Down goes David

 Begrudgingly, today, we begin with a basketball score: Tennessee 78, Miami (O.) 56.

And, yeah, yeah, yeah, yada-yada-yada, I can hear the slide-rule boys now. The RPI jockeys ... the Quad Squad ... the SOS (Strength of Schedule) Brigade ... they're all sneering, "See?"

Great. Here's a cookie. Now go away.

Don't want to hear anymore about the RedHawks getting washed by 22 in the NCAA Tournament yesterday, and not looking good doing it. A team that lived by the three died by the three, missing 22 of their 29 attempts from beyond the arc as Tennessee slammed the door on that locale. A MAC school with a MAC school inside game was Windexed by 17 rebounds, 42-25.

 A 6-seed SEC school that was bigger, faster and more athletic won laughing against an 11-seed. So what else is new?

The aforementioned sneer-ers who take that as vindication for their absurd contention that a 31-1 Mid-American Conference school did not belong in the Big Show can go fly a kite. Because Tennessee did what Tennessee was supposed to do. And if it proved Miami didn't belong what about, oh, say, Prairie View A&M?

Who lost to defending national champion Florida yesterday, 114-55.

Lost by four more points than it scored, in other words. Trailed 60-21 at halftime. Shot 27 percent (17-of-63), including 6-of-22 from beyond the arc.

In other words: Miami wasn't the only David who got ball-peened by Goliath yesterday.

It was not, shall we say, a day for busting brackets, which was a shame but also an excuse to check out every so often from wall-to-wall hoops. Tennessee and Florida rolled. 1-seed Arizona paved Long Island by 34 (92-58). Two seeds Purdue and Iowa State cremated Queens University and Tennessee State by 33 (104-71) and 34 (108-74), respectively.

(The Boilermakers, by the way, brushed aside the Royals with regal disdain, shooting 63 percent including 58 percent from the arc. Braden Smith scored 26 with eight assists and Trey Kaufman-Renn 25 to lead the Boilers; Smith and backcourt mate Fletcher Loyer combined for 38 points and were 8-of-14 from Threeville. The highlight of the night was Smith becoming the NCAA's all-time leader in assists, knocking that annoying little dweeb Bobby Hurley off the top of the ladder.)

What else?

Well, it was such a chalky sort of day we didn't even get a 12-over-5 scare.

Five-seed Texas Tech breezed past Akron, 91-71, and five-seed St. John's erased Northern Iowa, 79-53. Even the 7-vs.-10s went according to form, although 7-seed Kentucky needed Otega Oweh's buzzer-beating Hail Mary bank to force overtime and knock out Santa Clara, which had just taken the lead on Allen Graves's three with two-odd seconds to play.

That was your excitement for the day.

And the next two days?

Hey. That's why we watch, right?

Welcome to the Madness

 This is what you call in sick for, what you eat wings and drink beer at straight-up noon for, what you fill out a bracket for and then say, "Aw, hell, I knew the Tar Heels were a buncha mids this year. Why'd I pick 'em?"

Welcome to the Madness, boys and girls. Welcome to -- maybe, possibly -- the two best days of the year.

That would be the Thursday and Friday that kick off the NCAA Tournament, also known as the Burn Your Bracket Zone. This is because sometime on one of those days, and frequently on both, some trust-fund baby seed goes down to some wannabe from the sticks.

Usually, it's a 12-seed taking out a 5-seed. Because 12-over-5 has become one of those immutable March Madness laws of nature, like the Big Ten, SEC and ACC always getting eleventy-hundred teams in the show, even if occasionally some of them are Northwestern or Mississippi State.

At any rate, 12-over-5 is a tournament talisman, and, hey, guess what? We didn't go two hours until it happened yesterday.

Come on down, you High Point (N.C.) Panthers!

Who sent big-deal Wisconsin to the sidelines in the first slate of games, 83-82, a more-than-usual shocker mainly because Wisconsin came to March on something of a roll. Won five of their last six games, the Badgers did, finally losing to top-seeded (and NCAA Tournament 1-seed) Michigan by a measly three points.

But High Point, the proud champions of the Big South Conference, sent Wisky back to Madison on a late layup. Boom!

No other 12-over-5s happened on Thursday, but a couple of 11s-over-6s did, and that's almost as good. Texas took down BYU, and -- perhaps more notably -- plucky Virginia Commonwealth upset the aforementioned North Carolina Tar Heels. Came from 19 points down to win in overtime, 82-78, and hooray for the, um, Commonwealthers.

(No, that's not VCU's nickname. Its nickname is the Rams. Clip and save for your next round of sports bar trivia.)

Other than that ...

Wait, what?

Oh, man, I almost forgot!

How 'bout those mighty 16th-seeded Siena Saints, everyone?

Who, OK, wound up losing to overall top seed Duke, but only by six, 71-65. Before that, the fightin' Saints scared the pedigree out of the Blue Devils, leading by 11 at halftime and by 13 early in the second half. They continued to lead until just 4:25 remained, when Isaiah Evans drove hard to the iron and laid it in to finally put Duke in front.

Ah, well. On to today.

See ya at noon. Wings and beer on me.

Play-in payback

 Because I am a retired newspaper guy who is occasionally hijacked by his inner 8-year-old, I came up with the perfect headline for Miami (O.)'s ten-point win over SMU in Dayton last night.

"Nyah, Nyah, Nyah-Nyah Nyah" is what I would have stripped across the top of the game story. Editorial balance be hanged.

I would have done this because Miami caught a raft of grief from various shady network analysts (Come on down, Bruce Pearl!) and slide-rule dudes, who determined the 31-1 RedHawks were a fraud who had no business in the NCAA Tournament. The RedHawks' strength of schedule -- as determined either by Quad 1 wins or quad pulls, I can't remember which -- was down there with Popeye the Sailor Man, pre-spinach. Beat a lot of Dog's Breakfast States and Bricklayer A&Ms to pile up those 31 wins.

Me?

I thought that was a pile of its own, and not a fragrant one. I figured any MAC school that went 31-1 damn well deserved a role in the Big Show, on account of MAC schools have a long history of jumping up and whipping their betters in said Show.

The selection committee apparently agreed, although with some reluctance. Yeah, the bracketeers let Miami in, but only in the play-in games. To get in the actual tournament, the RedHawks would have to beat the Mustangs, who play in the hoity-toity ACC and thus were installed as 6.5-point favorites.

Well, nyah, nyah nyah-nyah -nyah. Miami won 89-79 and was rarely challenged, never trailing after going on a 14-2 run in the middle part of the second half. SMU led 49-48 at the beginning of that run; it was the only lead the Mustangs had in the second half.

The RedHawks rode 16 threes to the W, their most ever in an NCAA Tournament game. Their 89 points were the most a Miami team had scored in the Madness in 68 years. 

"The reason people love March Madness is they love to see quote, unquote, upsets," Miami coach Travis Steele said when it was done. "This wasn't an upset tonight, at all."

