March madness kicks off in like 15 minutes. I'm in three pools this go round, yet after 20 years of filling out brackets, I've yet to crack the top 90% in any of them, despite hours logged in front of the boob tube, casing the competition. A ten year old usually wins.
If you don't know who that is to my right, you probably follow cricket. I'll be pulling for the Heels, anxious for another victory skip from Mr. Ty Ty. Can't wait to hear what ex-church fellow Billy Fudge Packer has to say about the Heels defensive lapses. Predicting the Dean makes yet another stunning in-studio appearance, but really hoping for a cameo from Matt Doherty.
If we win (the chooch is entered too), we will blow the spoils on a hot dog maker for mom. She loves her tube steaks.
Speaking of March madness, we've had quite a run at home as well. Beav's hip pains are actually hormonal (not enzymatic as erroneously reported by moi) and are being treated with sweet tarts and trashy magazines. She's sleeping better these nights, and we're optimistic about learning the fox trot in April.
No comments:
Post a Comment