My bracket, however, is not. I still have my brackets from three of the past five years, and a quick review shows 38, 36, and 35 correct picks. I'm already at 42 this year, and can get to 45 if UNC beats UCLA next Monday night. As the Tournament and the college basketball season wind down, the baseball season gets going, and Johan Santana started doing what the Mets acquired him to do - win games. What sucks is that since he only pitches every fifth game, he can't completely put the team on his shoulders and carry them to a division title. However, Johan's presence in Flushing pushes the memory of last year's Great Collapse a bit further back in my mind. With the Islanders officially eliminated from playoff contention for over a week, it's all about the baseball. That is, until NFL season begins, with the Thursday night kickoff game...featuring the Redskins and the reigning Super Bowl Champion New York Giants! Recognize, fools.
Speaking of baseball, it's one of the only professions where failing more often than you succeed isn't a bad thing. Seriously, if you make good on one-third of your valid attempts in the batter's box (that is to say, a .333 batting average), you're likely headed for the Hall of Fame. One other such field immediately comes to mind: meteorology. And that brings me to my next gripe - yesterday's weather, and whoever forecast it. Two days ago, the weather report called for cloudy skies yesterday morning, followed by showers in the afternoon (which I didn't care about, since I'd be secured in the bowels of the Submersible Death Trap by then). I walk outside to retrieve my clothes from the laundromat at 11:30 a.m., and what do I see? Fucking snow, that's what. Nuclear power clearly was the wrong choice of rating when I joined the Navy; I should have aspired to be the next Al Roker.