SAY "CHEESE!" - FRIDAY

Kris Benson Scrambles to Find Baltimore’s Finest Rebound Stripper

FROM THE BASS'S GILLS

"We've invited that Stickler character back again to dress up in a full-body bass costume and have at the Rival Room. He couldn't type at all with the fin-styled gloves that came with the costume. And the whole thing was made of crushed velvet, so he was sweating like Peter North. But he performed like him too, and spewed his saltwater-laced opinion regarding Indiana University's recent hiring compromise." - Rival Room Editors

by Josh Stickler, www.sticklersworld.blogspot.com

I had a plan, I had a mission, a goal you may call it. I was going to write about what makes a coach great. I was going to tell the readers a story from my childhood. Entailing me being beaned with a baseball and how the coach motivated me to step back out to the plate and hit a home run. All about how bad coaches can break a team and how a great coach is loved by all. And then…

I awoke this morning, after the longest day of work I have had in a long time, turned on SportsCenter and saw that Indiana University had hired Mike Davis’s replacement. As I read article after article, quote after quote from new sources, former players, and sports commentators I made a brash decision. In true “Naked Gun� fan form; I extended my left arm, slowly raised my middle finger, and repeatedly pressed the delete key on my keyboard. Erasing from existence everything I had written so as a loyal Hoosier I could write what follows:

Indiana; cornfields, sheep farming, little pink houses, small towns, pizza express, and BASKETBALL. Hoosiers are known for their love of this sport. When talking to a Hoosier any mention of other sports will get you a reaming, with the exception of NFL Football. Hoosiers as well all know, was even a movie about a high school basketball team overcoming the odds, were talking serious stuff in this state.

“In 49 states it's just basketball ... but this is Indiana."
-- Video boards in Conseco Fieldhouse.

So when a basketball coach gets fired (Bobby Knight), or a basketball coach submits his resignation (Mike Davis), or a new coach is named (Kelvin Sampson) it’s news that needs to be talked about, ridiculed, and understood.

Over the last few weeks my worry was that IU would hire Steve Alford, former IU player and not so good coach at Iowa. So Steve, the Hawkeye’s went out in the first round, nice job. I don’t believe Alford was fit to coach our team anyways, once you take one look at his record at Iowa; .570 winning percentage. I'd assume many other coaches can do better then that. My friend Brian is quoted as saying, “If IU took Alford, then they would never be able to fire him because he is part of the Bobby Knight era.� I bet he read it online. I agree, however, so props to IU for not making this mistake.

Instead the choice has been Kelvin Sampson. At first I was weary, a little pissed. I was reading the media again, so instead I did some research. Let’s start with the negatives. Can we say; NCAA violations and an entire team that didn’t graduate. IU is known for the success rate of their student athletes. Bobby was a big proponent of his players doing well in academics. In order for Kelvin Sampson to stay in the administration and alumni favor he is going to have to do this as well. Another negative is Oklahoma was the first big program that he has coached at. I know Mike Davis was thrown into the job, but does IU really want another coach to come along who doesn’t have a lot of experience? The players. With him IU will lose people that fans have grown to love, but most of them are graduating anyways, so maybe this isn’t that big of a negative.

Now what’s good about him? He has no ties to Knight's administration. This is good because people of Indiana, this is hard for me to say, but it is time for Hoosiers to get over the past. We need to embrace something new if we want the glory days of basketball like we used to have. His record at Oklahoma is impeccable, taking the Sooners to the tourney in 11 of 12 seasons. With him, IU is going to start getting the recruitment in Big 12 Country that they have always wanted, and that leads to more winning. So does he sound like that bad of a choice? Not really! When you weigh the pros and cons, as long as he follows the rules the NCAA have set down he is a pretty sharp pick for IU. It really was nothing for myself or Brian to get worked up about.

So to the people of Indiana, I support the decision. I am ready for the new era and I will not treat this coach like a substitute of Bobby Knight like I did the last one. So let’s raise a toast to Coach Sampson. “Never daunted we shall not faulter, in the battle were tried and true, Indiana our Indiana, Indiana were all for you, IU!�

SAY "CHEESE!" - THURSDAY

Mark Prior's Arm Receives No Bids At Sotheby's Charity Auction

KEEPIN' FIT WITH RONNY J!

by Ronald Jickstoom

"Ronny J is our buddy's father. He used to play basketball for the University of Detroit-Mercy. He throws these great parties every time they earn the right to lose in the first round of the NCAA Men's Basketball tournament. Now his daughter plays for them too. Who are we to ignore his expertise?"-Rival Room Editors

I don’t think I’ll ever meet another girl like Peggy Orlovsky. Specially in the sixth grade these days. Now don’t quote me as one of those guys looking for little girls in middle school, but I have a daughter, and I’ve seen the lasses coming through the system these days. Short skirts, piercings on their tongues and navels, clear heels, and no regard for the cautionary tales of those before them. I don’t want to get all high and mighty about the girls back at Irving Stokely Middle School, but they knew how to tease with class. They didn’t need to suggestively show the uncovered backsides of their knees and lower thighs to wet the appetites of myself and the rest of our gang, the Sayers Blvd. Boys.