Indeed not. And speaking of non-upsets ...

Let's hear it out there for the Howard University Bison, who were not upset at all about winning THEIR play-in game Tuesday to advance to the first round of Da Tournament for the first time in school history.

I bring this up because occasionally my inner Civil War nerd wrestles the steering wheel away from my inner 8-year-old, and therefore I say, go, Howard. This is because Howard, a historically black research school, was founded in 1867 by Oliver Otis Howard, a Union general in the Civil War who lost an arm at Fair Oaks but went on to become one of his side's more competent combat generals. 

This is despite the fact he's been unfairly maligned for being asleep at the switch at Chancellorsville, when his Eleventh Corps crumbled before an overwhelming surprise flank attack by Stonewall Jackson. That no one else saw Jackson coming either seems not to have altered the Union Army's perception that the Eleventh Corps -- and thus Howard -- let them down.

Well, phooey on that. 16-seed Howard takes on 1-seed Michigan tonight in the first round of the Madness. I don't see any Joe Hooker or Ulysses S. Grant U.'s doing that, do you?

So there.

'Dog show

 Baseball is our game, Walt Whitman once wrote, but he never saw what happened in Miami last night. He never heard a bunch of scrappy underdogs -- because aren't underdogs always "scrappy"? -- singing, shouting, howling "Gloria Al Bravo Pueblo" into the south Florida night as if it were, I don't know, "The Star-Spangled Banner" or something.

"Gloria Al Bravo Pueblo", you see, is the Venezuelan national anthem. And that's what a bunch of weeping, hugging Venezuelan baseball players were singing at the end of Venezuela 3, USA 2.

Turned the championship game of the World Baseball Classic into a 'dog show, the Venezuelans did. As in, "underdog show."

The Americans were supposed to win last night, transforming what is frankly America's Passed Time into America's Pastime again. But, just as in 2023, they lost 3-2 in the title game. Three years ago to Japan; last night to the Venezuelans.

Which suggests America the Great Exporter has done a bang-up job of exporting one of its most cherished cultural treasures.

And the hugging and crying  and belting out of their national anthem by the Venezuelans?

Well, that suggested something else.

"This country needs this happiness with all the things that we've gone through," said designated hitter Eugenio Suarez, who delivered the go-ahead RBI double in the ninth inning.

And, yes, everyone knew what he meant, or at least every Venezuelan did. Assigning political motives to an athletic contest is often the most lazy of cliches, but it's impossible to view Venezuela-USA solely through the lens of runs, hits and runners left on base. Not after the United States spent months violating Venezuela's sovereignty, killing its citizens and waylaying its shipping. 

Culminating, of course, with the raid that kidnapped Venezuela's admittedly vile gangster  Nicolas Maduro, and whisked him off to the U.S. -- for the crime, essentially, of denying America access to  Venezuela's oil.

Now a new regime is installed that may or may not play ball with America's own Regime,  and may or may not survive without resorting to Maduro-esque brutality. In any event, it's welcome to more instability for another South American country.

So, yes. Venezuela needed this happiness, as Suarez said. And if winning a baseball game is pale business compared to getting kicked around geopolitically by a perceived bully, it was at least, for one night, a sliver of payback.

Gloria Al Bravo Pueblo 1, The Star-Spangled Banner 0. For one night, anyway.

Meanwhile, in soccer ...

 The World Cup is coming to America this summer, and, as with so much in these fraught and lunatic days, I don't know whether to laugh or cry. Inviting the world to come to a nation that fears and despises most of the world will do this to a guy.

In our post-funny farm reality, after all, "America First," is little more than shorthand for "America Says (Bleep) All Y'all." This is especially true right now of Iran, which the U.S. and Israel are currently bombing back to the Stone Age for fun and profit.

Here's the thing, though: Iran's soccer team has duly qualified for the World Cup. It's on the World Cup schedule. Its first two games are against New Zealand and Belgium in Los Angeles.

However.

However, now that we've attacked Iran, and Iran has retaliated, Iran's participation in the World Cup has become problematical. An Iran sports official has already said the team shouldn't compete at all.  And our very own Fearless Leader, Donald John "Do What We Say Or We'll Kill You" Trump, has said it would be a good idea if Iran's team stayed home because the U.S. can't guarantee its safety.

Not, "We'll do everything in our power to ensure the Iranian team has a safe, enjoyable tournament." No, sir. Instead, it's,"We can't guarantee the Iranian team's safety."

Which suggests pretty strongly the U.S. wouldn't put a lot of effort into trying to.

Now, that might be a tad unfair. And it's probably too much to say it's tantamount to inviting every flag-draped wack job in America to consider the Iranian soccer team a target of opportunity. More likely, Fearless Leader, as is his habit, simply didn't consider all the consequences of his words.

On the other hand ...

On the other hand, he's so far around the bend now he's forgotten there ever was a bend. So who knows?

In any event, the Iranians' latest solution, rather than staying home altogether, is to get FIFA to move the Iranians' group games to Mexico, whose government seems to at least have retained a modicum of sanity. This would be unprecedented barely three months before the start of play, and indeed FIFA seems to disinclined to do so.

The safe bet right now: FIFA won't move the games, and the Iranians won't come. As someone who spent the balance of his working life observing the healing power of athletic competition (at least sometimes), I find this dismaying -- if hardly surprising in this case.

Healing, after all, doesn't seem to be on anyone's agenda these days. Only smashing things up.

Bracketology ... ology

 So Selection Sunday is over, and now we know what's what in the coming Madness. Which means, sharpen up those pencils so you can pick Siena to knock out overall 1-seed Duke in the very first round.

(I'm kidding, of course. Duke won't lose until the Sweet Sixteen, when the Blue Devils lose to upset-minded Northern Iowa.)

Anyway, the bracket is bracketed, or something, and I must say there are travesties, as usual. Poor Auburn, a glittering hidden gem of a .500 team, didn't get in, which left Bruce Pearl all grumpy. And while the selection committee begrudgingly let 31-1 Miami (O.) into the show, it's making the RedHawks have to win a play-in game against SMU to really get in. 

(Which, all kidding aside, really is a travesty. Not when the sixth-place team in Conference USA gets in free and clear, and also the third-place team in the CAA and the fifth-place team from the SoCon.)

(Those would be Kennesaw State, Hofstra and Furman, respectively. Kennesaw lost 13 games, Hofstra 10 and Furman 12. Hofstra and Furman have cool nicknames, though -- the Pride and the Paladins, respectively -- so I can't hate on 'em too much. Plus one of my favorite authors, the late Pat Conroy, a point guard at The Citadel, played against Furman back in the day.)

"What's with all the parentheses, Mr. Blob?" you're saying now.

Beats me. I just start writing and stuff happens.

"Also, are you EVER gonna mention Purdue, for God's sake?" you're also saying.

