A Smoking Pair of Boots

That's all that's left of Minions' bracket. It became apparent by the end of the first round that this was no ordinary tournament; a pair of true upsets and an 8-9 game or two were the only deviations from the chalk. The day thereafter, Minions officially lost interest when Maryland played so badly against a pretty crappy mid-major that its only hope of victory lay in decent officiating; good luck with that. And the day after that, Minions was declared legally dead when Texas, Virginia Tech, and Wisconsin all bit the big one in ridiculous displays of ineptitude.

Dignity and some other things* require that Minions stick by its unfortunate prediction that the Fuckeyes of the Official Land Grant University of the State of Ohio will win the tournament. Even if that happens and Minions is, technically, vindicated (in some tiny and mostly technical way), Minions' wife is going to kick its ass, because she also has OSU to win.

But it is not to be. Florida is smokin' hot, dood. I hate them and I'm pretty sure God does to, but what the fuck is to love about this Final Four? The successful title defense is there, waiting to happen, compounded by the football-basketball Florida-OSU thing, and the impending departure of Greasy Billy Donovan for Lexington, Kentucky--another news item sure to drive Our Friend Goth one step closer to a rope in the garage.

Hence, Minions' silence. Only now, after the dearth of anything to like in the Final Four, can I finally simmer down and write about the smoking rubble that has been the last two weeks of basketball.

Kudos to Georgetown; I hate the Hoyas so much that I was very nearly hoping that UNC would beat them. I was more hoping for a random act of terrorism by a vengeful and angry Old Testament God, but I understand the limits of reason, and I concluded that, if a gun were held to my head in demand of a preference, ACC loyalty would win out. But l'chaim** to the Hoyas; coming back from 11 down and holding the Heels scoreless for 80 percent of an overtime is Pure Comedy Gold.

Kudos to UCLA; I hate them very, very much, after a 50-point second-round drubbing of the Terrapins some years ago. But goddam are their cheerleaders hot. Those little blue shifts? The basketball jerseys and not much else? Mwah!

There are many who will call this the most boring NCAA tournament evahr. I'm with them. Matters are not helped by the Terrapin women choking on a Mississippi team (and grats to them--they've a shot at the Final Four tonight) that they absolutely firebombed just four months ago.

I'm sure that energy will overcome me at some point, and I'll manage to post something less self-indulgent. Or not. See you then.

*Mostly a desire to fuel the crazed paranoia of Our Friend Goth.
**And t'voyu mat.