“A sad end for the Dookies?”

What a week! I am, quite naturally, on an emotional high. I am wielding this marvelous dual-edged sword as the Tar Heels blow up the competition on their way to the Final Four and Duke goes out after squeaking by the Little Sisters of the Poor.

My sister was “a little bummed” by it all but did admit that glomming on to Davidson’s Stephen Curry has eased the pain of the Duke demise. And I truly believe that is what we saw, the beginning of a long downward spiral for the Blue Devils’ program. The lack of a post presence has been so painfully obvious and the future ain’t looking all that bright. The only McDonalds All American committed to Duke is one Elliot Williams, a point guard. Just what the Dookies need: another long range bomber primed to launch uncounted and unmade 3-pointers.

Carolina, on the other hand has three McDonalds kids signed including Benedictine’s 6’8” Ed Davis rated number 10 by ESPN, and a post player, Tyler Zeller ranked number six. We’re in phat city Compadre even if half of the boys in Carolina Blue jump ship.

The Duke rein is over (I hope.)

But my sister was right, it has been a pure joy to watch the baby-faced assassin from Davidson. He really was cold blooded and came within seconds of making it to the Final Four.

I’ve also had a bit of a catharsis concerning NASCAR. I never could get into it, despite its growing popularity, and now I’ve discovered why I don’t like it. I realized what 20 cars all bunched up and coming down the back straight on the last lap at Darlington remind me of: a slot car race. If I look up and over the top of the grandstand there will be 20 huge guys with remote controls, seven of them wearing cowboy hats with big feathers in them, frantically maneuvering their joy sticks. Whichever joy sticker has chosen the best tires or snuck a little extra amperage into his car walks away the winner.

At the end of the race he picks up his car, puts it in a shoe box, slides his Little E action figure into his pocket and heads off to the bowling alley. I feel so much better now that I understand why I don’t like the sport. It’s just too impersonal.

And then there was my weekly run in with my brother-in-law over my opinion that golfers are not athletes. I have discovered that like all fanatics, he is ridiculously easy to get to and this week he went absolutely ballistic. My e-mail to him laid out a very erudite argument that no sport was more dependant on tools and technology. (NASCAR probably leads in technology but has only one major tool, the car which technology produced and a robot drives) .

Think about it. High-tech, thousand-dollar drivers, 14 or 15 more specially crafted and shafted (see swing weights, shaft flex and shaft length) in a golf bag. Now there are almost more woods than irons; my sister-in-law plays a pretty decent game and has only two wedges and a putter in her woods-filled bag. You have to have special shoes, special gloves, GPS distance calculators, Stemp meters, and seeing-eye putters. And the competition to get your golf ball dollars is off the charts. Plus golfers are anti-environmentalists. How many trees do you imagine were cut down in order to carve out all those golf courses and how many more are cut down every year to make those millions of disposable wooden golf tees?

But the kicker in my beautifully presented argument was that golfers actually have physical skill levels equal to that of billiard players. They both have the ability to make a ball curve, the ability to read the speed of the green/felt and good hand-eye coordination. The only difference is that, with the golfer, success is in the tools he uses and, more often than not, he who has the more expensive tools/toys wins. And billiard players cut down an insignificant number of trees.

My brother-in-law has not spoken to me since his blubbering attempt to defile me, my family and all of my ancestors. There is hope that post apoplexy he will communicate.

He is also a huge Carolina fan and it will be very difficult for him not to share the joy with me.