Yes, I suppose we should get around to that.

That's because the Purdues rose from the dead last week to win the Big Ten tournament, kicking No. 1 seed Michigan's high-falutin' behinds from stem to stern in the title game. The Boilers won 80-72, never looking back -- well, almost never -- after breaking a halftime tie and leading by as many as 14 points in the second half. 

Oscar Cluff (21 points) and Trey Kaufman-Renn (20), suddenly absolute beasts down low, put a hurtin' on Michigan's gargantuan front line. Braden Smith put up a stat line for the ages -- 14 points, five rebounds, 11 assists, three steals a block and zero, zippo, nada turnovers -- and running mate Fletcher Loyer added 14 points, four boards and five dimes of his own.

And before you ask ...

No, I don't know what's gotten into the Purdues, but it's powerful stuff. They blew through four opponents in four days, none of them one-possession final scores. If I had to guess, I'd say head coach Matt Painter said one of two things to them prior to heading for Chicago:

1. "OK, guys. It's time to quit screwing around."

2. "OK, guys. We've kidnapped all your parents and are making them eat dorm food. NOW will you quit screwing around?"

In any case, Purdue enters the Madness playing impeccable basketball, and it was rewarded with the 2-seed in the West Regional. The Purdues play the Blob's favorite no-hoper Queens University in the first round, then would likely have to wade through either Miami (Fla.) or Missouri, Gonzaga and Arizona to get the Final Four. 

Some people think that means the selection committee did the Boilers dirty again. The Blob figures Purdue was possibly looking at a 4-seed going into the Big Ten tournament, so the Boilers should take their 2-seed and be thankful for it. Plus, it stands to reason to get to the Final Four you're going to have to beat a heavyweight or two at some point, so what else is new?

"How about that favorite no-hoper thing?" you're saying now.

Well, yes, I still love my Royals, especially Rex the Royal, their fuzzy lion-thing mascot with the battered crown. But I can't take them over Purdue, so I've recruited an emergency backup no-hoper.

Come on down, you Siena Saints!

Who, OK, probably should have been in a play-in game instead of Miami, too, on account of they've lost 11 games and finished third in the MAAC, whatever that is. But their two best players are a Gavin and a Justice, and how do you not love that?

Gavin is Gavin Doty, a 6-5 guard from Fulton, N.Y., who leads the Saints in scoring (17.9 ppg) and rebounding (7.0 rpg). Justice is Justice Shoats, who's 5-11, hails from Wilkes-Barre, Pa., and averages 13.2 points and 4.4 assists.

The Saints are probably going to get laminated by Duke, but, then again, maybe not. I mean, it's a Saint against a Devil. And who do you like in that matchup?

So, go, you Saints. Your hometown of Loudonville, N.Y., is behind you, and all the Franciscans who run the place, and every one of your 3,500 or so undergrads. 

Also, go, Furman, you Paladins, you. And, go, California Baptist. And, go, Hofstra and Kennesaw State and High Point and Lehigh and all the other littles who every year make the Madness the Madness.

And, yes, go, Purdue.  Play hard, Boilermakers, as Gene Keady always admonished. Your  parents can only take so much Tuna Surprise from the dining service.

Boiler bounce

Well, this is not what we expected. Seems they are full of surprises, these Purdue Boilermakers.

When last seen they were dragging a two-ton anchor into the Big Ten tournament, having lost four of their previous six games -- including four straight in Mackey Arena, where opponents usually come to have their innards rearranged. The bracket bros somehow still had them a 3-seed in the Big Show, but hardly anyone not wearing black-and-gold -- and several who were -- believed it.

And then ...

Wait, what's this?

Purdue 81, Northwestern 68 in its Big Ten tournament opener game in Chicago.

Purdue 74, Nebraska 58 in the quarterfinals.

Purdue 73, UCLA 66 in the semis.

So it's Purdue vs. top-seed Michigan in the championship this afternoon, and what in the name of Braden Smith is going on here?

Well ... Braden Smith, for one thing.

Purdue's indefatigable point guard hasn't scored a whole lot -- he was just 1-of-7 against a crippled UCLA team yesterday -- but he's done some stellar point-guarding dishing 16 assists against Northwestern, 12 against Nebraska and nine more against the Bruins. That's 37 in three games if you're keeping score at home, a Big Ten tournament record.

And among those who've been prime beneficiaries of Smith's largesse?

Trey Kaufman-Renn and Oscar Cluff, who answer to the name "Purdue's inside game."

Awakened from their intermittent slumber by either the Windex gods or a few withering stares from Purdue coach Matt Painter, they've been the most obvious reason for Purdue's own re-awakening. In three tournament games, thanks primarily to TKR and Oscar, the Boilermakers have out-rebounded their opponents by 12, eight and 11 boards, respectively. That's plus-31 on the glass by the Blob's reckoning.

What else?

How about defense?

Well, again, in three tournament games, they've held their opponents to 68, 58 and 66 points, respectively. They've held Northwestern, Nebraska and UCLA to 47-of-113 shooting, or 42 percent. This is a marked improvement over their four losses prior to this week, when opponents torched the Purdues for 86 points per game on 53 percent shooting.

So there you have it. The Boilers have their bounce back -- or at least what Purdue Pete 'n' them assumed at the top of the season their bounce would look like. 

Today?

Well, today, they run into Dusty May's Michigan juggernaut, so the Boiler Bounce more than likely gets bounced.

But, hey. At least there is a Bounce again, right?

Today in names

 I don't know who's going to do what in the conference tournament semifinals and finals this weekend, which means I for sure don't know who's going to A) make the Big Show; and, B) win the Big Show.

What I do know is San Diego State has 'em all beat in one of the Blob's favorite parlor games, Awesome Names I Have Known.

The Aztecs squeezed past New Mexico 64-62 in the Mountain West semifinals yesterday, and now they'll face top seed Utah State in the finals. Utah State is 27-6 and finished 15-5 in the conference, so the Aztecs are probably going to wind up watching the Aggies hoist the championship trophy.

However.

However, you know who saved the 'Tecs yesterday, with 17 points and six rebounds off the bench in 28 minutes?

Kid named Magoon Gwath.

Magoon Gwath!

If there's a better name in all of college basketball this year than that, I've not yet come across it. Plus, he can play a bit. 

He's a 7-foot sophomore out of Euless, Texas, who averages 8.8 points and 4.2 rebounds, and he shoots just shy of 53 percent. Friday was his ninth double-figure scoring effort this season, and he's logged 20 or minutes in a dozen games. So he's well in the Aztec mix.

But, wait, tell 'em what else they've won, Johnny Olsen!

In addition to Magoon Gwath, see, San Diego State also has a player named Pharaoh on their roster.

His full handle is Pharaoh Compton, and he's a 6-7 sophomore from Chicago. Pharaoh doesn't get near the playing time Magoon does; yesterday, he logged just seven minutes and collected a couple of rebounds. 

