It ended not with a bang, but with a whimper, as we quietly knew, even before the last 4:00 TV timeout , that we had come to the end of the line.  The proverbial fork could have been "stuck in" us somewhere/anywhere in the mid second half,  when another just-sparked Louisville run was hatched still born as a Card big man would become entangled in his own feet, or a body to body potential foul call would be left to "play on," or another methodical Spartan three would rattle in by one of MSU's unmissing, automaton-like guards.  It would all keep us in our  place.  The phrase that "there's always tomorrow" began to fall as empty as the seats in the far off environs we witnessed in the tournament's early rounds.

    It's always hard when it's over.  So complete.  Final.  At sometime late yesterday afternoon, you could almost physcially feel part of your spirit, part of your soul, leave your body.  For those of you who traveled, the ride back home must have been rough.  I can just imagine while mile posts and road signs rushed by,  you all went through the mandatory various stages of grief...point by point just like Dr Phil and the rest of the media psychologists say you must.  They are all MoFos.

    Well, we were beaten soundly.  Maybe not "behind the woodshed" soundly, but they were the better team yesterday.  There was no chicanery.  No trickery or finesse.  Just them on top of us.

    Izzo's game plan worked nicely.  Take the air out of the ball.  Use up clock.  Control the boards.  We had no answer.  And the fact that we didn't get any breaks (it would have been nice if a foul were called when Sosa was decked as the ball slowly rolled out of bounds-potential four point swing) didn't help either..  They played like a herd of elephants, and took away our speed to the point that we scored NO fast break points in the entire game.

    And much of the loss was in the center position:  They had a professional; we had an amateur.  He hit outside shot after outside shot and, particularly in the first half, this wrecked us.  Our center was slow and can't jump.  Our center has a decent power move, is a wide body, takes up space, is a good free throw shooter, and has a good work ethic.  But he has always worn cement shoes, will never have good feet, and has his own shot blocked as often as he blocks an opponent's shot.  Yes, he's only a frosh, but he's twenty, not eighteen, and among players of national programs, he will remain undistinguished. 

    So the bomb has detonated.  The Geiger count is high.  We look around this radioactive landscape and imagine what lies before us.  Next year we will rebuild.  Don't get so discouraged, it won't be so bad.  Little by little we'll pick up the pieces.  There will be green shoots among the bare trees.  Despite losing Andre, we gain that kid from Seattle, and we will be rich in guards, embarrassingly so.  Our center position is filled, warts and all,  and with the two returning will be at least adequate.  What scares us is the 3, and the 4.  And for now, at least, it is hard to imagine PKay bringing the ball past mid court and not handing it off to Williams for the set up...perhaps for a whip pass underneath to Earl for an easy bucket.

    Goodbyes, hugs, and kisses to E5 and 'Dre.  Thanks for it all.  Everything.

    Waves to TWILL.  Yeah, he kind of disappeared a little bit yesterday on offense, but he played good D, made great passes, and rebounded like hell.

    There will never be another TWILL.

    We were lucky there was one.  

"I know it's been a while since I've been in touch.  I know you've been busy with the terrible economy, and the government bail out, and the Mid Eastern thing, and filling out your March brackets.  Oh yeah, thanks for the new President, he was on TV last night filling out his brackets, too.  I saw him playing hoops a while back; he played point, looked good, but I wish he would go to his right once in a while.

Now, you know that it's coming.  You know I'm gonna ask a favor, but I'll try not to ask for too big of one.

I'm not gonna ask you to let the Cards run the table and streak to sixteen straight victories and become NCAA champions.

I'm only asking that you not let us lose our last game this season.

That would be great.

Sorry I missed ya.  And thanks for everything.

Hit me back, sometime."

If you hit your Wiffle Ball into Jim Boheim's back yard, he'd sigh deeply, wait for you to come by to claim it, and then humorlessly give you a twenty minute lecture on private property law, torts, and how,  as a coach, he is really a "teacher," and that he will take this opportunity to teach you not to hit your ball into his yard.

If you hit a Wiffle Ball into Jim Calhoun's yard, he'd scurry out, like some burrowing animal, look around so that no one was watching, furtively pick it up and run back into the house.  There the sour puss coach would put it with the 1114 other Wiffle Balls he had stolen over the years, count them all again, and with a glazed look,  imagine how their impending sale on Ebay would help augment his skimpy $140,000 per year pension from the state of Connecticut.

If you hit a Wiffle Ball into Jay Wright's yard, he'd smile, jog off the back porch, pick it up, go into a playful little windup, toss it back and yell toward you, "Hey, do you think you can show me how to throw a knuckleball sometime?"