The imagination is an amazing thing. And it’s an even more amazing thing in us guys. That’s why for my ante, as a lad I would have rather had to wonder what’s underneath those wool stockings and saddle shoes. Ugly toes? Not a problem if I don’t have to look at them all. A badly shaven pair of rapidly growing struts? No skin off my back if I’m not tempted to accidentally skim one with my fingertips as I grab for my Biology book in a crowded classroom aisle. I don’t know how these kids today do it. If I were my son Chris, I’d be begging to go to private school, not bitching about it.

Sh*t. Lost my train of thought again. Is it Metamucil that helps with memory, or Ginko Baloba. Neither of those are one of those new “male-enhancement� drugs, are they? Wouldn’t want the whole world to think I need that pathetic crutch to give Mrs. Jickstoom her anniversary present. Mrs. Jickstoom is the bright orange pylon in the ball-handling drill of my livelihood. She knows I love her with all my parts, er, heart. And if we’re talking “parts,� I'd make sure to remind her that they all still work. At least 2-3 times an NBA season, depending on Chauncey Billups’ shooting percentage. But in naming the slyest fox in the Eastern Conference, I remind myself once again of the sly fox that holds my attention through many sleepless nights and desperate dreams: Peggy Orlovsky.

She should have been mine. Now she Mrs. Frank Cermak. It’s not like these days, when fellas test-drive every sports car in the lot before they decide to spend their eternity with a low-mileage Ford Focus. We used to find what works and stick with it for the long haul. We knew a winner when we saw one. And Goddamn Frank Cermak sees a winner every time he looks across the breakfast table. Cause he found Peggy when she was young and held on for the ride. But don’t you worry, every time he hugs his lovely wife, he’ll be looking over his shoulder for Ronny J. I’d be quite surprised if he’d fight for his wife like I fought for her 6^th grade incarnation.

But he won’t forget. It’s hard to wipe the memory of being bound to a your father’s barbershop candy-cane poll, pants around your ankles, and your fate in the hands of Ronny J and his right-hand man, Dwayne “Big Supper� Czarnicky. He can’t shake the thought of us laughing like hyenas as we smothered his package with shoe polish and slapped him with entrails left out behind the butcher shop. As if that humiliation wasn’t enough, I can’t imagine what he went through to clean himself off. Shoe polish back then was impossible to take off of human skin. That olive skinned half-guinea must have rubbed his junk down to the skin tone of a Scot. And to the size of one too.

Hey, if any of you do know the name of any of those new pills for us older fellas, put in a call to our good friend Mr. Peggy Orlovsky, because I’m sure he needs them after his bout with Big Supper and me. And if his wife answers, ask her how she’s doing. Try to bring me up in conversation. See if she remembers me. But if she doesn’t, don’t let Ronny J’s failures discourage you from your quest for one of the good ones. You’ll find yourself a winner, no matter how many pickled bologna loafs you have to force-feed her boyfriend before he looks like a pathetic twerp and you win her heart.

SAY "CHEESE" - WEDNESDAY EXTRA!

Hoosier Nation Willing to Compromise

SAY "CHEESE!" - WEDNESDAY

J.J. Redick Secretly Grateful for Duke
Lacrosse Team's Terrible Diversion

MY DAD CAN BEAT UP YOUR DAD! - CLARK W. GRISWOLD v. COUSIN EDDIE JOHNSON

by Ross Frank DiMarco III, rfdimar@pointpark.edu

Planning a vacation is never easy, but Clark W. Griswold always found a way to pull it off. Whether he went to Wally World, Europe, or just spending the Christmas holiday at his house, Clark simply wanted his family to be together. Unfortunately, part of the family tree extended its ugly branch to Cousin Eddie Johnson.

Although Audrey and Rusty got along quite nicely with Eddie’s kids, Vicki and Dale, Clark never thought too highly of Cousin Eddie. In fact, if the two happen to ever fight, this is what I foresee going down.

Clark “Sparky� Griswold is so smart that he once designed a corn flake that never becomes soggy. His wife, Ellen, adores the dimple in his chin.

Nevertheless, Cousin Eddie loves Clark with all of his heart. He once gave Clark a pair of beautiful gleaming white loafers that apparently Clark had his eye on. Eddie even tied Clark’s boss in a giant red bow and delivered him to Clark as an early Christmas present.

