An Open Apology to My Beloved Readers

My parents taught me many valuable lessons growing up, one of which was to not make promises I could not keep. (Okay, I'll admit, I'm not positive my parents actually taught me that; I may have learned it from one of ABC's sitcoms during their T.G.I.F block on Friday nights. But since I love my parents and they have continued to support me, I figured I'd give them the credit as opposed to Steve Urkel or Uncle Jesse. Fair? I think so.) And so, my dear readers, I must apologize to you. I promised you a running diary from the first day of the NCAA Tournament and I failed to deliver. I am sorry.

I have several--what I believe to be legitimate--reasons for not following through on my promise. I have been exhausted from all my extra traveling; I have been working extra hours at work to make up my lost billable hours; I have been catching up on what has been happening with my Kings; and UCLA made it to the Final Four which means I have had plenty of articles to read about the Florida-UCLA rematch (and apparently I'm not the only person out there who hates Joakim Noah...I mean, aside from the standard fellatio ESPN gives to its "chosen" few, I haven't found a single Noah supporter outside the state of Florida). But I am not here to make excuses. I let you, my readers, down and for that I apologize.

I have learned a few things and, like all people should, I will grow from mistakes. First, I have learned that the key to a solid running diary is to get it posted as soon as possible, regardless of the circumstances. The jokes do not seem as funny and memories fade as the time passes. Second, a running diary of an event attended in person is more difficult than that of one you watch on television (I assume) because you can only take notes at the live event. A running diary of a televised event allows you to have your computer with you while you watch so you can type out entire conversations as they happen as opposed to making notes. This assures you of both accuracy and maximum humor. Last, but certainly not least, do not get drunk in the middle of the endeavor. Allow me to explain.

A good friend of my mine from college, who shall be known hence forth as Money Bags (he's an investment banker in San Francisco with more money than he knows what to do with), made the trip out to Sacramento for Thursday's games. We decided to take an early lunch because Vanderbilt was destroying George Washington 30-10 with nine minutes left in the first half and there was only a one hour break between the two groups of games. So a group of us (six out of the eight attending) headed over to a Mexican restaurant walking distance from Arco. After a burrito and thirty-two ounce Corona, Money Bags and I hit up the liquor store next door to the restaurant and picked up a fifth of Jack Daniels each. When you consume that amount of liquor in the amount of time Money Bags and I did, you are going to get drunk (I can picture my Dad shaking his head in disgust while reading this, even though he was there). The problem with getting drunk while trying to keep a running diary is twofold: first, it is more difficult, if not impossible, to tip-toe the fine line that separates appropriate and inappropriate; and second, my handwriting went from perfect to illegible in seven seconds flat, making it difficult to decipher my notes (which, by the end of the Indiana-Gonzaga game looked more like hieroglyphics). My friends and I are funny enough without the help of alcohol; this was a rookie mistake. Take my advice, unless you are keeping a running diary of your fraternity's next "Century Club" challenge, leave the alcohol out of it.

So I am sorry that there will be no running diary from my first day at the NCAA Tournament. However, I am not going to leave you empty handed. There are a few moments that I would still like to relive with you:

(1) Money Bags and I offered to share some of our Diet Cokes (which tasted eerily similar to JD) with my Brother-in-Law during the UCLA-Weber State game. He graciously accepted, as we knew he would, and enjoyed the "refreshing" beverage. Rumor has it, upon returning to his seat my Brother-in-Law was chastised by my Sister (I'm not normally in the business of spreading rumors...this isn't a gossip site...but I am relying on some good, reliable sources on this one). I am speechless. What is the world coming to when a man can not enjoy a Jack & Diet in peace?

(b) There was a "dude" (censored for my younger readers) sitting two rows in front of us who was more drunk, in terms of both duration and quantity, than Money Bags and I. He spent the entire second set of games hitting on my Better Half as if I was not even there. He went so far as to invite her out to a place called the Cabana Club, which according to him was "THE happening spot," not once but twice. Fortunately for him, I do not get violent when drunk; I easily had a two-to-one size advantage and Money Bags in my corner. If it had come to blows, it would have been quick and ugly. Unfortunately for him, however, is that I do not lose my edge when drunk. I simply told him that he had been misinformed about the Cabana Club and that he should check out Faces if he really wanted to be where the action was (in the interest of full and fair disclosure, I've never been to Faces and the website should tell you why...I know about it because I lived in Sacramento for a year).

