Once again my soothsayin' powers kickstart and land me in solid contention for an unprecedented third victory in the illustrious teacher's pool for March Madness, in which even Sisyphus can find meaning in an Old Dominion game. I'm 6th out of 85 a third of the way in, and if not for a temporary moment of cosmos fuzz in which I actually scratched out a finished product of first-thought, best-thought predictive channeling and stuck one more dog into the Final 8 (fuck you Georgia Tech, the ghost of Bobby Cremins spits in the southern wind), I would be primed for the kill. Can you say Acie Law IV? It's the second Thursday, and it's time get serious with with the Belgians and the Aggies. Come and sit next to genius- I'll buy the first.

Apparently, Sports Illustrated picks the Giants last this year, and has the Dodgers and the Angels in the Big Show. A Congestion Series, if you will. The Constipation Bowl. Why can't I even summon the disgust to mock that fading publication? Is this the least amount of Spring Training excitement the Gyros have generated in twelve years? Hey, I'm wearing my A's shirt publicly now, so steps 1 & 2 were easy. Why can't I get Johnny Lemaster off my mind?