It's the Most Wonderful Time of the Year

So I, along with 29% of the U.S. population, am officially incapacitated for the next 3 weeks. As shamefuly as it seems to an avowed intellectual and all, I got NCAA fever. Ah, what the hell, I'll say it - March Madness.

I've really gotta hurry actually, as the first games of the day are about to start. As I've been told a handful of times in the last day, "You're such a boy."

But before I go, a quick thought on one (or more) of the teams playing today:

Arkansas, at 21-13, was perhaps the last team chosen for the field, and the whipping post for fans of many teams who didn't make the cut. But I can't wait to see their game, if only for the chance of more postgame guy-on-guy action like we witnessed in the SEC tourney:

Gary Ervin hit a floater to push Arkansas to a 72-71 win over Vanderbilt in the SEC Tournament quarterfinals, so the Hogs are still in the running for an NCAA Tournament bid. But that's not what was crazy about this game. What was crazy was the celebration that just wouldn't stop. Ervin and Patrick Beverley rolled around on the court near press row until Stan Heath approached them. Then they all hugged, Heath left and Beverley and Ervin went straight back to the floor with the former laying the latter down ever so gently. They had their arms wrapped around each other, and Beverley was crying and on top of his teammate with his legs spread, and it was the most awkward thing. Understand, this was not like a baseball pile where 20 guys jump on each other. This was two guys -- Ervin and Beverley -- just, for lack of a better word, dry-humping on the 50-yard line of the Georgia Dome like Ludracis always fantasized (yes, I just quoted Ludacris lyrics). Honestly, I wouldn't be surprised if Ervin needed a cigarette. Or a morning-after pill.

I've included a photo of the postgame pre-tune (note the hand placement):


I also added a tender moment between Texas All-American Kevin Durant and his "favorite" teammate, and invite everyone to count the semi-erotic moments shared between teammates; I'd bet the number will only be eclipsed by the amount of time Dick vitale calls a large group of predominantly men "Baby."

First entry

So the journey is complete. If you know me through MySpace, welcome to my new home. If not, you can catch up at http://blog.myspace.com/johnnyproc.

If you don't know me, here's a snapshot of my morning today:

“You Irish?”

Being as it’s a mere 2 days until St. Patrick’s Day, I thought this random comment by a random woman on the street was an offhand pre-holiday greeting.

“No,” I said without looking at her, and continued on my way to the corner bodega.

“You must be Polish then.”

I just kept walking. Only about 10 steps left.

“Excuse me,” she said right as I was on the threshold to buy milk and seltzer, “I’m sorry to bother you, and don’t take this the wrong way” – to which I always want to ask the person to clarify the right way to take it – “but would you be interested in some, uh, sexual gratification in exchange for a little cash?”

I finally took a good look at her – a black woman who could have been anywhere from 40-55 years old, with a not unpleasant smile on her face and a bundle of folders under her arm.

“I work for the housing board,” she said. “These are my files.” She continued looking at me, veiling her desire for subsidiary income in a kind, welcoming smile.

“I, uh,” I stammered, “I’m not really into…”

“Oh, times is hard for you too?” She looked at me almost like a mother would. “You a student?”

“No, I’m a teacher,” I said.

“Oh,” she sighed pityingly. “No wonder you ain’t into it.”