                                                           Quick Hits 

Biggest play was in the first minute of the second half, when "The Suit" hit the second three pointer from the left flank to cut the lead to three.  Such shock and awe that 'Nova called the TO and when Preston strode back to his gleeful teammates on the Cardinal bench, his huge cajones, rolling around in a wheelbarrow, preceded him.

Edgar, who at one time (after the A&M game two years ago) probably thought he might be a premier point guard in the country, finally seems to realize that he might only be the fourth best guard on the TEAM.  Yeah, he might have made a bad pass last night, but it wasn't too spectacularly bad, and again, he seemed genuinely happy in his teams success.

Mr Jennings...we couldn't have done it without this beautiful MoFo.  He had great energy just when we needed it the most.  Timely rebounds.  A blocked shot or two, and a couple of free throws.

Swop, as Frank points out, will be a very good four year player, and he did get a rebound last night, and he does spell the other big guys, and I know he'll be spending eons in the weight room.  But doesn't he remind you of the new born Bambi at this stage...still moist...shaky legs...and all?

Samardo -  I keep forgetting that you are a frosh and I know I've been way too hard on you.  I like your work ethic.  I like the way you can make your free throws.  Last night, though, every time I looked around you were on your can, sprawling on the hardwood.  It almost seemed like you were playing in quicksand.  It seemed as though somebody had drugged you...and not in a good way.

TWILL, I hope your eye will be OK.  Man do we have some rebuilding to do when this guy leaves.  As I said before, he, even more so than Earl, can be substituted for, but  n e v e r  replaced.

Have a great day, everybody.

Roz  

I was just wondering if anybody ever experienced March Madness in the desert city.

I guess there are huge game rooms where you can wager, drink, eat, curse your losses, cheer your wins, ogle the snow cones of your server named "Traci," and be part of some heathen mob who's aim in life is to push the envelop toward the scarey edge of hedonism...only leaving to answer nature's call or to steal a few winks.  All done with close friends, Army buddies, and best roommates.  Comrades on the garish, grotesque, Las Vegas strip. 

Sounds appealing to me.

But hell, maybe you guys do all this now.

It brings to mind one of my favorite beginnings to 20th century American literature and your own Sir Hunter Thompson.

"We were half way to Barstow when the drugs kicked in."

Or something like that.

Recently, fellow poster, Hari Seldon, pointed out that many of the younger generation, don’t really care about what happened years ago, don’t really care that Unitas went to UofL, don’t really care about history.  He was correct, of course, but that doesn’t make it right.

So we play Cincy today.  Huggins, Thuggins, Kenyon Martin,  maybe Nick Van X,  if you go back that far.

Well, there was a basketball program up the Ohio long before that.

Oscar Robertson, the “Big O’ (before every half way decent player had a flashy nickname) may have been the best college player of all time, better than Alcindor, better than Walton.  He led the Bearcats to national prominence in the late ‘50’s and along with Jerry West of West Virginia, became one of the best NBA players in history.  He was a tall two guard with a great jumper, excellent assist man, and could rebound.  I always preferred West in the NBA because of his defense, but Oscar once averaged a Triple Double for the SEASON.

The Cincinati Bearcats, led by Ed Jucker, went to five Final Fours in a row.  I’m gonna say that again, FIVE Final Fours in a row.  And much of this was accomplished after Oscar graduated.  The early 60’s team led by George Wilson, Tom Thacker, and Ron Bonham, won the NCAA championship two years in a row, and were nipped by Loyola of Chicago in OT in their third attempt.  The vanquished victims in the championship games were the Ohio State Buckeyes.  The Buckeye team was led by Jerry Lucas, Larry Siegfried, John Havlicek, Mel Nowell (who all had significant NBA careers), and a slow moving, always gunning, substitute guard, named Bob Knight, who couldn’t shoot, and played shitty defense.  And by the way, three of the Final Fours were played, you guessed it, at Freedom Hall.

Yeah, it was long, long ago, but that should not make Cincy’s accomplishment less distinguished, less important.  It was hard to win an NCAA championship back then, too.

And to diminish their run merely because so much time has gone by,  will, at some point, begin to diminish our championship years of 1980 and 1986.  After all, it has been a while between sips for us, too.

And we all know what George Santayana said about history and stuff:

 “Those who fail to learn from the events of history are destined never to return to the Final Four.” 