(iii) There was a nice man sitting directly in front of me who happened to be an Indiana fan. He and I had a very enjoyable discussion about Indiana basketball, where he felt the program was going under first-year coach Kelvin Sampson, and whether he was a Bob Knight fan (no conversation about Indiana basketball is complete without "The General"). Well, during our conversation about Mr. Knight, we talked about how Bobby had spent some time in Puerto Rico as head coach of the U.S. Basketball team in 1979 and how he had been arrested while there for assaulting a police officer. The arrest, however, was apparently not the most controversial part of Knight's time in Puerto Rico. This nice Indiana fan informed me that good ol' Bobby had knocked up his translator while there and had been paying child support ever since. Apparently they have a different way of saluting Generals down in Puerto Rico.

(4) As I mentioned in a previous post, Weber State has shockingly hot cheerleaders; by far the hottest in Sacramento and I am willing to wager some of the hottest in all of the NCAA Tournament. Now, I am sure you are saying "Come on BAP, there is no way you could tell for sure from your seats five rows from the top." Well, my dear reader, that is the magic of alcohol. You see, Money Bags and I, having each consumed a thirty-two ounce beer and half of one of the fifths of JD, naturally had to use the restroom prior to the game. On the way back to our seats we happened to cross paths with two of the Weber State cheerleaders. Like all good friends do, we called dibs on the respective cheerleader we preferred--Money Bags taking the brunette and me taking the blonde--on the off-chance that I broke up with my Better Half and we ran into these two girls again within the next four hours (fellas, you have got to trust me...you don't gain anything by hitting on the same girl as your friend, it can only lead to trouble). This lead Money Bags and I to discuss a new theory he's been working on to explain why I always go for the blondes (my Better Half included) and he always goes for the brunettes. He believes that a man's preference in hair color is a subconscious decision based on the color of his sister's hair. If a guy has a sister, Money Bags believes that his preference will be towards women with the opposite color. As we discussed the merits of his theory, eventually adding my Better Half and Nosh (the fourth member of our group and our gracious hostess for the weekend) to the conversation, it seemed to hold true; not in every situation, but most. For example: Money Bags' sister is blonde and he has only dated brunettes, my sister is brunette and I have only dated blondes, and I have only ever seen my Better Half's brother hanging around with brunettes. Eureka, Money Bags is on to something! We should definitely convince the government to put together some sort of Blue Ribbon Committee to dive deeper into this theory; I smell Nobel Prize.

Before I go, I would like to mentoin something that is completely unrelated to my running diary. As further proof that national broadcast stations have no clue what their viewers want and/or prefer, CBS relieved Gus Johnson of his play-by-play responsibilities for the Sweet Sixteen and Elite Eight. It has something to do with the contract they offered James Brown to lure him away from Fox. I am a HUGE GJ fan, and I am extremely disappointed with CBS' decision. If you watched the UCLA-Gonzaga clip I included in my last post, that is Gus making the call of the dramatic comeback. Gus gives you what every other play-by-play announcer does not: emotion. It is easy to connect with him because he sounds exactly like how you feel while watching the game. We need more Gus Johnsons, not less, calling NCAA Tournament games. So here is a link to an audio tribute to GJ made by another fan. Sit back, relax, and enjoy the smooth calls of Gus Johnson.

Do You Know the Way to San Jose?

I apologize to everyone who has been anxiously awaiting my running diary from last Thursday's NCAA Tournament action in Sacramento. This week has been rather hectic with all of my last minute travel plans. If I am not able to post it by tomorrow night, you can feel free to bombard me with comments and emails about what a terrible person I am.

I am about one hour away from leaving the office to head up to San Jose for tonight's Sweet 16 games. I am so pumped. Because I love my avid readers and wish to thank them for their unwavering support, I thought I would give you all the opportunity to share in my excitement and watch a grown man cry. ENJOY!



GO BRUINS!

The Madness of My March

Because most of you, my avid readers, are highly educated individuals, I am sure it was not difficult for you to surmise from my previous post that I love the NCAA Tournament (more commonly known as "March Madness"). The three weeks of the NCAA Tournament are usually my favorite three consecutive weeks of the year. I get a trip with my family and friends, I get to watch 65 basketball games without a single complaint from My Better Half (even she gets caught up in the Madness, which says a lot about it), and it is a three week period where gambling is not only accepted, it is encouraged. What more could you ask for?

