I love this time of year. March Madness hits its fever pitch coupled with vomiting and explosive diarrhea (ch-cha-cha) on Thursday, which conveniently and dangerously falls on St. Patrick's Day, and soon an army of brain-dead coeds will be flooding our beaches from all over with daddy's money to act like stupid drunken whores for our enjoyment. Ah, spring is here.
It also means that most back pockets will be filled with a sweat-stained, dirty, nappy folded up print-out of the tournament brackets for a half-assed method to the madness. Nobody's an expert, so everybody's an expert. Some blindly vote by seeds, some favor their alma mater or geography, some pick the coolest mascots or prettiest uniforms. Me? I break out the Ouija board and Jagermeister and ask my good buddy Pistol Pete in my lucky tighty-whities. The point is, all formulas are equally effective once the rubber hits the road and we're all winners. Except of course the bite-in-the-ass boss who actually expects you to be productive this week. Sorry, chief. I need a personal day to honor my Irish ancestors by inhaling green beer and sucker-punching a stranger while cheering on the underdogs I picked against. Let the games begin.
"If you sue your superiors, it won't end well."
Time to dust off my old high school cup and supporter. Almost scab time. I was on the Tampa Bay Storm for six hours ya know, or the exact amount of time before the first cut. But I was out there!
Effective immediately, Auburn University dismissed four football players who were suspects in an armed robbery Friday. The four engineering majors apparently entered a residence…just seeing if you were paying attention. The four worthless turds apparently entered a residence sporting a handgun and stole unnamed personal property recovered after the arrest. Ah, reminds me of my days in college and all the shenanigans I pulled, like skipping class, upside-down margaritas and making out with the chubby chick on the dance floor after last call. Don't recall ever robbing anybody at gunpoint, though. Eh, it's probably because I'm an old fuddy-duddy. I'll bet it's just as popular today as getting crabs in my time (um, from sharing a beach towel).
America's latest failed foreign-exchange experiment David Beckham and his robot wife Victoria (Posh Spice) are expecting a baby daughter. The Beckhams, if you recall, hit the LA scene in 2007 to an inexplicable media frenzy aimed at bringing soccer popularity to the US. Much like the metric system, the hype was as artificial as Victoria's boobs and disappeared faster than you could say soccer sucks.
This article appears in Mar 10-16, 2011.