So to sum up: A Magoon, a Pharaoh and a berth in the conference finals. How do you not root for that?

Yay or nay?

 Your previously unbeaten Miami (O.) Red Hawks got knocked out of the Mid-American Conference Tournament the other day, and so now we wait to see if they get into the Big Tournament at 31-1.

The Blob says yay, on account of even the selection committee wouldn't be that gutless or lint-brained.

Other folks (though not many, truthfully) say nay, citing Quad 1 wins or the hypotenuse of a right triangle or other such esoterica.

The Blob maintains, as it has all along, that if you go 31-1 as a member of the MAC,  snubbing you because of some mathematical hoo-ha would suggest your tournament should not be taken seriously. The MAC, after all, has historically acquitted itself fairly well in the Madness. A 31-1 team from that conference therefore is not likely to embarrass either the Madness, nor the committee that sets its field.

Of course, this would have been a moot point had UMass not jumped up and beaten the Red Hawks the other day. This means, if the committee does the right thing, that the MAC will get two teams into Da Tournament for only the sixth time since the field jumped to 64 teams 41 years ago. The last time it happened was 27 years ago, when Kent State won the MAC tournament after -- you guessed it -- Miami won the regular-season title.

And so deja vu all over again, as Miami again awaits an at-large bid after blowing through the MAC regular season without a nick. 

In the Blob's world this means Miami should have already secured the MAC's automatic bid, because I cling to the antiquated (and thus unpopular) opinion that the team that wins the regular season ought to get the nod over, say, a "meh" team that gets hot for four days. The former proved itself the conference's best over the long haul; the latter simply happened upon a bag of magic beans.

And, yes, I know, this would reduce the conference tournament to mere sideshow. But on this one I stand with John Wooden, who once told me conference tournaments were nothing but an additional revenue stream for said conferences.

So, let them be that. And if the regular-season champ doesn't win it, whoever does will at least get a nice trophy out of the deal, and maybe a banner to hang in the home gym.

And what's wrong with that?

'Cat food

 Your Indiana Hoosiers checked out of the basketball season last night -- I suppose we should say probably checked out, or more than likely checked out -- and suddenly the taunt comes back to me, ancient now, an artifact moldering away in the history books like those five NCAA championship banners hanging at one end of Assembly Hall.

The taunt went like this, back in the days when Bob Knight and his mighty Hoosier legions used to come to Welsh-Ryan Arena and tattoo the Northwestern Wildcats eleventy-hundred to twelve or whatever:

That's all right ... that's OK ... you'll all work for us someday!

That was the go-to for those snobby smart punks in the Northwestern student section when the game was hopelessly lost. The implication, of course, being that someday Northwestern grads would be running the country, and IU grads would be asking them, "Would you like to make that a Valu Meal?"

Fast-forward to Wednesday night in the United Center up in Chicago, where it was the Wildcats once again doing the tattooing. 

The final this time was Northwestern 74, Indiana 61 in the first round of the Big Ten tournament, Darian DeVries' crew going down without much of a fight. Leading by a point at the break, the Hoosiers were outscored 38-24 in the second half, getting nothing from pretty much everyone except Lamar Wilkerson, who scored 17, and Tatyon Conerway off the bench, who added 14.

Except for Wilkerson, no Indiana starter scored more than six points. And the Hoosiers' two big men, Sam Alexis and Reed Bailey, managed all of two rebounds in a combined 50 minutes of playing time.

Two rebounds. In 50 minutes.

Northwestern's Nick Martinelli, meanwhile, flame-broiled Indiana again, going for 28 points on 10-of-18 shooting. This was just a couple of weeks after he dropped 28 on the Hoo-Hoo-Hoo-Hoosiers in Assembly Hall, as IU blew a big lead and lost 72-68.

It was one more "L" in a season-ending spiral that saw DeVries' guys lose six of their last seven games and likely fall out of the NCAA Tournament picture, although somehow the bracket bros still have them on the bubble. The loss also was a significant one, because it was Indiana's sixth straight to Northwestern going back to 2021.

Wednesday's loss made it seven straight. 'Cat food, apparently, is what the Hoosiers of the 2020s are right now.

And now the ancient taunt resurfaces, if slightly altered. It goes like this now:

That's all right ... that's OK ... at least your football team can play!

Who'd a thunk it?

That long, tall shadow

 Wilt Chamberlain was in the news twice this week, which is pretty remarkable considering the man died 27 years ago. But that's how it goes when you cast the sort of shadow across your domain Dipper does so many years after he stood bestride it.

It's a shadow longer even than his seven feet plus one inch, and the domain is still compelled to acknowledge it 53 years after Wilt Chamberlain put down the basketball.  That it continues to do so reminds us continually that no practitioner of James Naismith's humble little game has ever so dominated its fundamentals.

For instance: Did you see what Bam Adebayo of the Miami Heat did last night?

Scored 83 points in a blowout win over the Washington Wizards, Bam did. Got up 43 shots and made 20, including seven threes. Shot a mind-warping 43 free throws and made 36 of them. Got things started with a 31-point first quarter. A 31-point quarter.

The 83 points was Adebayo's season high by 43 points, and it was the most points scored by a single player in an NBA game since the late Kobe Bryant went for 81 two decades ago. And it came just a couple of nights after Shai Gilgeous-Alexander of the Oklahoma City Thunder tied an NBA record with his 126th straight 20-point game.

Know whose record he tied?

"Would it be Wilt Chamberlain's?" you're saying now.

Good guess.

Know why Bam Adebayo's 83 points is still only the second-most points scored by a single player in a game in NBA history?

"Would it be because one night in Hershey, Pa., Wilt Chamberlain scored 100?" you're saying.

You got it.

Astounding as Bam's big night was, see, he still came up 17 points short of Wilt's big night. Seventeen points. And until SGA came along, Wilt's 126 straight 20-point games was the league record by ... wait for it ... 34 games. Know who was second, with 92 straight?

"Would it be Wilt?" you're saying.

Dang. You're getting good at this.

Yes, it was Wilt. He followed his 126-point with another 92-point streak, and he did it across just three seasons. The only other player in the top three on this list, besides Wilt and SGA, is Oscar Robertson -- and he's a distant fourth with 79 straight 20-point games. 

If you're keeping score at home, that's 47 games behind Wilt and SGA -- more than half an NBA season. 

And the record for most relevant mentions in one week of a guy who's been dead for 27 years?

I'm guessing it's two, and Wilt holds that one as well. Just as he does 71 other NBA records.

He's the only player in NBA history ever to average 30 points and 20 rebounds in a season, and Wilt did it seven times. He once averaged 50 points a game for an entire season, and once grabbed 55 rebounds in a game. And he remains the only center in NBA history to lead the league in ... wait for it again ... total assists.

That long, tall shadow. It does linger, right, SGA?

