Having just watched Western Kentucky hold on to upset Illinois in the NCAA Tournament, I couldn’t help but chime in on my favorite sport: basketball. I’ve always loved the game, and follow it closely. In fact, I was first turned on to Barack Obama in the midst of the Democratic primary when I learned that he’s a baller.
I play a little as well, and have built up a nice list of accomplishments over my storied career. Highlights are:
- I once dunked a tennis ball on a 9 foot hoop in August of 2000
- Getting cut from my high school basketball team three years in a row
- A dominant stretch from 2005 to 2006 when I established myself as a top 5 player among regulars at the Duboce Park court
Lenin: advocate of the proletariat and the set shot
It was only natural to take this decorated resume to the big time…that’s right, I’m talking about the Intermediate League at the Parnassus Barnach of the UCSF Gym. I gathered my squad, and we’ve spent the past two months wreaking havoc on the league as the tastefully named Urethra Franklins. This league is largely made up of medical students, and the highlight of the season was when a player on an opposing team actually asked me if we were urologists. I told him that we were.
Despite being one of the worst players on the team, I add value by setting picks and submitting the registration form on time. On Monday we had a heartbreaking playoff loss to a team of fundamentally sound older guys. After the game we drowned our sorrows in beer and took solace in the fact that they’ll probably die before we do.
The new season starts in a couple of weeks, and that means we have to pick a new name. Please cast your vote below:
Last ate: Grilled chicken breast and a salad (bear with me, I’m trying to be healthy)
Listening to: Queen – Fat Bottom Girls (probably the greatest song of the 20th century)
Vodpod videos no longer available.
Colinoscopy 
I’ll jam your face.
I was out at a bar last night and I happened to look down at a Guinness-soaked piece of paper sitting on the table in front of me. It read: “Note to self – Stimulate Barack’s Package!!!.” I then realized it was my handwriting. I quickly removed myself from the establishment.
Fat bottomed girls is definitely the greatest song of the 20th century.