Even with these few bright moments in their relationship, Clark, as we all know, can only have so much patience.

The two meet in a back alley on Clark’s home turf – Chicago, Illinois. Eddie slams the sixth and final Colt 45 from his belt and throws the empty can at Clark.

“Lets get it on, city boy,� shouts Eddie.

With Clark trying to dodge the can, Eddie gives him a head butt right to the nose with the plastic section of his skull. Eddie then looks at his dog, Snot, for approval, but can’t resist the urge to rub his belly.

Clark shakes off the vicious blow and knees him in the upper thigh for a nasty charlie horse. He then surveys the scene with a look of utter confusion. As Eddie rolls on the ground in agony, Clark lands a ferocious Hulk Hogan leg drop.

All of a sudden, Clark has that look in his eye again. The look that he possessed when he, “fixed the newel post!� He places the Camel Clutch around Eddie’s chin. Eddie squirms in pain and his wife Catherine pleads for Clark to release him.

“No can do, Catherine,� says Clark.

Just as Clark finishes speaking, Sports Illustrated swimsuit model Christie Brinkley saunters by wearing white lingerie. Clark immediately loses all feeling and strength in his muscles and Eddie manages to stick a thumb in his eye.

Clark rolls off grabbing his face and Eddie gets a nearby trash can. He notices a half eaten steak in the garbage and throws it to Catherine before he raises the can over his head.

“Save it for dinner,� he exclaims.

Right before Eddie can land the finishing blow, Clark kicks him in the stomach, leading into a Stone Cold Stunner. Eddie immediately begins to convulse as Clark notices melting plastic draining from Eddie’s left earlobe.

“If Eddie had nine lives he sure used 'em all,� says Clark as he grabs Ellen and walks off into the sunset.

Winner: Clark W. Griswold, by way of inner "Sparky"

SAY "CHEESE!" - TUESDAY

George Mason Dork Leverages Patriots'
On-Court Success Into Lost Virginity

LADIES LOVE OBSCURE RIVALRIES: HARVARD v. YALE - AKA - THE GAME

by Dan Tella, draspate@indiana.edu

As the NCAA tourney is winding down, and 9 out of 10 people can’t name a single player on any of the remaining teams, I've decided to explore a classic rivalry that often gets overshadowed in the wake of these "flavors of the moment." Back in the day when my grandma still looked smoking in her swimwear, there weren't George Masons to steal ink from these two classic powerhouses. These schools were the ink and the everything. The mind and the body.

In my humble opinion, the Ivy League is the womb from which all modern collegiate rivalries were born. There's a surplus of great rivalries in the Ivy League, and even more TI-83s, but today I focus on unquestionably the greatest of them all, the Adam and Eve, the Yin and the Yang, the Cream and the Clear, the eternal mother of American sports rivalries: Harvard v. Yale.

It starts with a name

It's nothing new for a rivalry to wield a catchy and marketable nickname. The Red River Rivalry, The Iron Bowl, and The Old Oaken Bucket game, to name a few. “The Game.� How cool is that? No modifiers. No fluff. It is a cold simplicity that would unsettle a man of a lower IQ. But not these Ivy League boys. Sports Illustrated On Campus might want to think again about ranking this rivalry 6^th all-time because no other rivalry in college sports can match Harvard v. Yale's illustrious history.

The History

After years of battle, where do these two teams stand? As of 2005, Yale leads the rivalry 64-50-8. These arch rivals first met on November 13, 1875 at Hamilton Field in New Haven; Harvard pulled away at the end of this thrilling shootout to win 4-0.

"The Game" was first played under rules resembling modern rugby. Can we stop and think outside-the-box for a second. How can Sports Illustrated rate this rivalry only sixth best all time when the rivalry outdates the f*cking sport? Come on, in 1894 newspapers reported seven players were carried off the field "in dying condition.� Football is war, or war is football, but however you want to swing it, the boys from New Haven and the boys from Cambridge sure knew how to lay each other up. In fact, the game was so gruesome that the two schools broke off all official contact for two entire years.

After resuming the rivalry in 1897, these braniacs have played every year except during both World Wars due to players serving their country. Hear that hippies? That’s called patriotism. This rivalry has lost no intensity in modern day. In 2005, Harvard trailed 21-3 at half before roaring back and tying the game at 24. Three overtimes later, Harvard won 30-24.

The Catch

One of the greatest moments in the history of Harvard Football came in 1968 and is dubbed simply, "The Catch." Trailing 29-13 with just over two minutes left in "The Game," Harvard put together one of the most memorable drives in college football history. As the clock ran out, Harvard quarterback Frank Champi connected with tight end Pete Varney for a two-point conversion that tied the game 29-29. The next day, the Harvard Crimson's headline read "Harvard wins 29-29."

