Thanks to this week's competitors and voters. Once again, 3 very different take on the secret ingredient.
As Williams dribbled to run out the clock, he kept checking back to look at Coach K for instructions. He looked back once, twice, and the third time he tried, Steve Blake broke on the ball, timing his move perfectly. Blake was halfway down the court before Williams even knew the ball had been stolen. The entire building went nuts as Blake completed the play by making a very difficult layup around a recovering Williams.The Canadians are way ahead -- again. Not your stereotypically soft-spoken, polite pushovers, these Canadians are dirty, loud, boorish, insufferable and equipped with a combined 13-foot wingspan that have enabled each of them to stretch nearly half the distance between the sets of cups.
All night, they've dominated the table -- accumulating defeated victims; destroying interest; crushing hope. And after each successive victory, strutting around the table -- arms spread and head bobbing -- they've rubbed it in our faces, incessantly repeating "Are you not entertained?!?"
Down to our last lonely blue solo cup, we look across to see red cups with friends, six of them in a perfect ordered triangle. It seems we're destined to join the unfocused chatter surrounding us -- a fate that seems all the more sealed when -- plop -- a plastic miniature basketball, 4 centimeters in diameter, swooshes into our final drink.
But still, life -- albeit, very little. Armed with a shoot-til-you-miss retaliatory shot each, my partner and I could dampen defeat -- a task at which he miserably fails.
And with just me left, the unfocused chatter orders itself momentarily as the Canadians next victims scramble to prepare for our spot at the table and as my shot flies into the air.
Plop. Collective Sympathy. Plop. Intrigue. Plop.
Excitement.
Now, with half the remaining cups from only a moment ago, a single voice, perhaps sensing something special -- or perhaps unaware he is saying anything at all -- starts slowly and deliberately, "U... S...A.... U... S... A...." Others join in with hesitations and reservations. Plop. The chant moves faster and grows slightly louder.
"U.. S.. A!.. U.. S.. A!..." Plop. All hesitations and reservations are gone. Everyone is here. Everyone is watching. Everyone is screaming, "USA! USA! USA!..."
Plop... Overtime... And the Crowd Goes Wild.
Knibb High Football Rules!
/forgets to check IDs.../awaits trial
East Coast Bias is the joint effort of four University of Maryland grads who have defied the odds and avoided homelessness. As the name implies, they cannot be bothered to stay up past 1 a.m. to watch any West Coast sports. As such, they firmly believe that USC has underachieved in the last decade, despite the contributions of Lou Holtz and Steve Spurrier.
Jeff Pyatt, managing editor of RealClearSports, is a former biochemist turned political flak turned sports blogger. As a college pitcher, he holds a claim for worst player in NCAA history, bringing his ERA down from infinity to a more respectable 27.00. Pyatt currently resides in Arlington, Virginia, where he spends most of his idle time at the batting cage in hopes of becoming the Baltimore Orioles next third basemen.
Joe Student is the general manager/editor of Philly EDGE.com, a vapid entertainment and nightlife site focused on suburban Philadelphia. Though he has resided relatively near the city for most of his life, no Philly sports franchise has ever served as one of his favorite teams. Yet, the God of Sports has still found a way to punish Joe for his close-to-Philly existence by turning his beloved Orioles, Raiders and Knicks into three of the worst franchises in professional sports....And, yes, that is his real name.
