March Madness is under way, with the Sweet 16 bracket of the NCAA men’s basketball championship commencing Thursday (March 24). Our cat, Stella, being the sort of basketball fan who sleeps within earshot of the games on TV, asked us whether she could review all the remaining teams for our readers.
We said okay!
Ah, the fat, juicy, good-in-the-paint Oregon Ducks. As a cat, I expect them to float unencumbered to the Final Four, growing fat and happy and ever more delicious with each uncontested dunk. And then: mealtime. A Villanova Wildcat walks in, takes one look at the point guard languishing in the key with no protection on his flanks, and dines on a raft of dumbstruck waterfowl for the next 40 wonderful minutes — including star shooter Dillon Brooks. What I would give to be a Wildcat, but I never got the grades for Villanova, or any grades at all, really.
Christ, Badgers! Get those things out of the arena! A badger has no business participating in such a refined sporting event as college basketball, whether on the court or impaled on a roasting spit in the press box. Cats and badgers compete for the same prize — field mice — and as such the demonic oversize rodent with that ridiculous nose has no business playing elite basketball — much less on network television! — vying for the attention of humans. God, what an ugly animal. The nation shouldn’t see this. Somebody do me a favor and put some peptide hormones in Bronson Koenig’s Gatorade so he gets benched and can’t do any more buzzer-beaters like the last game. Nothing worse than a Badger with .03 seconds to play.
High hopes for the Jayhawks to go far this year. Based on what? First, Jayhawks kill jays — way to play for the right side, birds. And they are up against the Maryland Terrapins on Thursday, and if you can’t beat a squat, dumb turtle, you have no business calling yourself a hawk. Confidential to my Jayhawks: Peck out their eyes, especially those of sophomore point guard Melo Trimble, whose three-point game seems to be coming on late in the game, despite his shell. Cats know a thing or two about killing turtles and point guards, after all.
Why is thing not over yet? Why can’t we give the Wildcats their trophy now? God, you humans. Always making us elite predators wait for what’s rightfully ours, like dinner. Why the hell do I have to wait till the sun goes down to get my dinner! Why do the Wildcats have to wait until the Notre Dame offense self-destructs in the third quarter due to a marquee player sexting scandal to get their trophy! Give me my dinner now! And also later! And maybe at noon, too, because I like to have a little to eat at midday!
The Bulldogs never should have gotten this far. How can a team who can’t even go to the bathroom in the gym play high-level basketball? Does the coach call timeouts for potty breaks? Does he pat everyone’s head after a game? Does the trainer stop them from jumping on the refs? Does the defensive coordinator throw a tennis ball down the court to get them to protect the net? Does the entire bench maul the hot-dog guy whenever he gets near the court? Does the center run in circles when he gets excited? Does the point guard mount the announcers’ table?
As you see, dogs should not play basketball.
You’ve got to be kidding.
Is that a basketball team or regional airline?
That’s a fruit!
That’s some weather!
That’s some more weather!
That’s a movie!
That’s a — wait, is a Fighting Irish like a Scottish Fold? If so, mark them as a sure thing for the Elite Eight, but not the Final Four. Scottish Folds never close.