9:00 PM  NBC                 FRIDAY NIGHT LIGHTS - For the fourth week in a row, Dillon High scores as time runs out in yet another heart stopping victory.  As always, it strikes me as odd, that although there is no Public Address announcer, or no play by play booth announcer, every gosh darn play is described in great detail by somebody, somewhere, perhaps the guy sitting next to you in the stadium, yelling a bull horn into your ear:  “WITH FOUR SECONDS, THREE SECONDS, TWO SECONDS, RIGGINS FAKES LEFT, AND DIVES......IT’S A TOUCHDOWN, IT’S A TOUCHDOWN.”  The best character on television is the team booster who also owns the local GM automobile dealership.  Lots of clichés on the show, but take heart, there will be blondes....Oh yes, there will be blondes.

9:00 PM  FX                   RANT  Denis Leary versus Dennis Miller.  Two out of three falls.  Next week, Rachel Maddow versus Ann Coulter.

9:00 PM  TNT                MURDER SHE WROTE  Tonight, a nine hour marathon.  Episode one:  Jessica solves a murder in Cabot Cove.  Dick Van Dyke guests.  You can open up a vein any time now.

9:00 CNN                       LARRY KING LIVE  In another theme show Larry interviews Hollywood stars who have played “God” in motion pictures and television.  Guests include Morgan Freeman, Alanis Morrissette and the late George Burns.

3:45 AM  ESPN OCHO    AUSTRALIAN FOOTBALL  -  North Borneo United takes on Perth in an Upper Division tilt (joined live).

10:00 PM  TMC               “WEEKEND AT BERNIE'S VI” –more madcap hijinks with  Andrew McCarthy and that very ripe body in the back of a 1969 AMC Pacer.

10:00 PM  A&E                 DIAGNOSIS MURDER -  Angela Landsbury joins the cast tonight, as “Jessica,” an old friend, and maybe more than an old friend, of her former mentor, Dick Van Dyke.  Will sparks fly?

9:30 PM  THE BREAKFAST CLUB CHANNEL  Tonight, the eighties coming of age movie, “The Breakfast Club.”  Teenage angst on a Saturday morning detention stint as seen by director John Hughes.  It’s all here:  The American Princess, The Jock, The High School Badboy, The Nerd, and The Goth (wonderfully played by Ally Sheedy) who wears black every day of the week and on Friday wears “festive black.”   She is a true weirdsmobile and twenty-two per cent of you who are now reading this had a crush on somebody like her in High School.  Is The Prick School Teacher the same guy who plays the Prick Boss in Office Space?  I don't know.  Music by Simple Minds.

9:45 PM  TLC                   SPORTS HANDYMAN - Master Norwegian carpenter Laars Swendseeeeeen, begins construction on a wrestling ring.  Tonight:  The Turnbuckle.

10:15     AMC                 "MOST OVERRATED TV SHOWS EVER," premiers.  Tonight,  Number 14, "Everybody Loves Raymond."   

In this episode:   After paging through the new National Geographic, Raymond’s father gets a small woodie; Raymond’s wife overcooks the lasagna; Raymond tries on a pair of new bowling shoes.

                                            *****

I'm glad Thabeet didn't get hurt badly last night.  The play just about made me sick.  Just like Luke falling on his white cranium that time.  Let's get straightened out this week.

Everybody says we were intimidated...everybody says we were intimidated...everybody says we were intimidated. 

I'm not so sure about that.  Let's play the new children's game, "Where's Samardo."

He's the one in the Sopwith Camel, second on the left, wearing a World War I skull cap, and his knees are shaking so hard that the joy stick is registering a 6.4 on the Richter Scale.

http://www.edexcellence.net/flypaper/images/20080915kingkong.jpg

 When I reviewed the transcript of yesterday's open thread I noticed Mike say that he was in Nashville.

    Maybe he is in Nashville to work on his masters at Vanderbilt, "The Harvard Of The South."

    ....I went to UCLA.

    ....for lunch.  It was in the mid-eighties.  Nice.  Free range pork medalions, truffle glaze, new potatoes, an apricot reduction chutney, served with a crisp chardonay which featured slight persimmons highlights and just a suggestion of pear.

    Great old line I once heard from Gus Johnson, the announcer about  some Ohio boys going to UCLA:

U pper

            C anton

                          L ower

                                     A kron 

    Have a great Sunday, everybody.  Long wait till kickoff.  Even longer wait till tomorrow night.

Roz

    As we build toward Super Sunday, that distinctly American Grotesquery (not even challenged in its excess by the yearly rotten tomato throw-down in Spain) I lament that I could not see the game last night, and missed a Cardinal tilt for the first time in a while.  It sounds as if, after some sputtering of course, that it was a workmanlike win over a team that we should have beaten.

    Wake over Duke, as most of us had hoped.  Nova beat Pitt, and the Panthers will drop in the polls a bit.

    So now you're thinking....hmmm...Monday night....Freedom Hall....UCONN will probably be Number 1....time to beat our second Number 1 team in three weeks.  We are all doing that Pavlovian thing right now, huh?

