It’s about three weeks of buzzer-beaters, panic, joy, and that one friend who keeps texting “told you so” after every upset.

Fill it out. Trust your instincts. Embrace the chaos. March doesn’t care about your system. And honestly? That’s why we love her.