Illini
WE GOT HOSED. Yes, we had every chance possible to make the tourney, but I feel empty filling out my brackets and not being able to write down the Illini (I actually would predict Illinois to win in the first round, but there is no way to write someone in when the bracket is online.).
Minnesota doesn’t deserve it; they finished behind us in the Big10 and after we softened OSU up with a double OT game on Saturday, Minny couldn’t even finish within 25 of the Muckeyes on Sunday.
Most Illini fans do not think the NIT is even worth watching but don’t underestimate the importance of extra practice time for the team. College basketball squads have limited allowable time together, and this could give the Illini 5 more games and an extra 2 weeks of practice. All the extra game experience will come in handy for next year – particularly for the freshman.
Oh yeah, and the championship game is on April Fool’s. Expect some sniping from co-workers if we make it that far.
It’s Tourney Time
The odds of predicting every game in the trounament are 1 in 9,223,372,036,854,775,808. You have a better chance of winning the lottery – twice – than filling out a perfect bracket. I’d say that the odds are working even harder against you this year. 2010 was a topsy-turvy year for teams voted to the top of the AP and Coach’s Poll. Last year’s NCAA Champion, North Carolina, started the year as #6 in the country and didn’t even make the NCAA. As a matter of fact, they barely squeaked by William & Mary in the first round of the NIT. Syracuse is the #1 seed in the West, but they started the year with an exhibition loss to Le Moyne. That’s Division II…worse than losing to Lipscomb.
The Texas Longhorns were ranked #1 on 1/16, but lost 6 of the next 9 games to drop out of the top 25. The Georgtown Hoyas were ranked in the top 5 early but went 4-7 to close the Big East regular season. The Illini were not the only team all over the map this year.
To win your office pool, you have to play a little strategy. Check it out.
Pick KU
As much as it pains me, you have to pick KU to compete in your pool. 95% of all entries will have the Jayhawks in the Final 4, and it doesn’t pay to go against the grain when that many people have the same pick. Find another slot in your Final 4 to choose a dark horse.
Choose a Dark Horse
You need at least 1 sleeper pick. I’m not talking about choosing a 12-5 upset in the first round. I’m talking about picking a Davidson or a George Mason to go deep. Last year, Arizona barely made the field of 64, but they played well enough to make it to the Sweet 16. There are some strong teams that dropped in rankings late in the year, who could be this year’s Arizona. Look at San Diego State (11 seed), Cornell (12 seed), Clemson (7 seed) or Marquette (6 seed). Stay as far away as possible from Texas.
Pick the South
In my opinion, the South looks like the toughest region to pick. Duke won’t make the Final Four; Villanova doesn’t have the defense or the size to do it either; and Purdue is lost without Hummel. That leaves Baylor, Texas A&M, or some other mystery team. Proceed at your own risk.
My Favorite Column of All-Time
Hockey players, among all athletes, have the coolest way of entering the
game, hopping over the boards with one hand, like Steve McQueen getting into a
convertible. But basketball is forever, and so players are often made to
genuflect in front of the scorer's table for a moment before stepping onto the
court, as if entering a house of worship. Which, in a manner of speaking, they
are.
For one is baptized into basketball not with water but confetti (conferred
on the head by Curly Neal). And one believes in basketball, as one believes in
the Bible and in all those names that are common to both: Moses and Isiah and
Jordan…
Adam and Eve were banished from the Garden and so -- eventually -- were the
Celtics, and sometime in between I became a believer, and this is my profession
of faith:
I believe in Artis Gilmore, whose wife is named --as God is my witness --
Enola Gay.
I believe in new high-tops, always evocative of Christmas morning, for you
get to open a large box, remove crinkly paper stuffed into the toes, and --
before wearing them for the first time -- inhale deeply from each sneaker as if
from an airplane oxygen mask. (It's what wine connoisseurs call "nosing the
bouquet" and works for Pumas as well as pinot noirs.)
I believe in tear-away suits, which make the wearer feel -- when summoned
from the bench -- like Clark Kent, ripping off his business suit to reveal the S
on his chest.
I believe a team's fortunes can always be foretold -- not from the length
of its lifelines but from the integrity of its lay-up lines.
I believe in God Shammgod and Alaa Abdelnaby, and James (Buddha) Edwards
(and in Black Jesus, Earl Monroe's nickname long before it was the Pearl).
I believe in accordion-style bleachers that push back to expose, after a
game, car keys and quarters and paper cups, which sound like a gunshot when
stomped on just right. (And always, stuck to the floor, the forlorn strands of
molting pom-poms.)
I believe -- now more than ever, in the time of global disharmony -- in
World B. Free and Majestic Mapp. And that control of the planet's contested
regions might be better determined by a simple, alternating possession
arrow.
I believe that 300 basketballs dribbled simultaneously by eight-year-old
basketball campers sound like buffalo thundering across the plains. And inspire
even greater awe.
I believe that two high school janitors pushing twin dust mops at halftime
can be every bit as hypnotic as dueling Zambonis.
I believe that any sucker can wear a $40,000 gold necklace as thick as a
bridge cable when the only necklace worth wearing in basketball is a nylon net
that costs $9.99. (but --and here's the point -- it can't be bought.)
I'm a believer in Lafayette Lever and regret never having covered him, for
if I had, my first sentence about him would have been, "There must be 50 ways to
love your Lever."
I believe that jumping off a trampoline, turning a midair somersault,
slam-dunking and sticking the landing -- while wearing a gorilla suit that's
wearing, in turn, a Phoenix suns warm-up jacket -- is enough to qualify you as a
first-ballot Hall-of-Famer.
I believe in Harthorne Wingo, and I believe in Zap the dingo, the Detroit
shock mascot whose costume was stolen from the Palace of Auburn Hills by two men
who were caught -- one in the dingo head, the other in the dingo feet --
drinking in a bar across the street.
I believe in dunking dirty clothes into the hallway hamper and sky-hooking
-- from the shotgun seat -- quarters into highway toll baskets. And I believe in
finger-rolling heads of lettuce into my shopping cart, even though I have never,
in the last 10 years, eaten a piece of lettuce at home.
I believe I can still hold, in my right hand, a boom box the size of
Samsonite Streamlite while carrying, in my left, a slick rubber ball whose
pebble-grain stubble has long before been dribbled away. And that I can do so
while riding a 10-speed bike and steering with my knees.
I believe that the Truth (Drew Gooden) and the Answer (Allen Iverson) are
out there, if we will simply follow the bouncing ball.
I believe that we, the basketball faithful, speak in tongues: the red,
wagging tongue of Michael Jordan and the red, wagging tongues of our unlaced
Chuck Taylors.
I believe that Larry Bird's crooked right index finger -- which he raised
in triumph before his winning shot fell in the 1988 All-Star weekend three-point
contest -- resembles, almost exactly, God's crooked right index finger, as
depicted on the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel.
Which would make sense, If God made man in His image. For I believe, above
all, in what G.K. Chesterton wrote, and what Rick Telander echoed in the title
of a book: Earth is a task garden. But heaven is a playground.
-Steve Rushin
Enjoy the tournament.
Sincerely,
The Office Pool
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