   I saw Jim Calhoun on an interview last fall.   He was recovering from cancer surgery and in a reflective mood. From what he said, he believed his team was loaded (Duh???) and that if he won it all again (the third time) that he would most likely retire while on top.  Who else has retired while on top?  Jimmy Brown?  Barry Sanders?  A few, but not too many.  I never cared much for Calhoun (as a bench coach I'd take Al McGuire in a minute), but like Boeheim, he could recruit his ass off.  He beat Duke in the finals TWICE and replenishes his team while they are still contenders, despite severe NBA defections.  He took over a program that was just as faceless as it was ineffective.  Now the Huskies loom iconic, whether you like them or not.  So Monday night will be special.

    Which brings us to our presumptive victory at noon on Saturday against the Mountainers....I don't like the word, and I'll use it here just this once, but if ever there was a "Trap Game," well, this is it.  We're looking past WVU...it's a game early in the day...Huggins would love to put this feather in his cap...we've got to be a little flat.  So, I am scared.

   Hope everybody is OK, that the power will come on soon.  You guys have taken some hits from mother nature.  I'll say another prayer for Linda's sister.

    Sunday at 6:28.  Against the grain as always.  Go Cardinals.  This time, Phoenix.

Roz

    Hey everybody, I'm dying here.

   When I checked this mornings television listings, no Louisville.

    I immediately went to the Justin TV site.  It looks pretty technical to me.  Right now there's a cricket match between Singapore and Leeds.

    I need some hand holding here.  Is the game on Justin tonight?  How do I find it?

    Thanks for the tutuorial and your anticipated cooperation.

    Now back to the curling arcade.  Duluth Blue look lightning-fast today.

Roz   

--Our flight Syracuse will take about an hour and a half...maybe an hour and forty-five minutes...the weather at Hancock International is clear, sunny, and about four above, so I anticipate no mosquito problems.

--Please ensure that your seat is in the upright position...your seatbelts are secured...the snack tray is placed flat to the seat in front of you...and that any small bagage is snugly stowed beneath the seat in front of you.

--We're gonna have to hit some outside shots to win this one.

--And Frankpos, in 14B, please remember that when the beverage cart comes around that there is a limit of TWO drinks to a passenger.

--Let's try not to land in the Hudson

--God Save The Cards 

l

    There was a television show back in the fourteenth century called "Sea Hunt," starring Lloyd Bridges (he the uberly nervous air traffic controller in the movie "Airplane,"..."I picked the wrong day to quit drinking") where the lead character named Mike Nelson (there's a name that couldn't offend anyone) spends the entire show underwater, searching for lost treasure, wading through seaweed over galleons of long sunken pirate ships.  Once in a while a diving companion might run low on oxygen (her tanks' regulator minfunctioning) and Mike would have to share his air supply with the inevitable blonde bomshell  (who seemingly already had magnificent lungs).   He might also free a squirming dolphin from a bad guy fisherman's net...give Jacques Cousteau a diving lesson...spear a shark with a blowgun...and solve an international marine crisis.

  In any case, by show's end, God would be in his heaven, the blonde would be very grateful, and Mike would be on dry land.

  I sure hope Mike Rutherford breaches the surface soon.  Gets back on dry land.  Strides through the beach, his floppy finned footsteps leaving huge prints in the sand, as he stops to shake out his water soaked laptop.  Soon he's on his tush, firing up his keyboard, as a picknicing family looks on astonished.

What will his first words be?

Hope everybody has a safe weekend.

Roz 

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As we drift into the last lazy weeks of summer I offer to the readers of the Chronicle this query:

Which two NFL quarterbacks played quarterback at the same college, and were both drafted by the NFL in the same year?

   One of these gentleman was the NUMBER ONE pick of that year’s draft.  The other was the 55st player picked in that year’s draft.  The college program they played for was not particularly known for its passing game, nor, for that matter, particularly known for playing football.   Both had solid, though unspectacular careers as pros.

Hints:  This marks the 50th anniversary of that draft

            The gent who was picked first is, arguably, less well known than his teammate.

            The gent who was picked first was picked before such NFL Hall of Famers as Lenny Lyles, Jim Taylor, and Alex Karras.

            Neither of the two college teammates are in the NFL Hall of Fame themselves

            The school these quarterbacks attended concurrently was and is one of the elite academic institutions in the country (so that would probably rule out Ohio State, Mr Blunt).

            One of these guys led his team to an NFL championship in the 60’s and to the NFL championship game the following year.  He is NOT the one chosen first in that years draft.

OK......?

I’ll

           Just

                      Let

                             You

                                     Guys

                                              Think

No fair googling, Frank?