The Fans

Nobody dies harder for this rivalry than alumni and students. The rivalry extends off the field, into the classroom, and into all the highest pockets of wealth this country has ever seen. Mark my words, there are PhDs who work side by side in a lab somewhere who may together go on to someday cure AIDS (because that's what these Ivy League boys are capable of), but who despise the crap out of each other because of their disparate origins.

The Prank

Not only are Yale and Harvard constantly battling for recognition as the most prestigious university in the world they are only separated by a few hours, which opens the door for some interesting pranks, including in 2004, what we at Rivalfish consider to be one of the best college rivalry pranks of all time. Nice job Yale. Watch the video footage from this amazing prank. It takes an impressive SAT score to pull off a coup of this caliber. We at Rivalfish are awaiting Harvard's friendly retaliation, though the 35-3 romping of Yale that day certainly helped.

The Finish

Since the Ivy League doesn't have a football post-season, “The Game� takes on an even greater meeting. Each and every year, "The Game" is the very last game of both teams' seasons. You could go undefeated, your quarterback could throw for 50,000 yards, your running back could score 200 touchdowns. But if you lose that last game, that final epic battle of us vs. them, you have failed.

The Influence

The schools that became the Ivy League are credited for the development of American Football in the late 19^th century. They developed football’s rules, conventions, and equipment, and even elements such as the mascot and the fight song. Can you even imagine the world of college rivalries without football, fight songs, or mascots? Yale's Walter Camp is widely accepted as the father of American football. I honestly believe that if Harvard and Yale jointly declared "Let there be light," there'd be light.

A BABE, A DOG AND A DICK - FINAL SCORE & HEARTFELT APOLOGY

The NCAA Final Four teams were just finalized but sadly, Rivalfish's online tourney has already come to a close. With George Mason knocking off UConn and Florida ousting Villanova, the Dick and the Babe lost their picks to win.

The scores are in and Dick Vitale won by, well, a dick. He eked out Kevin the Dog, who finished second, and handily beat Shira the Babe, who ended up in dead last. The Babe and Dog jumped out to an early lead, and Dicky V found himself in dead last as we entered the Sweet 16. But as George Mason can attest to, it's not where you start off, but where you finish up.

Click below to see the losing brackets!

The Babe's Picks -- The Dog's Picks -- Dick's Picks

Picks to win: The Babe - Villanova; The Dog - Gonzaga; The Dick - UConn

As you can see, the Babe won't be getting her shopping spree and the Dog won't be getting a buttload of free biscuits and pig ears, but Dicky V will be getting a heartfelt apology from Rivalfish.

Although Dicky V barely retained his title as "college basketball expert," we still owe him the apology we promised. Dick, certainly you have nothing to brag about, as you correctly picked only one Final Four team, a feat matched by Kevin the Dog whose best talent lies in the sheer unpredictability of whether his red rocket will or will not emerge from its sheath when guests are around.

So, without further ado, here is Rivalfish's heartfelt apology to Dick Vitale:

From the office of Rivalfish, Inc.

March 27, 2006

Dearest Dick,

I hope you don't mind if we call you Dick. I mean, we've been on a first name basis since the tourney started, and just because you proved victorious doesn't mean we should revert to the formal "Richard" or the stuffy "Mr. Vitale." Dick it is and Dick it always will be.

In an attempt to make ourselves and our fellow fans not feel so bad about losing to the proverbial overweight 44-year-old white woman in every office in America, we squared you off in an epic March Madness battle against a ditzy babe and a drooling dog, both of whom knew nothing about college basketball. We hoped that if you lost to one of our two foolish competitors, sports fans across the country wouldn't need to feel so bad for their own disappointing losses to meager competitors.

In our minds, the online office pool took on grander connotations, it wasn't just Dick v. Babe, but masculine v. feminine. It wasn't just Dick v. Dog but man v. beast. Before we went to bed last night, we worried that your victory over the babe and dog was somehow representative of the male dominance in American corporate culture. Luckily, we had some Ambien and calmed our crazy conspiracy theory fears with a little shut-eye.

Still, we do have a bone to pick with you calling yourself a "college basketball expert." You collected only 35% of the online office pool's 192 possible points. In any college classroom, a 35% is a failing grade. Yet, over at ESPN, I guess that level of accuracy can command a multi-million dollar per year salary. Life just isn't fair.

Lastly, Dick, we want to say "thanks." Your bad picks made our babe and dog think that they had a legitimate chance to win the pool. And although you ultimately won, you led them along for long enough where you created two new sports fans in the process. Your love of basketball and penchant for dunking basketballs while wearing unbranded jerseys on behalf of DiGiorno has been passed on to two new, unlikely fans.

