I swear I’m going to write the version history for this blog to prove that I was “blogging” before it was both cool and passe. In the meantime, on this eve before the nation begins its ritual celebration of the beginning of Spring with the hopes and dreams of the hundreds of NCAA athletes - most whom will turn pro in a field that is not their sport - and their chase to become the primaballerina in the James Naismith Ballet…what the hell am I talking about?

Sheeit, fuck the poetry, where the hell can I throw my money to ride these young kids to the promised land of some ill-advised electronics purchase?

Best of luck to all’y'all for the next few weeks. As I disappear into my cave to obsessively follow my entries, I leave with you what I wrote a year ago in the Disco Diary, aka Blog Version 2.0, about the NCAA Tourney and other stuff (hindsight is 20/20 after all):

Happy St. Patrick’s Day! I’m so totally decked out in green because I don’t want [bitches] up in my bizness pinching me and stuff. For some strange reason, I keep hearing about people wanting to drink the Guinness today.

“Brilliant!” they yell.

You know what I say? “Like, that’s soooo stupid!”

How are you supposed to drink a book? And what does that have anything to do with lucky charms, little magical leprechauns, and the luck o’d'Irish? I hear paper mills stink. You don’t want that stuff in your system and I don’t care how many anti-oxidants this “Guinness” has.

Today is also the beginning of March Madness, when everybody goes crazy for the big basketball tournament. I filled out my bracket (with my lucky green Kogepan pen) and turned it in just before the tip off of the first game this morning. I picked Wake Forest to win it all and I am right because:

1) I won last year.

2) Demon Deacons are scaaaaary. Empire-ically, or something. I mean, not only are they already demons, they are also deacons.

3) Their star point guard, Chris Paul thinks like me and therefore, is obviously a genius. I had just been rejected from the boys basketball team tryouts for like the zillionth time - something about me being a girl or playing like a girl, I was so agitated, I wasn’t really listening - and I was at home in my Zarko Cabarkapa jersey, all bummed out and watching that stupid movie BASEketball when I thought how a 15-year-old like me can spice up the game of basketball. And I swear, diary, when it came to me, it was like Moses and the burning bush.

My burning bush said, “what Basketball needs a 6th person on the court - a nut kicker.”

Genius.

It would be the great equalizer. You think Kobe’s so smooth and his beef is so tender? Tell me what happens after it get kicked a few times. You think Big Aristotle is so unstoppable? Kick him in his little Aristotles. Iverson acting a fool with his gats? Kick him in the nads.

Both teams have nut kickers. Nut kickers can get their nuts kicked, but only by the other team’s nut kickers. They cannot touch the ball (the one in play). Their sole purpose is to kick or not kick other people in the nuts. You see the strategy developing?

And Title IX? Screw it. You can kick that in the nuts too - hell yeah, girls can play. Tell me right now, Diary, that Mia Hamm wouldn’t be the best nut kicker in the game. She’d be positively Bondsian.

Chris Paul must have brain wave stealing skills or something. It must have been that night that I went to sleep without putting my tin foil hat on - the next morning, I read that he had punched Julius Hodge in the nuts. Are you kidding me?

Ah crap! Chris Paul must be an alien too, leading me to #4 on my list of why the Demon Deacons will win the NCAA tournament…

4) Chris Paul might be an alien.

I feel it.

In my bathing suit area.

A revolution in sports is afoot.

David Stern, where u at?

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