"Honestly, it feels almost like a mythical creature," he said the other night, when asked about Chamberlain's legacy. "It's not real."

Indeed.

Ch-ch-changes ...

 ... to quote David Bowie.

Yes, David could tell you (although, on second thought, probably not, and only partly because he died ten years ago) what keeping track of the NFL's offseason is like, especially with the free-agency barn door opening up this week. Guys are changing teams faster than Leo DiCaprio changed identities in "Catch Me If You Can." It's almost impossible to wrap your head arou--

You there in the back, wearing the throwback Jim Kiick jersey.

"Tua's still a Dolphin, right?" 

No! Tua's an Atlanta Falcon now! Presto-chango!

"So who's our quarterback?"

Your quarterback is ... drumroll ... Malik Willis!

"Malik Willis? I thought he was in Green Bay."

Au contraire, mon frere. He's a Fish now. Double presto-chango!

Malik's a Fish, and Tua's a Dirty Bird, and Mike Evans, last seen as Baker Mayfield's go-to wideout in Tampa, is a 49er. The Bears traded DJ Moore to the Bills, and free agent Olamide Zaccheaus signed with the Falcons. Maxx Crosby, the Raiders' pass rusher par excellence, is a Raven now; the Raiders, in turn, just signed, like, five new guys. 

And your Indianapolis Colts?

They traded their top receiver, Michael Pittman Jr., to the Steelers and signed Alec Pierce to a new $116-million deal. Also, it looks like they're going to retain quarterback Daniel Jones, which suggests the Colts are banking on Jones-to-Pierce as their big-play connection.

Is this wise?

I dunno. We'll see.

Without Pittman, won't Pierce draw DBs like flies? Or will the likes of Josh Downs, Ashton Dulin and Laquon Treadwell be productive enough to keep the coverage balanced?

Again, we'll see. 

One thing's for sure, it won't be boring in Indy in 2026, or in a lot of other places. So many new faces in new places; so many questions popping up with th-

You there by the window, in the throwback Steve Largent jersey.

"At least we've still got Super Bowl MVP Kenneth Walker III, though, right?"

Ummm ...

Well, no. He just signed a choke-a-horse three-year deal with the Chiefs. The $45 million haul makes him the highest-paid free agent running back in NFL history, and now he'll be lining up in the same backfield with Patrick Mahomes. Which means more State Farm commercials starring Patrick, and more shampoo commercials starring Patrick, Kenneth Walker III, and Troy Polamalu, and more Subway commercials featuring Patrick, Kenneth, Taylor Swift's fiancee and maybe even Andy Reid.

"OH ... MY ... GOD! The Chiefs? The frigging CHIEFS?! I thought we were finally done with the Chiefs! How could you, KW3?"

I know, I know. I feel your pain. So would David Bowie if he were still alive.

OK. So probably not.

A Royal to root for

 We're still six days away from Selection Sunday -- most of your big conference tournaments have yet to be played -- but the Blob is already jacked to the gills for the Madness, on account of watching High Point tattoo Winthrop in the Big South championship yesterday.

OK. So not really.

Actually I watched a little of High Point-Winthrop and a little of the Patriot League semifinal between Lehigh and Colgate, which Lehigh won because Colgate couldn't make a shot down the stretch. So go, Mountain Hawks, and all that.

Also, go, you Queens University of Charlotte (N.C.) Royals!

Who won the Atlantic Sun (ASUN) title by beating Central Arkansas 98-93 in overtime, immediately becoming the Blob's annual little-guy-that-could-but-probably-won't favorite. There are a number of reasons for this.

One, Queens has only been D-I for four years, which means the Royals have played their way into the Big Dance/Soiree/Hootenanny the first year they were eligible for it.

Two, Queens is no fly-by-night operation. It's 169 years old, has a modest enrollment of 1,900 undergrads and was originally founded as the Charlotte Female Institute, and later the Presbyterian College for Women.

Three, among the 13 men's sports it offers is cheerleading. And among the 16 women's sports it offers are equestrian and dance.

Equestrian and dance! Now there's some refinement for ya.

And speaking of refinement ...

Should we mention the Queens' mascot? 

Of course we should mention the Queens' mascot.

His name is Rex the Royal and he's an endearingly scruffy-looking ... I don't know, lion, I guess. He wears a crown that looks as if it's seen better days, but don't hold that against him. He still looks mighty beloved:

Come on, America. Get on Rex the Royal's bandwagon before it fills up.

Mackey Daddy-ed

 Look, you can't say they didn't rise to the occasion, your Purdue Boilermakers. You can't say that at all.

Mackey Arena made its usual 747 sound on this Senior Day, and the Boilermakers put up 93 points, and they shot enough lights out to win most days. Or maybe you think 51 percent (34-of-67) and 44 percent (11-of-25) from the 3-point arc is small stuff. 

Well, it's not.

For instance, Fletcher Loyer, one-third of Purdue's most celebrated senior threesome since the Three Amigos (Troy Lewis, Todd Mitchell and Everette Stephens) almost 40 years ago, splashed six threes in nine attempts beyond the arc and scored 23 points. Braden Smith did Braden Smith things, scoring 20 points and dealing nine assists. And the third member of Purdue's senior triumvirate, Trey Kaufman-Renn, scored 17.

Heck. The Boilers even won the glass, outrebounding Senior Day opponent Wisconsin 34-22.

But speaking of Wisconsin ...

Well. The Badgers kinda went off script.

They shot even more lights out than the Purdues, making an absurd 56 percent including an even more absurd 53 percent (18-of-34) from Threeville. Four Badgers -- John Blackwell, Austin Rupp, Aleksas Bieliauskas and Andrew Rhode -- were a ridiculous 15-of-26 from downtown. And Wisky hung 97 on Matt Painter's guys, enough for a four-point win.

It was the Boilers' fourth loss in their last six games as they continue to slouch into March.

Perhaps more significantly, it was their third straight loss in Mackey, and fifth overall.

I have been to a game or two in that place, across the years. And when Purdue's on a run and the faithful get going and the sound goes up and ricochets off the roof and barrels back down, it really is like being on the inside of a giant kettle drum. Few joints get louder.

Which is a lot of why Purdue doesn't lose in Mackey very often. Or at least not usually.

This, it seems, clearly is a not-usually year, for a variety of reasons. One, the Boilers are losing games just when they ought to be doing the opposite. And, two, as evidenced by Wisconsin's 97 points yesterday, it's mostly happening because Purdue has not been very good on the end of the floor where Gene Keady's and Matt Painter's teams have traditionally made their bones.

That would be the defensive end.

In Purdue's four losses since Valentine's Day, for instance, opponents have averaged 86.5 points. They've shot 53 percent (112-of-211). And they've made 56 threes, or 14 per game.

Those are not the sort of "D" numbers that strike fear into the heart of many "O"s.