As you may recall, I spent the first weekend of the Tournament in Sacramento watching the first and second rounds at Arco Arena (which, I might add, is a rather dull and depressing arena...I expected more from the Maloof brothers, who I learned are apparently holding out on renovating Arco because they want the residents of Sacto to foot the bill for a new arena in downtown...fat chance). I kept a running diary on Thursday to give everyone some insight on what it is like to sit through four games in one day. I was hoping it would be my first post this week, but three unforeseen events have brought about the need for this quick update (I promise to get to the running diary tomorrow night after work and I promise that you won't be disappointed). These three unforeseen events will, when combined with my already completed trip to Sacramento, result in the greatest March Madness of my life (up 'til now).

Unforeseen Event #1: While we were in Sacramento, my brother-in-law mentioned that if UCLA advanced to the second weekend, it was likely that he could get me tickets for their Sweet 16 game against Pitt, and, if they win (knock on wood), tickets to the Elite 8. Well, UCLA beat both Weber State and Indiana, advancing the Sweet 16 with their games to be played in San Jose (in what was the startling upset of the weekend, Weber State's cheerleaders were shockingly hotter than UCLA's...had I done my research properly, I definitely would have had to pick Weber State over UCLA in the pool in which I applied the "how cute are the school's cheerleaders" approach...seriously though, Weber State could have made a "Cinderella" run to the Final Four...more on this in the running diary). Not surprisingly, my brother-in-law got me the tickets and now I have two round trip flights booked for later this week on Southwest to San Jose: Thursday afternoon to Friday morning (don't want to take any vacation days I don't have to), and Saturday morning to Sunday morning. This is going to be great!

Unforeseen Event #2: My brother-in-law also invited me to the premiere of "The UCLA Dynasty," HBO Sports newest documentary that covers UCLA's decade of dominance under the guidance of John "The Wizard of Westwood" Wooden. A movie about the great UCLA teams of the past? Premiering in the middle of March Madness? How can you pass that up? Well, the premiere is tonight, so that takes away the night I had originally planned on using to post the running diary. [Update: The documentary was awesome. It premieres on HBO on Monday, March 26. You should definitely watch it (and/or record it if you have a DVR/Tivo). The producers did a great job of mixing the team's dominance on the court with the various social struggles the players had to deal with off it (i.e., Civil Rights Movement, Vietnam War, etc.). Plus, John Wooden is funny; it's a side of him I don't think many outsiders get to see. So do yourself a favor, watch it.]

Unforeseen Event #3: After two trips to Southwest.com to book my San Jose flights, I received a cryptic message from my good friend Agman. It read as follows: "Final 4 Weekend, Las Vegas, Free Rooms, Be There." Using my masterful skills of logical reasoning and deduction to decode this secret message, it was back to Southwest.com for me and the booking of my third trip in as many hours. Now I will be spending Final 4 weekend with a group of my good friends who I have not seen in several months (not to mention, my first trip to Vegas in several months). The Vegas itch is already back, and this time I get to mix it with the NCAA Tournament. How can you go wrong?

Mix it all together, let it simmer for about ten minutes, serve with a side of currently being in contention in all of my Tournament pools, and I have the recipe for a March full of Madness the likes of which have never been seen. This is great!

Three Weeks, One Tournament, Zero Productivity

If you do not think the next three weeks are the greatest three weeks of the year, please raise your hand. Anyone? Anyone? That is what I thought. March Madness has descended upon us once again, and that means it is time for me to fill out a countless number of brackets. Within the next 24 to 48 hours, I will inevitably join more NCAA pools than 99.9% of you (seriously, I'm like a virgin on prom night...I can't say no).

For me, like many addicts, March Madness begins with all of the various conference tournaments. The reason for this is twofold. First, it gives me a chance to see tournament-bound teams from the mid-major conferences play. How am I to guess who this year's "Cinderella" will be if I have not seen fifteen of the teams play? (My Better Half thinks it's just another excuse for me to sit on the couch for a week, force her to watch sports, and be useless. Mix in the fact that I was really sick last week and I was doubly useless to her...good times.) Second, it gives me the opportunity to warm up for "The Big Dance."