You better work hard this off-season, because we'll be back next year, with a ditzier babe and a hungrier dog, ready to take a chance at knocking you out of your March Madness throne.

Much love,

Rivalfish.com

p.s. To answer your likely question before you even ask, Shira the Babe is NOT willing to go on post-tourney date with you. However, Kevin the Dog will happily accept a post-tourney walk. Give us a call and we'll send you his leash.

SAY CHEESE! - MONDAY

Confused Lasorda Shows Up to Coach Dodger
Spring Training Game, Politely Escorted
Back to Retirement Community

OUT OF HIS LEAGUE - WEEKLY AWARDS

By Tello Reál, mraspatello@rivalfish.com

jer·sey cha·ser, n, A person who only pursues, or is receptive to, the advances of athletes. Most commonly women, and most commonly found on or around college campuses or professional sporting contests.

I have a little bit of a dilemma: How can I fawn over the wily George Mason Patriots without aping every sportswriter that’s put his fingers to his dandruff-covered keyboard since GMU’s Sunday evening victory over UCONN? Don’t answer that. We at Rivalfish are averse to suggestions. And hippies. But no need to vent about that bane of my existence when more pressing matters exist. All the hippies are probably sleeping-in anyway.

Gosh-darnit, the dreadlocked, patchouli-oilers have distracted me again! What was I so worried about again? I hope I don’t have Alzheimer’s like alternate-reality Tony Soprano. My parents warned me about paying attention to those vagabonds. Just like they warned me about loose woman. That’s it!! Loose women! They need my help! They need my advice!

The little cartoon image of a paper clip from my Microsoft Word program just popped up and reminded me not to let myself forget about the justified jocking of GMU. Then it made an awkward casket-shutting noise as it saved my document. Seems like I have a lot on my plate this evening. But something’s brewing in my mansion of a mind, about to break the surface like the human byproduct of a breakfast burrito eight hours after consumption. C’mon, c’mon, c’mon, GIGGITY! Problem solved! Jersey Chasers of the Beltway, loosen your corsets and unbutton your Mark Shale blouses, because the entire George Mason University Men’s Basketball Team, Student Body, Fanbase, and Alumni are now Rivalfish’s Jersey Chaser Targets of the Week!

Congratulations boys. Can’t say I knew who any of you were before last Wednesday, but that’s a mere detail. Enough of me thinking I’m a comedian, as it’s time for some substance. Jokes may be tasty, but stat manipulation is wicked delicious. During the regular season, the Pats beat two teams (Wichita State and UNC-Wilmington) with an RPI ranking in the top fifty, over the course of thirty-odd games. They beat zero teams in the RPI’s top-25. When it mattered, however, during that whole March Madness thingy, GMU has put together a four-game winning streak against teams with an average RPI ranking of 15. By the way, knowing what “RPI� stands for is not a prerequisite to waxing informatively about its importance. But I’m sure I don’t have to tell you stat-junkies that.

All right, back to my one, super-original stat. Regular Season: zero wins against RPI top-25 teams. NCAA Tournament: Four in a row against teams in the RPI top-27 (thank a lot Wichita Stat for making those stats contrast a little less neatly). That’s too much of an improvement for me to even put into proper perspective. So just sleep with these guys and don’t make me get into it any further. And please don’t forget about their support staff. I’m talking coaches, trainers, team managers, the mascot, boosters, ball boys, etc. Heck, they’ll probably appreciate it more anyway. You might even get an accidental “I love you� from a confused and maltreated 9-year-old ball boy. And for once, I commend the female-starved fellas whom have been painting their bodies for Mid-Major ball since their days of dorm food and Kazaa porn. It's about time. Ladies, help them enjoy it while it lasts. Keep them away from their books, cause them to fail, and hope to enjoy each others' company again next year! Mid-major team success is cyclical, so you never know!

Every time I deem an athlete, or entire team, worthy of a cold-sore-coated tongue-bathe, I always rue the selection of its counterpart recipient. Who am I to tell girls not to roger some dude surely more talented than yours truly? The editor of the Rival Room, that’s who punks! Count it. But this time I don’t feel bad. This rimknuckle played so poorly, he made me want to “dook� all over my Tretorns. Pun intended? Yeah, if it makes you think I’m a wittier contributer.

