I hate mine. Probably as much as you hate yours.
In fact, I'll make a deal with you. I hate mine so much, I'm willing to give you some of my hate to add on to the hate you already have for yours. Just so you can hate yours even more.
Like that's possible.
Mine makes me sick. In fact, if I look back upon the vast history of people who have made me sick, she makes me sicker than anyone who has ever made me sick.
The mere sight of her is enough to turn my stomach worse than if I'd just seen Roseanne Barr naked and she was asking me if I'd like to feed her grapes.
I hate the bitch. Not Roseanne Barr. The other bitch.
I'll bet yours is within sight right this second. I'm sure mine is nearby, too.
And while I've called her a lot of things in the past, now I just call her TFCSBIAWGWTCBP.
Y'know, The Fat Clueless Stupid Bitch In Accounting Who's Gonna Win The College Basketball Pool.
God, I hate her.
You know exactly who I'm talking about, too. Because it's happened to you just like it's happened to me. She doesn't have a clue. And she kicks your ass.
Well, guess what buddy? It's gonna happen again this year.
The worst part of the whole thing is that she's always different. I mean, it would be one thing if it were the same annoying whore year in and year out. But it's not. Which makes it even worse because you know she's out there and you don't even know who she is.
She might even appear to be nice to you, too. But trust me, don't fall for that nice crap. She's the enemy.
Here's the conversation you probably had with her this morning:
YOU: Good morning, NAME GOES HERE.
HER: Good morning. How are you?
Now here's the subtext of your brief, albeit telling conversation:
YOU: Good morning, NAME GOES HERE.
HER: Good morning. Hey, how's your NCAA pool, you good-for-nothing-worthless- piece-of-crap? Y'know, I picked a No. 11 seed to win it all…and I don't even know what that means! HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA.
I'm telling you, it's just not right. Guys should not be forced to have to deal with a FCSBIAWGWTCBP.
All season long you've been watching, paying attention, reading the sports page, checking out the rankings. You know about Shane Battier and Casey Jacobsen and that dude with the huge afro on Arizona. You've been prepping for these three weeks for a couple of months now.
And the fact of the matter is, even if you didn't pay that much attention to college basketball this year, you 're a guy, for chrissakes. And guys just know stuff like this. It's not right that some FCSBIA takes away from us what is rightfully our own.
Tell me you haven't been privy to this conversation around your cubicle in the past:
(THE DAY BEFORE THE TOURNAMENT)
FCSBIAWGWTCBP: So where are we going for lunch today? I know it's only 10:30 but I'm starved. Jeez, I only had two bagels with cream cheese and a three egg/four cheese omelet for breakfast. Hey y'know, everybody seems to be doing that college basketball thing-a-ma-jiggy. I think I'm going to do one, too. It should be fun. I'll never win, though. But that's OK. I love basketball. That's the game with the orange ball, right? Hey by the way, what does NCAA stand for?
(THE DAY AFTER THE TOURNAMENT)
FCSBIAWGWTCBP: Oh. My. God. Me? Really? I wasn't even paying attention. This is great! So which team won?
Did you ever see the movie "Diner"? The main story line is that one of the characters is getting married, and he's a die-hard Baltimore Colts fan. Before he gets married, though, his fiancée has to pass a 100-question, true/false, multiple choice test about the Colts. Or they won't get married.
That my friends, is a man's man.
Maybe office pools should have a rule that you're not allowed to play unless you can answer the following questions:
1. What shape is a basketball?
2. How many points do you get for a three-point shot?
3. (TRICK QUESTION) If you kick the basketball through the goalposts, how many points is that?
At the very least, that would establish some basic knowledge prior to submitting your entry. As opposed to: "Gonzaga. Ooooh, that's a cute name. I'll pick them."
Give me a break. I hate you, you FCSBIAWGWTCBP.
It makes me sick knowing that my hard earned three bucks is going to be stuffed in her fat wallet that she shoves in her fat purse that hangs next to her fat ass.
I bet you have a big fat meal after all 63 games, you FCSBIAWGWTCBP.
I mean, I'm not the most die-hard college basketball fan. But damnit, I try to take this thing seriously. Hey, I know what's going on. I know the good teams. The also-rans. The best conferences. The key players. I spent a lot of time last week studying the brackets. Analyzing strengths and weaknesses. Reading what the experts have to say.
And then finally, after all the analysis, I factor in the information I've uncovered and I make my picks.
Because damnit, that's what men do.
Hmmmm. Penn State vs. Providence? Cincy vs. BYU? USC vs OSU? Jesus, I don't have a friggin' clue.
"So uh, who do you like, FCSBIAWGWTCBP? I mean, NAME GOES HERE. Listen, can I, uh, take you to lunch today? Hey, have you lost some weight?"