My family and I always attend the first and second rounds of the tournament. We select a location, enter the lottery, and hope we get eight to twelve tickets. This year we are headed to Sacramento. It is the first time I will get to watch UCLA play in the tourney. I am really excited. But believe you me, sitting through four games in a single day is a drain, both physically and mentally. It is not something you can just throw yourself into without proper preparation. That is why some of my family members (myself included) always attend the Pac-10 Tournament. It gives us the chance to acclimatize ourselves to what it takes to sit through four games in one day. (One thing that helps me get through the day is figuring out which school has the best [read: hottest] cheerleaders. I'm always surprised that, year-in and year-out, the Pac-10's "best" cheerleaders come from Oregon, hands down. With Arizona State, UCLA, and that other school from southern California in the conference, you'd think Oregon couldn't do it, but they do. My Mom tried to convince me that "that other school" had the best squad this year, but she was wrong for three reasons: (1) I'm a UCLA fan, I'll never pick a squad from that other school as the best in anything; (b) I can't pick a squad that has cheerleaders who don't know when to cheer; and (iii) did I mention they're from that other school?...but I digress.)

My favorite NCAA pool that I will participate in is the one I am the commissioner of; it is a pool involving my extended family. That is one of the great things about the NCAA tournament, it gives me a opportunity to spend three weeks communicating with the people closest to me (and nothing says "I love you" better than some good, old fashioned trash talking that comes straight from the heart...seriously, if didn't know my Dad actually cared, I'd already be crying and the tournament hasn't even started yet; he's almost too good). It is also great because it gives my Better Half the chance to beat me at something (wait a sec, that's not great). She dusted me last year; it was not even close. Even worse, she picked teams based on the people she knew who went to that school. It is not fair that one of her best friends from high school goes to UCLA and her sister goes to George Mason for grad school. I think this is why women tend to do better in NCAA pools than men (see, e.g., my Mom winning last year's family pool). I think men tend to over think the brackets while women are more concerned about who they know at the schools and how cute the players are (taking a page out of the ladies' playbook, I used the old "how cute are the school's cheerleaders" approach in one of my brackets this year...Oregon got to the Elite 8).

Most importantly, however, I am hoping this year's tournament will finally get the bad taste of last year's tournament out of my mouth (seriously, I feel bad my Better Half has had to kiss me all this time). I mean, sure UCLA made it to the finals, but they got blown out by Florida. And, as a result, we have had to endure this past year of everyone talking about how great Joakim Noah is. I hate Joakim Noah. Has there ever been a more overrated (or uglier) basketball player in the history of college basketball? We all know how Dick Vitale feels, and it is probably the only thing we agree on. Sure he played well for two or three games in last year's tournament, but this year he is only the fourth leading scorer on his team and most of his points have come when there are six minutes left in a game and his team has already secured a victory. I only saw one game this season where he had an impact on a tight game. Most of the time he just acts like a freak or throws a temper tantrum like a five-year-old. I hope UCLA is able to make it to the Final Four so that a rematch of last year's championship game is possible. Lorenzo Mata will break Noah in half and Alfred Aboya will have a chance to relive the greatest moment of last year's game. And this year, I guarantee that UCLA will mop the floor with them; nobody gets the best of Ben Howland twice.

Time to dust off your dancing shoes and grab your partner, "The Big Dance" tips off in 66 hours.

You Can't Stop Him, You Can Only Hope to Contain Him

I am not a big fan of the lottery (not the draft lottery system that various sports use, silly...the actual state lottery). I have never even played the lottery (unless you count five scratchers on my eighteenth birthday). But when a jackpot reaches $370 million, you have to get in on that action.

A co-worker of mine, Minalicious, approached me to see if I was interested in going in on some tickets with her, 50/50 style. So now I have two tickets with ten number combinations on them, Minalicious has two of her own, and I am caught up in jackpot-mania. Everywhere I go, all I hear is people talking about how winning $370 million is a life-changing amount of money. I disagree. Winning $370 million is not winning life-changing money, it is winning stupid money. A life changing amount of money would be an amount that allows you to pay off your debts, replace the old clunker known as "your car," and put a down payment on a nice house, if not allowing you to buy it out right. That is a life changing amount of money; it generally makes your life better and easier at the same time. All this can be done with anything from $500,000 to $1 million. Winning $370 million is stupid money because, assuming you save some of it, your great-great-grandchildren still will not have to worry about money during their lifetime.