Remember those high school sports award banquets back in, uh, high school? There was one for each athletic season: Fall, winter, and spring. For each season, both a male and female MVP was named. At many schools, there was some Johnny B. Good-Genetics who dominated in a different sport for each season. Whether it were soccer, basketball, and tennis, or football, swimming, and baseball, this prep stud deserved every HJ he got on the bench seat in the back of his folks’ Dodge Caravan. When it was time to give out awards, he was the obvious MVP for all three seasons. Plenty of also-rans bitched about him hogging the spotlight, but they deserved a wallop to their “wah!� muscle, as it was even less fair to penalize a kid for being too talented, and thus deprive him of an MVP sweep.

The NBA always used to make that mistake when they’d give the award to the Clyde Drexler, Karl Malone, and Charles Barkleys of the world, even though Michael “Nearing Fully Transcendent Status� Jordan clearly deserved the award during every pre-Wizards season. I used to hate that crap. So did Jordan. I heard from a girl that used to date my cousin’s neighbor that such slights led to his problems with gambling and infidelity. Nice job Commissioner Stern. Way to ruin a family. Don’t worry Michael, we learned from your hardships. That’s why I won’t hesitate further to cue the broken record that contains my favorite track. Chasers, DO NOT LAY J.J. REDICK! Or should I say, “please continue not laying that teary-eyed toad-licker.�

Ladies, throw on your earmuffs, as I have some less-than-gentlemanly words for the latest college cager to be selling insurance by next Easter. Baby need a bottle? How about a tan and an accurate jump shot you choke-artist. Way to play yourself out of the NBA lottery. Get ready to be picked up late in the first round, spend three months being physically violated by haze-happy NBA veterans during summer workouts, only to end up holding Wojo’s clipboard as you work your way up to being Coach K’s right-hand chump. If I were you, I’d drive head-on into a levy wall and call myself “Hurley 2K6.� Too soon? At least in that case, Duke fans would feel bad enough for you to not totally want to stab you for your 3/18 shooting performance in your last-game-ever-in-which-you’ll-be-one-of-the-top-ten-players-on-the-court. As they’d say in my neighborhood, “Skinnanoonoo yo’ neckass,� while tugging on your acne-sweat-soaked undershirt. In case you aren’t hip to that tale, Redick used to be the subject of arena-wide “Bacne!� chants before he realized he should probably cover up his pustules with a nerdy white undershirt. True story.

So J.J. Clay Redick, no Player of the Year, no scoring title, no Elite 8, no lottery money, and certainly no memory of you by next march. But don’t worry, if you miss seeing your name in print, check back at Rivalfish.com every now and then. I promise I’ll post every picture of your twin sisters that I can get my hands on.

Click Here To Check Out Past Winners of the Jersey-Chaser Target of the Week and Do Not Lay This Man! Awards From Rivalfish.com's Storied and Sordid Past!

A BABE, A DOG AND A DICK - SCORE UPDATE

UCLA and LSU advanced. So, March Madness ballers, here's your Sunday score update. Today is the decisive day for our online tourney, as Villanova (The Babe's pick) and UConn (Dick's pick) both have a chance to move on to the Final Four. Although The Babe is lingering in the cellar like the Cleveland Indians before they signed Jake Taylor and Rick Vaughn, we mustn't stop believing. Hey, it worked for the White Sox.

Were this Christmas, Home Alone mom Catherine O'Hara might exclaim that it's "the season of perpetual hope." But today is better than Christmas...it's the final stop before the Final Four. On behalf of the thousands of fans who've been following Rivalfish's online office pool, let's pour some out for Kevin the Dog and get one last big shoutout for the Villanova Wildcats. No, not those Wildcats, Shira. The Dick can still be beaten!

Stay tuned to tomorrow's Final Four tourney coverage as well as our weekly Out Of His League Awards, including the Jersey Chaser Target of the Week and Do Not Lay This Man! certificates.

SAY "CHEESE!" - SUNDAY

Bagwell Uses "DL" Excuse to Escape Baseball Before His
Steroid Use and Billy Goat Ancestry Become Public Knowledge

A BABE, A DOG AND A DICK - SWEET 16 DAY TWO RECAP

"In the first annual competition of "A Babe, A Dog and A Dick," Rivalfish has challenged a ditzy bombshell and a drooling canine to outperform college basketball guru Dick Vitale in picking this year's bracket. Check out last week's article to read about the contest in full, and learn how our competitors made their picks." - Rival Room Editor

Sweet 16 Day 2 Recap

It looks like the party may be finally over for our Babe and Dog. As we head to the Elite Eight in Rivalfish's online tourney, Dicky V has emerged, significantly, as the new leader in our office pool.

Click below to see the brackets!