And so, the Boilers are now 23-8 and sixth in the Big Ten, three weeks after they were 21-4 and tied for second. And they've lost five games at home for the first time since 2019-2020, when Purdue finished 16-15 and missed the NCAA Tournament for the only time in the last 11 years. 

Mackey Daddy, in other words, has become Mackey Daddy-ed.

"That's a horrible pun, Mr. Blob!" you're saying now.

Yeah, well. I yam what I yam.

And these Purdue Boilermakers?

They are what they are, too, apparently. Until proven otherwise.

The persecution (or not) of Danica

 Danica Patrick will not be part of Sky Sports' coverage of F1 racing this season, and this has predictably provoked the usual howling from the usual suspects from the usual darker corners of the American psyche.

In other words:  That segment of America that loves to pretend it's put-upon, belittled or -- let's go all the way out there -- flat-out persecuted thinks she got axed because of her politics. A victim of the woke hive-mind, as it were.

Yes, I know. It does get a trifle exhausting, this endless grievance mining.

That's especially so in this case, because not only does Danica insist leaving the coverage team was her choice -- maybe so; maybe not -- but her departure seems to be little more than one of those boring corporate deals. In other words, Apple TV is taking over the Sky F1 feed this season for American viewers, as well as the F1 in-house entity. It's one of those changes that usually does result in ... well, changes.

So, Danica is out, either by jumping or being pushed. How much of that had to do with her right-wing political tilt, however, is being grossly exaggerated or out-and-out fabricated by the aforementioned usual suspects.

Mind you, Patrick's political tilt has gotten increasingly more tilt-y as the years have gone by, to the extent that even Generalissimo Francisco Franco might find her a bit off-putting. Not only has she gone full MAGA, she's apparently gone full conspiracy kook, too, as often happens. You know, the whole moon-landing-was-faked, JFK-was-shot-by-the-re-animated-corpse-of-Marilyn-Monroe catechism.

Did that make her, well, somewhat polarizing to F1 viewers?

Perhaps.

Did the fact she wasn't terribly insightful as an F1 analyst, on account of she never turned a wheel in F1?

Even more perhaps.

This is no knock on Danica's overall skills as an analyst, mind you. Put her on the mic as an analyst at the Indianapolis 500, and she's got something to say that's worth hearing, given that she made seven starts there and finished in the top ten in six of those starts. At least at Indianapolis, she has as much insight as most of her broadcast partners.

Of course, admitting that would leave the grievance-miners nowhere to park their persecution complexes. So there's that.

Fixin' to fix ... something

The Fearless Leader of America, President Donald John "Do What We Say Or We'll Bomb You Back To Antiquity" Trump, took time out from his latest military adventure to discuss college athletics yesterday. And I don't know about you, but I feel better already.

I mean, with F.L. on the case, this whole NIL/transfer portal mess will be solved lickety-split, or at least in the blink of an eye. We'll go back to the way things used to be, when college kids played for the love of the game and their school, and let the athletic departments scoop all the dough from it.

F.L. said all of this, or something akin to it, in a two-hour round table at the White House,  attended by the media and various luminaries who mostly just listened to him ramble. None of the various luminaries were college athletes, of course, because this wasn't about them. This was about  getting them back under control.

And, OK, yes, that is way cynical of me. Mark it down to 38 years of covering college sports as one of those cynical sportswriter types.

But if it's my natural state, it's hard to depart from it in this particular case. Not when the "Saving College Sports" roundtable was co-chaired by Secretary of State Marco Rubio, New York Yankees president Randy Levine and Florida governor Ron DeSantis.

"What do any of these people know about college sports?" you're saying now. "And why, in a roundtable about college sports, are the New York Yankees involved?"

Hey, don't ask me. I'm just the messenger here. 

As far as I know Rubio, Levine and DeSantis don't know jack-all about college sports, except DeSantis' state contains Florida State, Florida and Miami, college football powers all. Also Rubio went to law school at The U, so, go, 'Canes.

At any rate, Fearless Leader, as is his wont, says he has a grand plan to solve all the problems in college athletics. It's all contained in the executive order he promises to issue in the next week.

"It will be very all-encompassing," F.L. bragged, er, said. "And we're going to put it forward, and we're going to get sued, and we're going to see how it plays, OK, but I'll have an executive order, which will solve every problem in this room, every conceivable problem, within one week, and we'll put it forward."

Awesome. Terrific. Sounds wonderf--

Wait a minute.

Did he say "and we're going to get sued"?

He did. In fact, he said it's the only thing he knows for sure right now. Which suggests a couple of things to the cynical old sportswriter in me:

1. His Big Fix is supremely half-baked. (Which, let's face it, is pretty much par for the course for F.L.)

2. And a lot of it probably is illegal. (Ditto)

Now, understand, the cynical old sportswriter in me does not disagree with Fearless Leader and his various minions. The whole NIL/transfer portal deal is out of control, thanks to the NCAA's sudden passion for laissez faire stewardship. College athletics is threatening to become the Major League Baseball model, with the Power 4 conferences using the Rest Of 'Em conferences as a de facto farm system. 

Play a couple years at say, Eastern Michigan, then get called up to Ann Arbor -- or Columbus or Tuscaloosa or Athens, Georgia. That sort of thing.

However, Fearless Leader's executive order fixin' to fix everything sounds a lot like Richard Nixon's "secret plan" to end the war in Vietnam. And, look, maybe you still trust the guy, and vaya con Dios if you do. But at this point I wouldn't trust him to unclog a toilet.

Especially when even he admits his Secret Plan To Restore College Sports To Greatness has some flaws. Such as, for instance, legality.

Remember that famous line of Ronald Reagan's (speaking of cynicism), about how the worst thing you could ever hear was, "I'm from the government, and I'm here to help"?

I've got a new version of that, cynic that I am:

I'm your Fearless Leader, and I'm here to help.

Yikes.

Lou

I don't know how it's going with Lou Holtz this morning at the pearly gates, but I bet he's telling St. Peter he's still scared to death of Rice.

I bet he's doing magic tricks, and saying how "the University of Navy" used to make him tremble, and asking if the good Lord has laid in an adequate supply of Zagnut bars. I bet this tiny man -- this leprechaun, OK? -- is being every bit the Lou Holtz we knew but never really knew, because Lou was always aces at the shake-and-bake, the juke and the deke, the spin move that left us all grabbing air.

Which is to say, Lou Holtz, who died yesterday at 89, was a whole pile of things. What he wasn't was uncomplicated.

He was a comedian and a hard-ass and one hell of a football coach, to start with. He won 33 games in three seasons at William & Mary, for God's sake. At Arkansas, he once suspended his star running back right before the Orange Bowl, replaced him with some kid named Roland Sales, and Roland Sales ran for 200 yards as the Razorbacks crushed No. 2 Oklahoma 31-6.

He won everywhere he coached, unless you count that ill-considered foray into the NFL with the New York Jets. A man who always knew himself and where he belonged better than any of us, Lou bailed on that deal after just 13 games. The Jets were 3-10 at the time.

