A Lesson In Brackety-Whackety-Schmacketology

Feel the intensity!

I’ve always thought that March Madness would make a great name for a Nazi documentary. Instead, it represents the greatest time of the year in college athletics, aside from sorority bid day when all the hot chicks run to their new sisters for carefree and jiggly embrace. The men’s college basketball tournament is the ultimate reason for thousands of companies throughout the U.S. to decline in productivity through March and April, and we love every second of it.

With the first two rounds already under wrap, we’ve seen some insanity, intensity, intuition, intestinal fortitude, and, for the sake of alliteration, interspecies erotica. Teams like Georgetown, Villanova and Kansas once again proved how arrogant our favorite sports analysts are to think they can predict sporting outcomes, and they also showed us that scrappy teams of goofy white kids like St. Mary’s and Northern Iowa are still relevant until the NBA Draft arrives. And since the Jayhawks ruined roughly 90 percent of our brackets, I won’t bother with predicting Sweet 16 matchups or telling you who will make it to the Final Four. Instead, we might as well enjoy the remaining games in the best way we can – breaking apart the efforts of others through cynicism and angst.

Here are your safest bets for these remaining few weeks of the true college playoffs, everything that you can count on happening during the rest of March Madness:

Barack-atology FTW?

Better than the Tar Heels’ slogan.

ESPN spent the days leading up to the first round of the NCAA Tournament shoving Barack-atology down our throats, and it is pretty cool to see a politician who can talk sports. But then we hear ad nauseum about how sports-smart the Commander is and basically how he’s one more person who is apparently more qualified than us to determine unpredictable outcomes. Obama picked Kansas to win the championship, as did I. That means I’m smart (or dumb) enough to be president. My first act as president? Get Nancy Pelosi a guest trainer gig at Sea World.

CBS Announcers Will Be Terrible

Yeah, because Captain Dandy here loves sports.

During the conference tournaments, the theme songs were “How Bad Do You Want It” by Tim McGraw and Kenny Chesney’s “This is Our Moment.” That led to six trillion song title references by Clark Kellogg, Jim Nantz and Co. “These guys are showing us how bad they want it,” one trained monkey commented. “For the winners, it will be their shining moment,” agreed the retarded seal. And if you don’t think it’s going to be 100 times worse during March Madness, I’ll just point out that Clash of the Titans is a sponsor.

Gonzaga Is Over-under-middle-rated

Current NBA superstar Adam Morrison.

In the late 90s and early naughts, it was cliché to pick Gonzaga as the upset. Now it’s cliché to pick them to win because they choke down the stretch. People like Gonzaga because it has a fun name, but nobody realizes that it’s an old Latin term for clitoris. And even if that’s not true*, somebody should go to Urban Dictionary and make it true. Look, I’m not a hateful person, but if you could look at Adam Morrison’s mustache for more than 6 seconds and not want to punch a toddler, then you’re a better man than I.

*It’s not true

Everyone Hates Duke

The 2010-2011 Duke Blue Devils.

Two types of people like Duke – people who actually went to Duke and rich white kids. I’ve always been on the fence with Duke, mainly because UNC can suck it, too, but also because I respect the white collar ethic. If all college teams are strippers, then Duke is a porn star. And I love porn stars because they’ll do whatever it takes to succeed in the game. Oh, and for the sake of my awesome analogy, Christian Laettner is guy-on-guy porn.

Who the Hell are These Guys?

Someone call a stripper!

There will be nail-biters, buzzer beaters and some serious upsets (So long, Wisconsin!) and they will involve one of my favorite moments in basketball games – camera shots of random bench guys going ape. Most of these players haven’t logged a minute. The starters don’t even know their names, and their fathers refer to them as “My loser queerbo son” and “Oh, you mean my daughter?” Yet the cameras will always show them holding hands, locking arms and, in the case of Purdue, reaching around.

Ian Eagle Will Inspire Me

Win it for Chappy Sinclair!

Any time that Ian Eagle shows up to a sporting event, I hit my Netflix and order Iron Eagle. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t wish I could strap a cassette player to my upper thigh and listen to Twisted Sister. U-S-A! U-S-A! But back to Ian, this is an actual quote from his Wikipedia profile: “He has been praised for his good commentary in games such as Boston College vs. Pacific in the 2006 NCAAB Tournament.” That’s like the bragging equivalent of an actor being praised for a supporting role in a Paul Walker movie. Just goes to show you what a cool name and millions of short attention spans can do for a career.

Get Back In the Kitchen!

They were only unbeaten if they had dinner ready.

There will be at least five times that you’re watching a game and you catch a score on the ticker and think, “Wow, Montana just beat the piss out of Tennessee” and then you’ll realize that it’s a women’s tournament score. Look, I love the ladies and I certainly respect that they want to play sports, but that’s what gymnastics and cheerleading and ironing are for. And before any feminists start protesting my adorable sexism, just know that I was raised by a single mom. So blame her when I expect my laundry done on time.

Oh, Enough With This Crap Already

Finally, the one constant throughout the history of March Madness has been Luther Vandross closing us out with One Shining Moment. This year, they’ve changed it to Jennifer Hudson singing her own version. Don’t get me wrong, I’m a guy who loves traditions with his sports, such as Super Bowl MVPs going to Disney World, people wearing funny hats at the Kentucky Derby, and nobody watching hockey. But some things just need to be updated. I may be alone, but I think the best modern alternative to this tired tradition would be Carrie Underwood singing to me topless. What can I say? I’m a visionary.

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