The Babe's Picks -- The Dog's Picks -- Dick's Picks

Picks to win: The Babe - Villanova; The Dog - Gonzaga; The Dick - UConn

It's just like junior high. You graduate from 6th grade and think that 7th grade promises a blank slate, a fresh start, a leveled playing field. Any identity can be yours. However, the kids who were cool in elementary school very quickly become the kids that are cool in junior high, and while you think there's an open window to prove yourself to the one girl whose sprouted what will someday be actual breasts, very quickly, the same douchebag who was teasing you in the 2nd grade, strolls up, Marlboro Lights that his cousin bought for him in hand, and snags the girl.

This year's NCAA bracket felt the same way. We thought we could take on the expert. We saw 64 teams and we saw opportunity. Maybe it's the ESPN culture that gave us false hope.

With amateur poker players like Chris "I am the physical embodiment of an Arby's sandwich" Moneymaker and Greg "I wear these glasses to honor my grandfather's devilish, beady red eyes" Raymer taking down the poker pros, I guess we at Rivalfish got a little greedy.

"Greed is good," a certain Gecko might say, and no, not that annoying car insurance fella. Still, in our attempt to take down a college basketball giant, a sexy babe and lovable dog seem to have been hung out to dry.

After last night's mayhem, with UConn, Villanova, George Mason and Florida all moving on to the Elite Eight, in some cases by the smallest of measures, our dog and babe have been relegated back to the second tier. Although Dicky V isn't armed with peach fuzz, a Nirvana tee and a pack of Marlboro Lights, he does have something we'll call "actual basketball knowledge" that may explain why at the end of the day, he could foresee the big guns that would still be playing on the hardwood.

Though Kevin the Dog may have been proverbially "put down" in the true veterinary sense following last night's games, all hope isn't lost. The Babe still could pull off a bracket victory, and a $200 Rivalfish shopping spree, if Villanova can somehow win it all.

Dicky V may have a comfortable lead right now, but he's seen Back to the Future and he knows that Marty McFly's disappearing hand can once again materialize. It's just going to take one very fateful kiss. But remember, this is March Madness. This is college basketball's very own Enchantment Under the Sea. The big dance, where all those fateful kisses can happen.

It can still come down to the final game, where Shira the Babe has picked Villanova and Dicky V has chosen UConn.

Until then, we'll be rooting for The Babe. And may Johnny B. Goode.

SAY "CHEESE!" - SATURDAY

Washington State Residents to Boycott Applebee's

A BABE, A DOG AND A DICK - SWEET 16 DAY ONE RECAP

"In the first annual competition of "A Babe, A Dog and A Dick," Rivalfish has challenged a ditzy bombshell and a drooling canine to outperform college basketball guru Dick Vitale in picking this year's bracket. Check out last week's article to read about the contest in full, and learn how our competitors made their picks." - Rival Room Editor

Sweet 16 Day One Recap

Let’s just face it, this year’s tourney has been as sloppy as Courtney Love at a county rib fest.

Last night, Baby Shaq and the LSU Tigers made J.J. Redick look like the 11-year-old girl that UNC fans have always claimed that he was.

Texas’s Kenton Paulino thankfully put an end to the Pittsnogle era. Which reminds us, we have to return that Deliverance DVD to Netflix.

UCLA’s Luc Richard Mbah a Moute’s amazing steal broke brackets across the nation and pissed the dickens out of the corporate desk-jockeys over at Gillette. Since publicly shaving Ben Roethlisberger, those scheming suits over in Gillette’s marketing department had been gung-fricken-ho about shaving Gonzaga’s Adam Morrison. However, apparently the new excessively-bladed Fusion razor doesn’t shave facial hair soaked with tears. Pity.

By the way Adam, your pussyfooting mustache makes Jeff Kent look like Richard Roundtree. Grow a pair and have some respect for yourself. After all, a real man, with real hair, like Al Borland for example, would under no circumstance cry on national television. Even if a Ford F-150 pickup bed latch were to slip open and drop a bundle of plywood onto Borland’s pregnant wife, he wouldn’t shed the slightest tear. In fact, he’d glance at her, order her to walk it off, and then take a bite of his corned-beef-on-sandpaper hoagie. You’ve got a lot to learn about manhood Adam, if you want to succeed in the NBA.

But enough about sports. After all, we’ve got a dog and a babe battling a dick! And our internet parental controls aren’t even flinching. Why? Because after the first day of Sweet 16 action, a new leader has emerged in Rivalfish’s online office pool.

Click below to see the brackets!

The Babe's Picks -- The Dog's Picks -- Dick's Picks

Picks to win: The Babe - Villanova; The Dog - Gonzaga; The Dick - UConn

That's right friends, Kevin the Dog is back on top! But his happiness may be short lived. You see, good ole' Kevin picked Gonzaga to win it all. And we all saw Adam Morrison do his best impression of a post-game interpretative tear dance to a non-existing Sarah McLachlan mix tape. Clearly, Kevin the Dog was pissed, as you can imagine.