No asking Dad’s either.

Ready?

OK.

King Hill

Frank Ryan

Both from Rice University in Houston, Texas.

King Hill had a decent carrier...bounced around a bit...I think he may have also done the punting on some of his teams.  He played for the Chicago Cardinals who became the St Louis Cardinals, who became the Phoenix Cardinals.  Hill was the #1 pick in 1958.

Frank Ryan was the star quarterback for the Cleveland Browns in the 1960’s.  He, along with Jim Brown, Gary Collins, and Louisville’s own, Ernie Green, kept the Browns in the championship conversation for much of that decade.  I guess Ryan was a real egg head, a real intellectual, and considered not playing professional football in favor of a more academic career.

To my knowledge he is the only NFL quarterback to earn a doctorate in Philosophy.   In summary, Wikopedia states that Ryan’s Ph.D dissertation was entitled “A Characterization of the Set of Asymptotic Values of a Function Holomorphic in the Unit Disc.”

...but I don’t know if I totally agree with that.

As you most probably already know, this will be the last year for Yankee Stadium, a grand ole dame originally built in the early 1920's (it did have a bit of reconstructive and cosmetic surgery in the years of 1974-1975...eye lids, tummy tuck, some nice implants).  I saw my one and only World Series game when the Yanks played the Milwaukee Braves in 1958 ("How old IS this guy, ANYWAY??")
and it was an experience that will always be with me.  There is nothing at all wrong with the current Yankee Stadium, unless of course, you consider real pastoral beauty as being "wrong".  As the new park will be across the street, we will no longer be able to look out to right field and say that that is the place, the very place, that Babe Ruth once roamed.  But, the Mets are building a new stadium (much needed, Shea is a dump, a concrete Rockefeller nightmare, built to look modern, so of course it quickly looked dated) and the Yanks didn't want to be left behind.  More skyboxes, more corporate suites, more valet parking.  You know the story.

Which brings us to Churchill Downs.  I hate the new corporate look.  The look that dominates the classic twin spires.  The look that says "the Hell with tradition," what we need is more food courts, more escalaters, more capacity, more CEMENT.  I think it looks horrible, and I wonder how we allowed it to happen.  I try to be calm when I see the place on TV, but it has a different feeling now, and I don"t like it.  Have we changed the name of the old lady to "The Papa Johns Pizza Churchill Downs?"  By the way, at the Saratoga track you can still bring your own stuff in....beer...sandwiches...coolers...picnic stuff, and without a full body search.

So keep your guard up for the new basketball arena downtown.  Previously I have expressed concern about this.  Do not let them take your season tickets away.  Believe me, they will try to.  Try to fend off the sushi bar.  Don't let all the tradition go away.

"We are the Village Green Preservation Society
God Save Donald Duck, vaudeville, and Variety,
Preserving the old ways from being abused,
Protecting the new ways for me and for you,
What more can we do."

And if you want to call me a "reactionary", well, you've got me.

Roz  

On the first Saturday in May of 1971, my buddy, Tim Holder, and I tossed a few "personal" items in the back of his robins egg blue VW bug and headed out for the four hour haul to Louisville.  To the Derby we would go, and because my father, George, loved the track (Saratoga, Aqueduct, Belmont, Roosevelt...every time I smell a cigar it reminds me of the race track, and him) there was no question that I would bet on a horse called My Dad George.
We stopped at every convenience store (they called them "carry outs" in Columbus) on the way down picking up various brands of beer that I had never heard of and/or couldn't get in New York State.  Weidemanns, Burger, Strohs, Blatz, Heilemans...all gone now, but well remembered.  I would present them to my father as a souvenier when I would return at the end of the semester.  He owned a local tavern in Upstate New York.

Anyway, when we arrived, I was struck at how rural it was around Churchill Downs...I really felt that I was in another, more southern state.  The day came up as you would hope:  about 90 degrees, packed with young people, lots of excitement.  Of course, I noticed the Special Mint Julep displays and must admit, I had a drink or six.

The place was so packed, even the infield, that we didn't even get to see the actual track.  Just the races on the TV.  Every race I bet on I lost.  Funds were dwindling.  When the Derby was next I opened a secret flap in my velcro wallet to find a last lonely twenty dollar bill.  And a double sawbuck was a lot of money back then, a lot of money.  I put it on My Dad George to win.  He, of course, finished second.

As I turned the inside of my pockets on to themselves and saw only lint, Tim and I made our way toward the exits and to the VW for the long, lonely trip back to Columbus.  We wouldn't be making any stops for beer.  Between us we had six bucks and still needed to buy gas.