Of course, Notre Dame is where he made his bones, and if you put him on the coaching Mt. Rushmore two things are going to happen: No Domer's gonna kick, and Lou's gonna crack wise. Say something like, "Fine, but make sure you get the nose right."

Lou took over the wreckage of the Gerry Faust years and produced a national champion in just three seasons, beating archrival Miami 31-30 in an epic October clash and then taking down West Virginia 34-21 in the Fiesta Bowl. He had Tony Rice and Tony Brooks and a freshman named Rocket Ismail on offense, and scary dudes like Michael Stonebreaker and Frank Stams and Ned Bolcar on defense, and the Irish ran the table, finishing 12-0.

That remains, of course, Notre Dame's only national title in the last 50 years. It's partly why there's a statue of Lou outside Notre Dame Stadium now, same as Knute Rockne and Frank Leahy and longtime athletic director Moose Krause.

Lou went on to win 100 games in 11 seasons in South Bend, third on the all-time list behind Brian Kelly and Rockne himself.  His departure in November 1996, on the other hand, was hardly as straightforward. In fact it was downright weird.

On the day he talked about it, see, there were no magic tricks or jokes or one-liners about how special it was to walk outside at night and see the snow falling on the Lady atop the Golden Dome. ("And it's July," was always the punchline). The teevees and deadline grunts kept asking Lou why he was leaving, and all he kept saying was, "It's the right thing to do."

I was there that day, and what comes back to me now is a linebacker named Bert Berry, one of that year's stickout players. He was sitting behind the TV cameras with his head down and his hands folded. His eyes kept opening and closing, and every time he opened them to stare at his shoes, he looked every bit as bewildered as the rest of us.

Lou could do that you. Never uncomplicated, remember?

And so on the day he announced he was walking away from the only place he ever really wanted to coach, he said it was his decision but left the impression it wasn't. That he didn't want to step down, but was somehow left with no choice. And of course, being Lou, he never explained why that was.

There was talk, of course. It was rumored he and athletic director Mike Wadsworth got crosswise over an eligibility crackdown, which Lou vehemently denied. And there were all these stories about a booster/sort-of booster named Kimberly Dunbar who lavished gifts on Notre Dame's players right under Lou's nose.

Notre Dame got in dutch with the NCAA for that -- but not until after Lou left. Same thing happened at North Carolina State, Arkansas, Minnesota and South Carolina, too. And so the perception, fair or not, that Lou got out of Dodge each time just ahead of the law became part of his legacy, too.

On balance, though?

On balance -- the only way truly to measure a man's life -- he belongs up there on Rushmore. He deserves his statuary. Even if, at this very moment, he really is telling St. Peter he's still scared to death of Rice.

Know what the punchline is to that one?

The very week Lou said it, Notre Dame beat Rice 54-11.

Rimshot.

 

Opting out

 I wouldn't know Drew Dalman if he left tread marks on my chest, which, as a Pro Bowl center for the Chicago Bears, it's highly likely he might do. So I can't tell you why he's now a former Chicago Bear.

All I know is what I read in the papers, as they say, and the papers say Drew Dalman is retiring from professional football. This is news because Dalman is only 27 years old.

Other than that, I got nothin', because Dalman hasn't said anything. But it's worth noting because he's just the latest NFL player to walk away from the game in his 20s, before he was forced to limp away.

The most notable, of course, is Andrew Luck, who abruptly retired right before the 2019 season at the age of 29. There are still lint-brains out there who think he's a big wuss for doing that, but that's why they're lint-brains. Plus none of them ever took a hit on a Sunday afternoon from some 280-pound assassin with 4.5 speed.

Luck did, too many times, and paid the price for it. He left pieces of himself all over the En Eff Ell, and finally he wondered why the hell he kept doing it. As has been noted many times, Luck's a smart guy. So it's likely he looked into the future and decided it would be fun to still be able to walk up a flight of stairs by the time he was 45. 

Again, I don't know if that's what Drew Dalman is thinking. But he is a center, and centers get hit on every play with foot-pounds of force the lint-brains and big-talkin' tough guys can't even imagine. So maybe he looked into the future and thought it would be fun to still have a melon that wasn't squash by the time he was 45.

At any rate, after five years, Dalman's decided to opt out of this child's game. You can blame him if you want, but I won't. I've never stood on an NFL sideline during a game, but I have stood on  a few big-boy college sidelines and heard the scholars collide at full speed. It literally sounds like a car crash -- and that's just college.

I can't imagine what it must sound like in the NFL. And neither can you.

So color me un-shocked at Dalman's decision, even though he'll leave a vault of money on the table. He signed a three-year deal with the Bears worth $42 million before last season, and the Bears got their money's worth. Dalman wound up anchoring a rebuilt offensive line that gave quarterback Caleb Williams a fighting chance to avoid being killed, and Williams responded by throwing for 3,942 yards, 27 touchdowns and just seven interceptions. 

He also was sacked only 25 times. And I say "only" because he was sacked 68 times the year before.

Dalman, meanwhile, started all 17 games as a free-agent signing from Atlanta, where he started 40 games in four seasons. Last year he played every one of the Bears' 1,154 offensive snaps.

That's a lot of hits. A lot of car crashes, if you will.

So out the door Dalman goes, leaving the Bears to go looking for another center. It is, of course, a totally Bears sort of deal: Two months ago they won the NFC North title and a playoff game, and now they're shopping for a center for the second offseason in a row.

"Oh, for bleep's sake!" you can imagine them yelping.

Me?

I'll just say what long-suffering fans in Chi have been saying since the days of Bobby Douglass, Jack Concannon and the immortal Ralph Kurek:

Bears gonna Bears.

No littles allowed

 I've never been Bruce Pearl's biggest fan. I suppose we should get that out there right off the hop.

I've always thought he was too slick by half, a genial bender of rules who got Tennessee in trouble with the NCAA and then lit out for Auburn, where he never got caught doing anything shady but probably did. Or so I always figured, perhaps unfairly.

In any case, I freely confess to some bias where he's concerned. So keep that in mind when I say this: Bruce Pearl is an idiot.

The other day he got up in his analyst halftime gig to say Miami (O.), which is 29-0, should have to win its conference tournament to get into the big show. This is because Miami plays in the Mid-American Conference, a mid-major loop considered a rung or two below big-boy conferences like the Big Ten, ACC or SEC. As such, Pearl figures, Miami simply doesn't have the resume to get into the NCAA Tournament as an at-large team.

The Blob considers this elitist garbage. Over and above the fact Pearl has a dog in this particular hunt.

See, his previous gig, Auburn, now is coached by his son. The Tigers are 15-14at the moment, 6-10 in the SEC. But because it is the SEC, they're somehow still regarded as a bubble team.