After UCLA stunned the Zags at the end of last night's game, Kevin turned to me and looked me directly in the eye. He asked me in plain English, "Was that chew toy regulation size?" After all, Kevin had made his picks by choosing between a bone and a chew toy, and now the frickin' dog thinks I was out to screw him. He's just one of those dogs that doesn't know how to deal with failure. Always blaming others. He was in such a huff that he grabbed his leash and went out to the alley to just cool off. He met up with a bunch of strays he met at the McDonald's across the street from Wrigley. Apparently, they're all rooting against UConn tomorrow night. Which means I've got to put out six different water bowls. F'ing strays.

To recap, here's the rundown on our three competitors:


Rivalfish's Random Sweet 16 Insights

• I swear I’ve seen LSU coach John Brady’s wife dancing at the Admiral strip club in Chicago. Can someone please verify this?
• Bonds is suing the authors of the book that claimed he used steroids? O.J. has a better chance of finding the "real killers" than Bonds does in winning that lawsuit.
  
• Yesterday's Basic Instinct 2 analogy was spot-on in predicting Bradley's fate. Read the article.
  
• Gonzaga’s Adam Morrison is just one 3-month period of post-collegiate confusion away from appearing on America’s Most Wanted.
• Unbeknownst to most NCAA fans, UCLA’s Luc Richard Mbah a Moute was actually an extra in the 1992 Kevin Bacon classic, The Air Up There.
• For all the money in your wallet right now, who would win a 1-on-1 battle at this very moment: William Gates, the basketball star from Hoop Dreams or Tennessee's Candice Parker? Food for thought - Candice is the only female to ever dunk twice in an NCAA game. William Gates probably has debilitating arthritis in his knees by now.
  

Rivalfish's Rival Room publishes sports humor daily, M-F. Be sure to check us out this weekend for tourney updates. And don't forget, this Monday, we'll be announcing our famed, "Jersey Chaser Target of the Week" and "Do Not Lay This Man!" awards. As always, may the best man, babe or beast win.

SAY "CHEESE!" - FRIDAY

Huggins' New Contract Calls For 23% of
Kansas State Seniors To Be Immediately Failed

FROM THE BASS'S GILLS - FRIDAY

by Sean "The Bass" Condon, smcondo@yahoo.com

There was a play in last Monday’s final game of the World Baseball Championship where Ichiiro Suziki singled in the ninth and shortstop Munenori Kawasaki came home, slid, turned and stuck his right hand just inside of the Cuban catchers foot, barely touching the plate. It was…I know…I didn’t see it either.

There are plenty of stories now that the first WBC championship has finished: Why was interest so lacking among the US players? How about the fans? So did my team’s star player get injured after all? Will this Saturday’s fantasy draft go better or worse if I’m drunk? And then there’s this other issue, didn’t team USA, a collection of the best professional players from the biggest and most diverse nation, just LOSE in a GAME THAT WE INVENTED! This is like Thomas Edison getting electrocuted.

Is it possible that the era of American Sports Dominance is behind us? Can’t be. We have basketball. Ok, I don’t watch much basketball, but I just learned that Dream Team USA “won� the bronze medal in the last summer games. OK. Well, there’s still hockey, so what if the NHL is basically nonexistent, at least it’s the games best athletes that no one is watching. Hmm, that Olympic loss was less than a month ago. If you’re counting, that’s 3 out of 4 losses in the big four of American sports in the last two years. Are we really to the point where the only sport Americans can win at on a world level is American Rules football? Sadly, it’s beginning to look this way.

Two hundred plus years of history, including the birth of Democracy and Radar Love, there must be something we can win at. Finding this answer begs for examination, the hope of the country relies on it (lest we stop thinking about sports and start looking at policies). There is only one method to finding a clear winner in any given situation, the great American way: creating a bracket. Let’s take a look at eight games in relation to world competition and see if we can answer the question: can America not lose at this sport?

Baseball vs. Cycling

The fore-mentioned WBC is proof enough, Americans won’t be winning at baseball anytime soon. It’s a simple matter of desire that played out clearly in the WBC from the time US players backed off the team citing injury concerns until the tournament’s Japan/Cuba final. Multi-million dollar athletes will never devote themselves to a superior level of competition just to represent their nation. “’America needs you’… ‘Pay me.’â€? “’Do it for the children’….’Talk to my agent.’â€? Many of the athletes from competing countries, especially the pool of stars from Latin America, are banking on this as their one way out. You’ve seen pictures or maybe even visited, some of these people are living on top of each other in box houses possibly without electricity. Baseball is their focus and their ticket out and international competition is their only stage. It’s like every He Got Game, “Iâ€