As we walked to the car on the moist red clay, I unbuttoned my short sleeve shirt, and without stopping, removed it, and tossed it over some hedges that formed a perimeter of the track's quarter mile turn..."There," I said as it disappeared into a vast Kentucky sunset, "there, take it all."

And that was the way it was back then.

Now that Kansas is still alive and has no CBS ordained marquis player, they will no doubt spend the next 36 hours creating one.

Meantime, Mr. Corporate, Jim Nantz (as mentioned before, he is strait down Main Street, a vanilla milkshake, moribund, and in the twenty years of doing the tournament, has not said one interesting thing) waits for the puppeteers to comprise a signature phrase just in case the Jayhawks win.  It will probably be a tired play on words about the coach's last name.  Something to do with "Selfless."

With eight minutes left in the first half, I believe that Billy Packer declared the game to be over.  As this is not our first rodeo, those, like me who were rooting for Kansas were aghast at this bravado.  Everyone in the free world, except perhaps Billy, knew that North Carolina had a least one or two decent runs in them.

I got more and more grumpy as the lead went to fourteen, to eleven, to eight, and finally to four.
That is the point were I poured myself another four fingers of Grants (a good, inexpensive Scotch by the makers of Glen Fidich...look for it in the three sided bottle).

When it was all over, Kansas up by twelve again, Nantz asked Billy if his first half prediction that the game was ever in doubt.  Packer responded that no, he knew it was over way back then.
This was either a lie or Packer is insane.  Later in the conversation, Nantz mentioned that he "loved" Billy.  Or at least that's what I think I heard.

The ESPN panel had Reece Davis, Digger, Dickie V, His Holiness Bobby Knight, and Jay Bilas.
These panels are getting so long, that last two people can't even fit in the shot.  I'm surprised it didn't include Tim Russert, former Secretary of State Madelein Albright, and MSNBC Left Wing Extraordinaire Keith "The Magnificent Asshole" Olbermann.  I don't know where Huber Davis was...maybe licking his NC wounds, or maybe he just wasn't invited (can anybody say d i s c r i m i n a t i o n?).  I bet Bilas was pleased as punch now that Carolina can't win another National Championship.

OK, the girls play today.  I'll take either UT or LSU (I love that coach) and am against UCONN (the Duke of women's hoops).

I think it will be beautiful here today.  Enjoy your Sunday.

What are your thoughts on this?  Do you feel, like I do, that the present length, 19'9" is, especially when taken at the top of the key, nothing more than a glorified foul shot?  Will it "open things up" down underneath as the defense will be forced to extend outward a bit more?  Will the teams with "journeyman" like three point shooters begin to take fewer and fewer three point shots as their percentage wanes?  Will there be more of a premium on guards who can hit the shot from the new, farther out, distance?  Francisco or Tyquan would not have a problem with the new distance and I don't think that Jerry will, either.  Womens three point line stays where it is now, so, in games played in NBA arenas there may be times where there are three three point lines on the court!  Where am I?  Hand me my GPS!!

The change of one foot is subtle, but substantive, and you know me, I don't like change.  

Hey, I saw the Top 50 Mike listed on the site a while back, but I was shocked to find the omission of one of my favorites.  Ladies and gentleman, he hails from De Salles High School from the North side of Detroit, he's already a two time All American... I present the 6'6" wingman who last year led the NCAA in rebounds, assists, and points per game, he's way too cool for school, and he is definitely black... here he is, brand new and wrapped in a big red bow, ladies and gentleman:

DEMETRIUS CERVANTES!!!!  HHRRRRRRRRR (Crowd Roars)

OK, I made that up.  Just tryin' to cheer you up.
Can anybody top it?

Goodnight from the East,

Roz  

    A lot of the other stuff you'll hear about last nights game will be noise.  The primary, indisputable, unquestionable reason we lost is a simple one:  WE WERE PLAYING A ROAD GAME.

    ...and honestly, North Carolina, for their body of work this year, deserved to play close to home----only the degree of proximity comes to question.

    Because we played on the road, things were subtly stacked against us.  Hansboro was on David's back once.  Another time Hansboro gave David a karate chop to the head.  Neither foul was called.  DC got called for an inside foul when he and an interior NC forward were knocking each other around with their respective huge backsides.  It should have been a "no call."  Overall, though, considering the game was played in the Fourth Level of Dante's Big Basement, the ref's weren't bad, and barely gave the devils their due.

    We had a couple of bad possessions late.  There was a typical out of control moment for Palacios...couple of walks on Earl (but he DID carry us through the whole tourney)...maybe a hurried three by Jerry that clanged.  But didn't you love the way we came back to tie after being down by a dozen?!!  Pitino outcoached Roy.

