The Psychology of Fandom: Why March Madness Hooks You (and What That Says About Us)

Every March, something strange happens. People who haven’t watched a single college basketball game all year suddenly develop deep, undying loyalty to teams they barely knew existed two weeks ago. They fill out brackets like their retirement depends on it. They scream at the TV. They feel genuine heartbreak when a school they never attended loses to another school they never heard of.

What is this sorcery? It’s not just basketball—it’s psychology. March Madness taps into something deeper: tribal loyalty, emotional investment, and the human need to belong.

And here’s the kicker—this isn’t just about sports. The same forces that turn casual viewers into die-hard fans also shape how we connect with brands, ideas, and even social movements.

Let’s break it down.

Stories Make Us Care

March Madness isn’t just about buzzer-beaters—it’s about underdog stories, last-chance seniors, and teams defying the odds. The NCAA and TV networks don’t just broadcast games; they weave narratives. And once we care about the story, we care about the team.

Take Loyola Chicago’s 2018 Cinderella run. They weren’t just a No. 11 seed upsetting giants—they had Sister Jean, the 98-year-old nun who became the team’s spiritual and emotional mascot. She was in the stands, praying for the players, offering wisdom, and winning America’s heart. Even people who couldn’t locate Loyola Chicago on a map were suddenly rooting for them.

Why? Because our brains are wired for storytelling. Neuroscientists have found that compelling narratives trigger the release of oxytocin, the “bonding hormone.” When we hear a moving story, we experience empathy and connection. It’s the same reason we cry at movies, get hooked on binge-worthy shows, or feel like we know our favorite influencers.

Ever notice how certain brands feel more personal? Apple doesn’t just sell gadgets; they sell rebellion against the status quo. Nike doesn’t just sell shoes; they tell stories of grit and perseverance. That’s because humans don’t engage with facts—we engage with meaning.

We don’t just root for teams. We root for stories.

Belonging Turns Casual Fans into Die-Hards

Why do people who never attended Duke or Kentucky scream at their TVs like their personal honor is at stake? Because fandom isn’t just about the game—it’s about identity.

Social psychologists call this basking in reflected glory (BIRGing). When a team wins, fans talk about it in personal terms: We won. We dominated. This sense of shared success boosts self-esteem, even if the fan had zero impact on the game.

And it works the other way, too. When a team loses, hardcore fans experience CORFing—cutting off reflected failure. They’ll distance themselves, saying They played terribly, as if they were never really involved in the first place.

Fandom isn’t just fun; it’s a psychological mechanism for self-worth. It’s why people wear their team’s colors, why sports bars are full on game days, and why strangers high-five in airports when they spot someone in the same jersey.

Brands tap into this same need for belonging. Harley-Davidson isn’t just a motorcycle company—it’s a lifestyle. CrossFit isn’t just a workout—it’s a tribe. Starbucks doesn’t just sell coffee—it creates a routine people identify with.

We don’t just want products. We want to be part of something.

Rituals Keep Us Hooked

Every great sports team has traditions—fight songs, pregame rituals, lucky socks that absolutely affect the game outcome. March Madness thrives on these little moments because rituals create deep psychological attachment.

Anthropologists have found that rituals, whether religious, cultural, or personal, create predictability and connection. They give our brains a sense of structure and make experiences more meaningful. This is why sports fans insist on watching games from the same seat, eating the same game-day food, or doing a weird handshake before tip-off. These habits don’t actually influence the game, but they feel like they do, creating an illusion of control in the midst of uncertainty.

A great example of ritual-driven brand loyalty is Costco.

Shopping at Costco isn’t just about buying in bulk—it’s an experience built on rituals. Members flash their card at the entrance like an exclusive club. Many follow the same path through the store, always stopping for free samples. The checkout process, where a worker marks your receipt at the exit, is a final step in the routine.

These rituals don’t just create familiarity—they help shoppers feel in control in an otherwise unpredictable environment. Costco’s inventory constantly changes, favorite items disappear without warning, and the crowds can be overwhelming. Yet, the structure of the experience remains the same. The store layout rarely shifts, making the shopping trip feel predictable. The receipt-check, though routine, offers a final moment of reassurance that everything is in order. And no matter what’s happening in the world, the $1.50 hot dog combo is always waiting at the end, a small but reliable reward.

Scarcity Makes Things More Exciting

March Madness happens once a year. If you miss it, you wait another 365 days. That urgency makes every game feel huge.

Scarcity psychology explains why things feel more valuable when they’re limited. Behavioral economist Dan Ariely has shown that when people believe something is rare—whether it’s a product, an experience, or even a dating prospect—it becomes instantly more desirable.

This is why Disney locks its classic movies in the “vault” for years before re-releasing them. It’s why McDonald’s Shamrock Shake only appears in March. It’s why pumpkin spice lattes disappear before you’ve had your fill. If something is always available, we take it for granted. But when it’s fleeting, we crave it.

Whether it’s basketball or marketing, scarcity turns want into need.

Rivalries Fuel the Fire

Duke vs. UNC. Kentucky vs. Louisville. March Madness thrives on rivalries because nothing builds passion like picking a side.

Psychologists call this in-group vs. out-group bias. We naturally categorize the world into us vs. them, and when we do, we exaggerate both our loyalty to our side and our dislike of the other. Rivalries are primal. They make things personal.

It’s why Yankees vs. Red Sox games feel different. It’s why political debates get so heated. It’s why even silly rivalries—like Team Peeta vs. Team Gale—stick in our minds.

Brands know this, too. Apple vs. Android. Coke vs. Pepsi. Nike vs. Adidas. These rivalries aren’t just competition; they give customers a reason to choose a side—and once they do, they’re invested.

We don’t just like things. We define ourselves by what we stand for (and sometimes, what we stand against).

So, What Does This Say About Us?

March Madness isn’t just a basketball tournament—it’s a masterclass in human psychology. It reminds us that:

• We don’t just root for teams—we root for stories.

• We don’t just like things—we identify with them.

• We crave traditions, exclusivity, and a little friendly competition.

And that applies everywhere. Whether it’s your favorite team, your favorite brand, or your favorite coffee shop, the things we love most are the ones that make us feel something.

So next time you catch yourself way too invested in a March Madness game featuring a team you learned about yesterday—don’t worry. You’re just human.

And that’s exactly why it works.