V For Vomit

That's what Calipari told America yesterday.
"I'm vomitting worrying about Bradley."
Ohhhhhh-kayyyyyy.
Well, if it makes your tummyache less-achey, J-Cal, I'm vomitting worrying about you vomitting worrying about Bradley. And, a lot of my friends are vomitting worrying about me vomitting worrying about you vomitting worrying about Bradley.
The thing Calipari needs to monitor closely: What would happen if he should start vomitting worrying about vomitting worrying about Bradley.

Chill, J-Cal ... although I know that you know that I know that you're pimping for press ever since you think that America forgot about your UMass frontline of Camby-Dingle-Bright and the backcourt of Travieso-Padilla.
I'm vomitting worrying why I should remember off the top of my head that Minuteman starting five of 10, 11 years ago.

As I go through WBC withdrawal (by vomitting worrying that there'll be a springtime with no ESPN updates of how Matsunaka is performing for the Seibu Lions or how Matsunaka is doing for the Fukuoka Softbank Hawks, not to mention Fukudome for the Chunichi Dragons, Ogasawara for the Hokkaido Nippon Ham Fighters or, my boy, Iwamura for the Yakult Swallows ... notice how I didn't mention anyone from Bobby Valentine's Chiba Lotte Marines?), I'm thinking about temporarily lifting the lifetime ban that college b-ball recently received around the PF7 crib.
I MAY actually ("maybe") tune in to see what CBS is servin' up in those four regional semis tonight.

Two nights ago, I needed something in the TV genre as accompaniment while I was wolfin' down a microwaveable dinner, so ... I clicked onto the final five minutes of the Fla.St./So.Carol. NIT mess.
Yup, it had me vomitting up my Stouffer's Swedish meatball entree (I know, I know, I know ... I shoulda pulled out the Lean Cuisine Swedish meatball entree option instead).
However, that final minute of regulation sorta knocked my socks off when 'Noles guard Isaiah Swann made a steal of a lazy pass in front of the USC bench and sprinted downcourt.

It seemed as though Swann would dish off or do some sorta of double-clutch lay-in with the defender cutting over until ... my god, Swann didn't break stride and, all 5-foot-10 of him pogo-sticked to a takeoff outside the key, soaring up and one-handing a tomahawk jam that was about the best I've seen in the past 10 years.

Swann looked like he was playin' SlamBall and elevatin' to the basket as though he'd bounced off a trampoline during a halftime exhibition.
It's the way I used to dunk during study-break, Nerf-ball sessions in my college dorm room (but, not quite like my vanilla dunk-ball dunks on the 8-foot, elementary-school playground baskets ... nowadays, I 'spose non-ballers get their dunking kicks on PlayStation or X-Box by clicking a button equivalent to Ctrl-Alt-Delete).

Either way, Swann's dunk occurred with 56 seconds to play and gave FSU a 58-56 lead, but matters kinda unraveled at the end of regulation.
That was a cool dunk, though (sorry, Alexander Johnson and Al Thornton, Swann's teammates who had three jams apiece ... as The Riddler said to Two-Face, "Your entrance was good, HIS was better.").

I seriously doubt that I'll see any dunks that are quite as insane as Swann's tonight -- and I must confess that I'm vomitting worrying that ESPN, during March Madness, would do what it did on the late night SportsCenter last night by giving me The Largely-Annoying Sean Salisbury on site at Vince Young's workout.
I guess it's still too much to ask to give us quality features instead of Salisbury regurgitation. Yet, it's par for the course on the network which gives us Vitale vomit (and we're at T-minus nine days 'til America will collectively blow chunks when that eggheaded, no-talent puke is announced as an inductee into the Basketball Hall of Fame).

So, Joe Lunardi, make yourself useful:
Grab your brackets and mop up that upchuck, will ya?