                     **
    On to next year we go.  It will be harder.  David will be gone.  We'll try other things, but he is irreplaceable.  We still are rich with the four guards (Preston was fresh air, Brass Balls Award to Andre).  We still have a great wing man in TWILL and a world class NBA four forward in E5 if he stays.

    ...BUT, we'll never get this far with Caracter as the Main Man.  This guy is Bad Sparks.  Sincerely, I hope he leaves.  Again, if I could buy him for what he's worth, and sell him for what he THINKS he's worth, I'd make a few bucks..

    I saw the McDonalds High School All American game last week and our hot recruit from NYC.  My first impression was that he was slow...my second impression was that he was slow.

    Yeah, I'm licking my wounds.  I don't feel so sad, though.  We had a great year.  Let me say that again:  WE HAD A GREAT YEAR.

    What do you guys and girls think?

    Hope everybody got back home safely.

    Roz

JERRY SITS ALONE AT HIS KITCHEN TABLE, SMILING.
HE IS PLEASE WITH HIMSELF, HAVING JUST VANQUISHED GEORGE CASTANZA BY A SCORE OF 24-21 IN MATCH BOOK FOOTBALL.
HE IS HAVING HIS USUAL DINNER:  KAPTAIN KRUNCH AND BANANAS.  AT THE KITCHEN'S ENTRANCE, KRAMER MAGICALLY APPEARS. HE HAS CHANGED HIS SHIRT AND NOW WEARS A BLAND CREAM TOP WITH OUTRAGEOUS YELLOW POLKA DOTS.  HE HAS THE BOTTLE OF BOOZE, NOW ALMOST EMPTY WITH HIM.  HE IS SMILING.

KRAMER:  I'M BRINGING BACK THE RUM.
HE PRESENTS IT TO JERRY.  JERRY HOLDS THE 151 PROOF BOTTLE AGAINST THE LIGHT.  THE BOTTLE WAS FULL AND NOW CONTAINS, AT THE MOST, TWO FINGERS--THAT IS, IF YOU COUNT THE PINKY AS A FINGER.

JERRY:  (MILDLY SARCASTICALLY)  THANKS FOR BRINGING BACK THE WHOLE THING.

KRAMER:  (SMILING EXCITEDLY)  DID YOU SEE HIM, JERRY?  DID YOU SEE MY LITTLE MAN, PRESTON??

JERRY:  YEAH, I SAW HIM.  PLAYED A PRETTY GOOD GAME.  I ALSO SAW HIM GET TEED-UP BY THE REFEREE.

KRAMER:  NO WORRIES, JERRY----IT JUST FIRED HIM UP SOME MORE.

JERRY:  YOU KNOW WHO ELSE PLAYED PRETTY WELL?  I THINK CARACTER DID...YEAH, CARACTER PLAYED PRETTY WELL.

KRAMER: (SHUDDERS)  HE'S A BEAST, JERRY, A BEAST!...YOU KNOW, JERRY, I THINK HE'S GONNA GO TO THE NEXT LEVEL.

JERRY (DRYLY)  YEAH, I HEARD HE'S GONNA PLAY IN THE THURSDAY NITE BEER LEAGUE IN FINLAND

THERE'S A KNOCK ON THE DOOR
BOTH KRAMER AND JERRY GO TO ANSWER IT

THERE STANDS WHAT CAN ONLY BE DESCRIBED AS A SIGHT.  THE GIRTH OF THE INDIVIDUAL BLOCKS OUT ALL LIGHT.  THE FIGURE'S HEAD IS DOFFED WITH A BUS DRIVER TYPE CAP.  HE WEARS SUMMER POSTAL SHORTS FROM WHICH HANG 23 KEYS.  BENEATH HE WEARS POWDER BLUE COMPRESSION SHORTS THAT COVER LEGS THE SIZE OF SEQUOIAS.  YOU COULD RUN LAPS AROUND THOSE GAMS.  HIS KNEES ARE FAR BEYOND KNOBBY.  INSTEAD OF A SHIRT HE WEARS A UNIVERSITY OF NORTH CAROLINA POWDER BLUE BASKETBALL JERSEY. HE HAS A GLAZED LOOK ON HIS FACE.

JERRY AND KRAMER SIZE HIM UP FROM HEAD TO TOE AND ARE SPEECHLESS.

FINALLY, SIMULATANEOUSLY THEY BOTH RESPOND AT THE SAME TIME WITH A POISONOUS SNEER

JERRY AND KRAMER:  OH, HELLO NEWWWWWWWWMAN.

NEWMAN:  JERRY, I'VE COME TO BORROW SOME RUM.  CAN YOU HELP ME?