Now, the $370 million posted jackpot is a little deceptive. For starters, the states finance the jackpots by selling bonds. So, if you take the lump sum payout (which you should ALWAYS do...it's a time/value of money thing, present vs. future value...not very complicated but not worth talking about here), you will only receive the initial proceeds of the bond sale, which will net you 45% -55% of the total jackpot, or $166.5 million to $203.5 million in this instance. Now, most states do not tax lottery winnings (California included), so you only have to worry about the 25% federal tax. So, if you win the $370 million jackpot, you will receive a lump sum payment between $124.9 million and $152.6 millions. Even if you were forced to split the pot with one other person (as I would), you would receive between $62 million and $76 million, also known as stupid money. [Update: Two people did win, a schmuck in southern New Jersey and a hick from the backwoods of Georgia. Minalicious and I? We won $2, which me promised will go towards tickets the next time the jackpot hits $250 million.]

So, having caught myself a case of jackpot-fever (which, unfortunately, can't be cured with more cowbell), I can not help but think of what I would do with about $69 million (just split the difference). First, I would set aside about $40 million into a trust. If that trust was to earn, conservatively, a 6% return every year, that would be $2.4 million of income every year for the rest of my life, and I would still have $29 million left to blow as fast as I can. I would pay off my loans, pay off My Better Half's loans, buy her a new car while I am at it, buy a house, give my parents a kickback for their years of endless support (not that they need it), buy my sister and brother-in-law a house, buy my brother and soon-to-be sister-in-law a house, buy My Better Half's family new houses, and pay off some of my friends loans (we had a side deal). I could do all this and still have $20 million to blow, and not have even touched the $40 million trust. That, my friends, is why this jackpot is not life-changing money, it is stupid money. It allows someone to plan for the indefinite future.

Well, I am very thankful that not everyone on this planet is waiting to win the lottery before they plan for the future. In fact, the general managers of my two favorite teams are doing just that. First, Matt Millan finally appears to be reaching his stride as the general manager of the Detroit Lions. Having befuddled many Lions fans with his drafting skills, Millan is now showing that he might actually have a brain after all. With the trade for George Foster, an offensive tackle and 2003 first round draft pick of the Broncos (who tend to know what they're doing when it comes to offensive linemen) and the likely drafting of left tackle Joe Thomas with the second-overall pick in this years draft, Millan is shoring up the offensive line (which yielded 63 sacks last year, most in the league) for years to come. The Lions have also started to fill holes on the defensive side of the ball. With a core group of young and talented players, the 2007-2008 Lions just might be the surprise team of the season (but, of course, as a reader of GameTime, TBD©, you won't be surprised at all).

Then there is Dean Lombardi, general manager of the Los Angeles Kings. When DL was hired last summer, he announced that he had a plan to rebuild the Kings. The plan, he said, was to build around young superstars and he predicted it would take three to fours years to be Stanley Cup contenders. Well, DL is implementing that plan and, to be honest, you can't stop him, you can only hope to contain him.

Between my Where Do We Go From Here? post on February 20th and the NHL trading deadline on February 27th (that's right, in only one week's time), DL made four deals. The Kings lost veteran defenseman and captain Mattias Norstrom, Brent Sopel, a prospect who never panned out, a little-used forward, and three late round draft picks. The Kings, in turn, received Jamie Heward, an experienced former first round pick, a defensemen with an expiring contract, the rights to a prospect, and six draft picks. (I've always wanted to know which feels worse to a players self-esteem: being traded for (1) an unproven prospect, (b) late round draft picks, or (iii) a player-to-be-named later? Seriously, your team was so willing to get rid of you that they didn't even need to figure out who they wanted back at the present time. That can't feel good...but I digress) In all, DL has acquired two former first-round draft picks, three prospects, and eight draft picks. As it stands right now, the Kings have twenty draft picks between the 2007 and 2008 NHL drafts.

When you combine the moves DL has made over the past month with the nucleus of talented youngsters the Kings have on their roster right now, as well as those players on their AHL roster who will make the team next year, the Kings are extremely young and extremely talented. If these players are able to progress faster than expected, the Kings may be contenders next year or shortly thereafter. As an added bonus, because they will be so young, the Kings will be contenders year-in and year-out for the indefinite future.

Now, if only I could win myself some of that stupid money; I might have front row seats to enjoy the ride.