Editors Note:


EDITOR'S NOTE: Fresh off a three year managerial stint, your friendly neighborhood lenslinger is back on the street and under heavy deadline. As the numbing effects of his self-imposed containment wear off, vexing reflections and pithy epistles are sure to follow...

Sunday, April 04, 2010

If It Pleases the Court...

Bill and Butler
As a standing rule, I'd rather watch the Slap-Chop guy's audition tape than endure too much college basketball. Call it a quirk, but I get littel joy from the roundball. Still, it IS religion down here, so I feign allegiance- lest I get Gillooly'd in some hallway scrum (worst place to get Gillooly'd). Which is why I'd yet to form an opinion on the NCAA Championship currently winding up - other than to embrace the 'underdogma' inherent in Butler's unlikely rise. That is until the station called. Now I'm pulling for those Nancy Boys at Duke thoroughly disembowel those scaborous Bulldogs, for reasons I'll detail in a minute. First though I'd like to share with you a favorite pastime of mine for matchups as big as this:

I call it Name That Photog!

Yes, few things annoy my teenage daughters more than my little version of Where's Waldo - a staggered round of Dad-like gestures in which I spend the entire game giving couch-side shout-outs to cameramen and sports shooters I recognize on the sidelines. Look - there's my buddy Bill Welch - all pleated pants and poker face as Coach Whats-His-Nuts soaks in the adulation of a sweat-shirted throng. Last time I saw Bill, he was picking his way through an ocean of broken lumber in a tornado-ravaged neighborhood. Or was it a sea of sixth graders at a middle school science fair? Tell, the truth they both had the same vibe... At any rate, I had no idea he was anywhere near Indianapolis, let alone on the edge of where so many sports fans would love to be. Ya know, Greg Pell is right - that Bill Welch fella has a real future in this business! I'll be sure to look for him during tonight's coverage - though for all I know the NCAA only allows logo'd robots to hover on the hardwood during such a sacredly commercial event. Still, a 'slinger can dream - which is why I'll keep my eyes peeled into the wee hours, for nothing makes me chuckle like catching a glimpse of a buddy scratching his ass in Hi-Def. Hey, we ALL got hobbies...

Oh and why am I pulling for that dark blue blight known as Duke? Simple, if the Blue Devils win, I roll out of bed early and head straight for a Rockingham County bunker - where dozens of hopped-up screen printers will be cranking out Duke Champ t-shirts by the pallet. There's easy tee-vee to be had in those piles of nylon, and perhaps a friendly biscuit for my troubles. If Duke loses, no t0-shirts will be made and I'll be forced to attend the morning editorial meeting - a tepid enough summit that could very likely end in my being dispatched to cover a urinal cake taste-test or some other such unpleasantry....

Go Duke.

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