GAME ON

Last night I spent 39 minutes having a royal hissy fit while watching KU's basketball team getting whipped by Purdue in an NCAA tournament match. I was in Big Sis's living room, pounding the coffee table, shouting expletives, and being a general pain in the butt--to the point that Big Bore spent all but the final few minutes out on the back deck with the cats. Every time-out I'd go outside and give him a depressing update just to burn up some nervous energy.

"It's 8 to nothing," I moaned early on. "We've missed every shot."

"We're behind by 11 points. Their three-point sharpshooter is killing us."

"We couldn't make a basket if it was as big as a barrel. We're shooting about 20 percent."

"Well, we're only down by six points," I said at halftime. "We can still catch up." Ever the optimist.

"Geez. We're already down by ten," I groaned early into the second half."

"Every time we get close, they pull way ahead again."

Now, mind you, Big Bore didn't give a rat's hind end what the score was. Every time I came outside to give him an update, he just laughed or said, "You don't have to come out here to tell me what's going on. I can hear you."

Sis is more of a fan, although she had to excuse herself periodically to go upstairs to the second TV and catch up with "The Amazing Race" and "Desperate Housewives" while the desperate sister in her living room was about to blow a gasket. Where was her loyalty to a lost cause?

"Sonuvabitch!!" (that one was a recurrent theme out of my mouth)

Finally, convinced KU was probably not going to pull out a miracle this time around, I wadded up a paper towel, then stuck it in my mouth just to bite the bullet, so to speak, and shut myself up.

And, lo and behold, the Jayhawks finally came alive the last minute of the game, got into the lead with 23 seconds to go, and pulled out a magical 3-point victory.

There was never any doubt.