TOGETHER JERRY AND KRAMER SLAM THE DOOR IN HIS FACE.

CURTAIN    

CURTAIN OPENS
PLACE:  JERRY'S FAMILIAR APARTMENT

JERRY AND GEORGE, BOTH WELL INTO THEIR LATE TWENTIES, ARE SITTING AT A SMALL TABLE IN JERRY'S LIVING ROOM.  THEY ARE PLAYING FOOTBALL WITH A BOOK OF MATCHES...A GAME MOST PEOPLE THEIR AGE HAVE GIVEN UP YEARS AGO.
GEORGE'S HANDS ARE BOUND TOGETHER TO FORM A GOAL POST.  JERRY FLICKS THE BOOK OF MATCHES WITH HIS MIDDLE FINGER, AND THE MATCH BOOK BUZZES BY GEORGE'S NOSE.

GEORGE (EXCITED): NO GOOD!  WIDE LEFT!  NO GOOD!
JERRY (EQUALLY EXCITED):  WHAT DO YOU MEAN, NO GOOD?  STRAIT DOWN BROADWAY!  IT WAS GOOD!  IT WAS GOOD!

GEORGE (IGNORING HIS PLEA):  NO WAY, JOSE, STILL 6-3, MY FAVOR...TOUCHBACK...MY BALL ON THE 20.

JERRY:  BY THE WAY, WHAT WAS THAT YOU WERE SAYING ABOUT WRITING A SCRIPT ABOUT NOTHING?

SUDDENLY KRAMER APPEARS...CRASHING THROUGH THE KITCHEN DOOR OPENING, AND SLIDING TO A PERFECT STOP RIGHT IN FRONT OF THE BOYS.

KRAMER:  HEY
JERRY:  HEY
GEORGE (STILL CONCENTRATING ON THE TABLE):  HEY KRAMER.

KRAMER IS ADORNED IN HIS USUAL SARTORIAL SPLENDOR...BROWN CHECKED HABAND PANTS FROM 1972...NASTY YELLOW SHIRT...GOODWILL TAN LOAFERS...BRILLO CITY HAIR.

KRAMER:  HEY, HOW COME YOU DON'T HAVE THE GAME ON?
JERRY (TRYING ANOTHER FIELD GOAL):  WHAT GAME IS THAT?
KRAMER (VERY EXCITED):  LOUISVILLE VERSUS THE VOLS...IT'S FANTASTIC...YOU SHOULD SEE THIS LITTLE GUY, PRESTON KNOWLES...HE JUST FLITS AND FLITS AND FLITS AND FLITS....JUST LIKE A LITTLE WATER BUG.  AND HE PLAYS  B  I  G    D.  HE'S SHUTTING CHRIS LOFTON RIGHT DOWN!  DO YOU GUYS KNOW HIM?

GEORGE (LOSING THE FOOTBALL GAME TO JERRY AND DISGUSTED):  NO, NEVER HEARD OF HIM.

KRAMER (SHOCKED):  THEY CALL HIM "THE SUIT", "THE ARMANI', ON CARD CHRONICLE!

JERRY (DIFFIDENT):  OH, REALLY?

KRAMER:  I THINK HE'S BEYONCE'S BROTHER.

GEORGE (PERKS UP):  BOOTY CITY!

KRAMER:  HEY, I'M GONNA MAKE SOME MAI TAI'S FOR THE SECOND HALF.  JERRY, DO YOU HAVE ANY PINEAPPLE?

JERRY:  FRIDGE, SECOND SHELF.

KRAMER:  PAPAYA?

JERRY:  SECOND SHELF.

KRAMER:  PINEAPPLE JUICE?

JERRY:  ON TOP ON THE RIGHT.

KRAMER BARELY BALANCES ALL OF THE INCREDIENTS IN HIS ARMS AND TURNS TO LEAVE, BUT STOPS AS HE REMEMBERS THAT HE STILL LACKS ONE ITEM FOR THE DRINKS.

KRAMER;  DO YOU HAVE ANY RUM, JERRY?

JERRY (AS ALWAYS, SUFFERS HIS NEIGHBOR PATIENTLY):  FOURTH SHELF IN THE LIQUOR CABINET.

THE BOYS CONTINUE TO PLAY MATCH FOOTBALL AND AS KRAMER LEAVES HE YELLS BACK TO THEM.

KRAMER:  GO PRESTON!  GO LOUISVILLE!  GO CARDS!!

THE BOYS ARE STILL ENGROSSED IN THEIR GAME AND BARELY RESPOND

JERRY:  YEAH, SURE, WHATEVER.
GEORGE:  YEAH, WHAT THE HELL, GO CARDS! GO CARDS!

                  CURTAIN