The Pool Dominatrix

Obviously the addiction to this tournament is about the upsets and the miracles that these kids are able to pull off at the most clutch times. Never am I disappointed by this, and I thank you again Chris Lofton of Tennessee. But what tends to lend equally to the excitement of these games are the anti-clutch moments and the just plain brain farts.

The blunders and the deflation of play are no where near as enjoyable as, say, a luscious buzzer beater, but I have to say I do like the dimension they add to the drama of the day. The mistakes tend to make me a little queasy and embarrassed for a poor teenager expected to carry the entire weight of our couch-potato hoop dreams, but don't you can kinda feel better about yourself when you can yell at the TV: "HOW ON EARTH DID YOU JUST FOUL THAT KID ON A THREE POINTER WITH 11 SECONDS TO GO AND YOU'RE DOWN BY TWO??" I love when we add phrases like, "Even I know not to do that." "My six year old has better sense." "My dog Lupe wouldn't've fouled, jeez!" But seriously, what was that UNC Wilmington kid thinking fouling GW's Carl Elliott? Elliott stepped to the line as a 67% free throw shooter and calmly channeled some Clutch Money god and tied the game that sent them into overtime and GW never looked back. But this is what I mean: It takes brain farts AND clutch money performances to add to the gorgeous, three dimensional drama of the tournament.

San Diego? Brain fartin'. Boston College? Almost brain farted A LOT of you right out of the pool. Seton Hall? Laid down like a submissive dog without even a whimperous fart.



Since it's St. Patrick's Day, I won't murder Syracuse and Gerry McNamara and his zero field goals and the five seed gas. I mean the kid had to be Mad Clutch Money four days in a row to win the now-looking Small East tournament. I also don't want to talk mess on Gerry for fear that coach Jim Boeheim may stomp me. I know Coach, Not 10 beeping games would you have won without Gerry. . .dang.








Speaking of mad clutch, did you see my man Adam Morrison? Towards the end of the fourth quarter after the Zags trailed by as many as nine points, Adam was like Ok, that's enough, and he became of flurry of hair and shoulders; pulling up, rebounding, dishing the ball. You know what I love most about him? Not the moustache, not the hair -- though all awesome -- it's that he's crazy. How intense is this guy? Slapping his head with his hand and ball. And was he talking calm shit out there? Did you see that? On the free throw line, after each play, just talking to the Xavier guys, kinda friendly, kinda deadpan. What's he doing in that picture below? The Xavier guy doesn't really know either. The Xavier guy looks bewildered like, get off me Chico, or are you my friend, Chico? Crazy. And I love it. I suppose Adam has to employ mental mind tricks too because I wasn't kidding when I said he'll have to carry the team to victory this whole tournament. They're gonna give me a heart attach each game I can feel it.

On to more brain farts and clutch madness today!

The pool standings -- god, I dunno. So inconsequential right now. But isn't it fun?

The Commish