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.
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