I received a standing ovation, yet I fought back the tears because it felt like an empty standing O.
It went down like this:
I was on my final three-roll set of the Electronic Hand-Held YAHTZEE that Mrs. PF7 and I keep around the house (y'know, in case of monsoons, tsunamis, restroom timeouts, NCAA b-ball infringement on our personal space, etc ...) and my score was 505 -- well within easy striking distance of the Haystack Headquarters record of 523 held by Mrs. PF7.
All I needed was a 19 in my final category "Chance," of all things -- not a total gimme, considering that Electronic Hand-Held YAHTZEE's micro-chip technology always holds the key (kinda like "Zoltar" in the movie "Big").
Bang! I "rolled" (if pressing a red button constitutes "a roll") four twos right off the bat.
Since I didn't have any timeouts remaining and since a genius like Bill Belichick wasn't available and since Regis wasn't going to let me phone a friend, I was on my own.
It was either disregard the roll entirely and re-roll, hoping for some sixes, some fives and some fours -- or hold the four twos and shoot for an unprecendented fourth Yahtzee which would put me over the 600-point mark and basically make me the Alpha dog of the house.
I don't even remember how I played it or how I mis-engineered the moment, but, when it read "Game Over" and my final score was 519, I crumpled to the floor, a la Adam Morrison.
I was a weepy willow.
"Chagrined" doesn't even begin to describe it.
In retrospect, maybe I should've allowed the nearest autistic team manager to take my final three rolls -- after all, the last time we heard of something like that happening, dude became Mr. Instant Offense and scored 20 points in four minutes.
I only needed 19 points.
Damn you, autism!
Oh, wait ... the ballgames.
Ummmmm ... I wasn't emotionally available and therefore, I kinda blew 'em off. I mean, why watch when ESPN can give me 45 seconds of highlights and 15 minutes of Digger and Egghead and Gottlieb and Majerus and Hubert Davis and Tom Brennan and Andy Katz and Joe Lunardi and Steve Lavin and Jay Bilas and The Ghost of Al McGuire to talk about what we saw, what we will see, what we should believe and when we should believe it?
Hey, cut me some slack ... I watched the final 32 seconds of regulation in the LSU-Texas game and the first 1:13 or 1:14 of OT.
Best rec-league b-ball I've seen in the past 24 hours, that's for damn sure.
Seriously, that's a pretty quality matchup between two quality football schools and, if you give me a time machine, I can triangulate a 1983 showdown between the Tigers' sophomore running back Dalton Hilliard and the Longhorns' seasoned secondary led by Mossy Cade, Jitter Fields and Freddie Acorn.
Ya gotta love Freddie Acorn.
And, it starts with believing in Freddie Acorn.
Wait ... you're talking about a 2006 basketball showdown which connects Austin to Baton Rouge to the Georgia Dome?
I mean, a "basketball" game between LSU and Texas sounds about as made-up as the name "Freddie Acorn."
The thing is, Freddie Acorn really did exist (the Tampa Bay Buccaneers selected him in the third round in the '84 NFL draft).
The next thing ya know, they'll be asking me about a basketball matchup between USC and Miami (as if those football powerhouses have basketball programs above the intramural level).
Sorry, but this husky lad (me) didn't get around to watching the Husky vs. Husky (UConn/U-Dub) confrontation Fri. night, mostly because there was a Steelers SB XL DVD which was itchin' for me to watch it for the sixth time in the two weeks I've owned it.
I know, I know, I know ... if I had a higher sense of commitment, I'd've watched it 14 times in the past 14 days and memorized most of it.
I'm gettin' there.
And UConn? 27 baskets made, 26 turnovers.
The AP recap referred to it thusly: "Sometimes miserable to watch and occasionally downright laughable."
Thank you for the editorialization, Associated Press.
Riddle me this, though, AP ... is Big Baby the love child of a tryst between Tractor Traylor and Stanley Roberts or what?
He's some serious Atlanta Hawks material, if ya ask me.
Unless the Toronto Raptors trade up.
Who does Big Baby think he is? The "Bus" of college b-ball?
Corliss Williamson would run yer ass ... and run it into the ground.
Let's all settle down on this Rubber Baby Buggy Bumpers nonsense, okay?
Nuthin' beats the regional finals, though ... even if the AP attempts to discredit the weekend by calling it miserable and laughable. Maybe the AP doesn't understand that Texas' Brad Buckman is standing around and waiting for a beach volleyball game to break out.
Before Saturday, Buckman was 1 of 12 on 3-pointers in Texas' previous six games. THAT, somehow, earned him the designated 3-point shooter assignment for Saturday.
Hook 'em, 'Horns ... buck 'em, Buck ... whatever ...
Mrs. PF7 and I didn't watch any of UCLA-Memphis. We penciled onto our dance cards: "ABNI."
"Available, but not interested" ... kinda like, "DNP, coach's decision."
Hey, I'm not sayin' that the boxscore reflected something miserable and laughable (that's the AP's job), but ... Ryan Hollins was 6 of 7 from "the field" ... UCLA's other four starters were 3 of 25.
Arron Afflalo was 9 of 10 from the line ... the rest of UCLA's team was 11 of 29.
35 percent from the floor, 51 percent at the line, 17 turnovers ... it makes me want to sit behind the UCLA bench and heckle the Bru Crew with incessant cries of, "No, you DITT-INT! No, you DITT-INT!"
I'll tell ya who's pissed: Lavin (and the 37 ounces of axle grease in his hair). Ben Howland took Lavin's mediocre Bruin b-ball program and made it really really really really mediocre (translation: gettin' the boys to play jussssssst well enough to lose regularly, but somehow able to pick up the W by lettin' the opponent out-ugly his team).
Look ... I don't care if Kenton Paulino and I were born in the same city ... I don't want him shootin' 3-balls for me, okay? He's a 3-point misser, not a 3-point maker, okay? I know he sank the game-winning trey at the buzzer to give the Wronghorns the win over the Meltdowneers, but, he's not a jump-shooter, okay?
I mean, even a blind squirrel finds a nut every now and then.
Me? I'm lookin' for Freddie Acorn ...