To his credit, Pearl acknowledged the conflict of interest the other day. But that doesn't let him off the hook for his ridiculous take about Miami, and his apparent cluelessness about the nature of March Madness.

Which is this: It's not mid-or-worse SEC or Big Ten or ACC teams that make the Madness the Madness. It's the Miamis of Ohio.

Everything we all love about the NCAA's big show is about the Miamis, and also the Fairleigh Dickinsons, Maryland Baltimore Countys (UMBC) and Yales or Princetons. No one's tuning into that first weekend, which sells the whole deal, to see some lame seventh-or-eighth-place major conference team take on some other lame seventh-or-eighth-place major conference team.

Except for alums, no one cares about, say, 17-12 West Virginia taking on 18-12 Texas. No, sirree.

What they care about is Miami (O.) vs. whomever.

They want to see if the Red Hawks really are as good as all that. Or to see 16-seed UMBC upend 1-seed Virginia. Or to see Fairleigh Dickenson knock off Purdue. Or to see some kid with a '50s haircut light up lordly Kentucky with 10 threes.

That happened two years ago in the first round of the South Regional. The kid's name was Jack Gohlke, who scored 30 of his 32 points that day from behind the arc. And his team, Oakland out of the Horizon League, did indeed knock out UK, 80-76.

Alas, the ride didn't last long for Oakland; it lost in overtime to North Carolina State in the second round. But did that matter? Hell, no, it didn't matter. For four days, the previously unknown Gohlke was the talk of the tournament.

Meanwhile, on that same day, in the same regional, 20-14 Texas A&M beat 23-9 Nebraska. I know this only because I looked it up. Jack Gohlke, I didn't have to.

And so Bruce Pearl can go on all he wants about strength of schedule and Quad 1 wins and how unbeaten littles like Miami shouldn't be allowed inside the big tent if they lose in their conference tournament. A 15-14 Auburn has it all over, say, a 30-1 Miami in that case.

To which the Blob has but one suitable response:

Yeah, OK, buddy. Whatev'.

Deja Palou

 America's best racing series started up again yesterday, as drab February gave way hey-maybe-there's-hope-after-all March. It started up again, but if it seemed like it never left ... well, in this case that was more than just a saying.

When last seen, after all, Alex Palou was winning a pile of races and his fourth IndyCar title in five years.

When last seen yesterday down in St. Petersburg, Fla., he was leading 59 laps and winning the season opener in a snoozer.

Meet the new boss, same as-

Ah. You know the rest.

All told, Palou and polesitter Scott McLaughlin, who finished second, led 93 of  the 100 laps, and the top ten was stuffed with familiar names. Look, there's Christian Lundgaard in third! And Kyle Kirkwood in fourth! And Pato O'Ward, Marcus Ericsson and Josef Newgarden!

Oh, there were some off-script developments. Old heads Will Power -- driving his new  Andretti ride with the bumblebee paint scheme -- and Scott Dixon wound up at the bottom of the scoring sheet after completing just 55 and 39 laps, respectively. The only thing that saved them from finishing next-to-last and last were Santino Ferrucci and celebrated newcomer Mick Schumacher, who failed to complete lap before getting tangled up one another's deal.

So, yeah. There was that.

Otherwise, here's hoping someone, familiar or not, gives Palou a push and avoids what happened last year, when the back half of the season became something of a coronation because Palou was just too damn good. He won five of the first six races -- including the  the Indianapolis 500, the only significant achievement in IndyCar he hadn't scooped. After that, the points chase was no chase at all.

But, hey. At least this time we've got the Will Power storyline and the Mick Schumacher storyline to go with the Alex Palou storyline. That's something, right?

Um, right?

Playing out

 Weellll ... at least it wasn't in Mackey this time.

Just trying to say something positive here, you Purdue faithful, because, listen, the Blob loves ya and hates to see you down in the dumps. And speaking of "down in the dumps" ...

Come on down, Braden Smith and Fletcher Loyer 'n' them!

Who lost for the third time in the last four games yesterday, 82-74, over there at Ohio State. They're 22-7 and 12-6 in the Big Ten right now; Ohio State is 18-11 and 10-8 in the Big Overinflated. And if it seems like only nine days or so ago that Purdue was 22-4 and being penciled in as a 2-seed by the NCAA Tournament bracketheads ... well, that's because it was only nine days or so ago.

On Feb. 20, the Purdues ball-peened archrival Indiana by 29 in Mackey, their fourth W in five games. The only loss, also at Mackey, was to No. 1 Michigan by 11. It looked like the Boilermakers were going to come to March playing their best basketball.

And then they lost by two to Michigan State -- again in Mackey -- when Smith's 3-pointer for the win wouldn't bed down. No worries, a "meh" Ohio State team was up next, just what the Boilers needed to reset the narrati--

Oops.

Oops, because, yeah, Meh Ohio State beat 'em, shooting 51 percent and outrebounding the Boilers 36-29. Smith, Loyer and Trey Kaufman-Renn, Purdue's three-legged stool, combined for 54 of its 74 points, with Smith scoring 20, TKR 19 and Loyer 15 on five threes in nine tries. C.J. Cox added 13.

Everyone else, however, never showed up. Oscar Cluff, who's been Robin to TKR's Batman inside on occasion, scored just two points to go with five rebounds. And Matt Painter got just five points from his bench, which has proved thinner than previously thought.

And speaking of thin benches ...

Come on down, Indiana!

Who got clipped in Assembly Hall by Michigan State yesterday, 77-64, and are now warming up the NIT  bus. The loss was IU's fourth straight, which means, like Purdue, they're entering March on whatever is the opposite of a roll. The Hoosiers did, however, beat their counterparts in West Lafayette in bench ineffectiveness, however: While the Boilers chair jockeys managed a whole five points, Indiana's managed a whole zero.

Zero points in eight minutes from Reed Bailey. Zero in seven minutes from Tayton Conerway. Zero in 19 minutes from Jasai Miles.

Lamar Wilkerson and Tucker DeVries, meanwhile, scored 26 of Indiana's 27 second-half points, with Wilkerson scoring 29 points an DeVries 20 on the day. He and DeVries, however, were a combined 8-of-26 from Threeville, where Indiana coach Darian DeVries' offense lives and mostly dies. Yesterday the Hoosiers jacked 35 shots from the arc and bottomed just 10 of them; they were 12-of-21 from everywhere else.

Oh, yeah. Also, Michigan State got 22 points -- a 22-0 margin, if you're keeping score at home -- from its bench. Also-also, it outrebounded Indiana 35-27, including 22-12 in the second half. 

"So why didn't Indiana play Reed Bailey more, on account of he's been one of its few effective guys in the paint?" you're asking now.

I dunno. 

"And why did Conerway only play seven minutes?" you're also asking.

Beats me.

"And how come it's March, when you're supposed to be playing your way into stuff, and Purdue and Indiana seem to be playing their way out of stuff? Like, you know, a 2-seed (Purdue) or a seat at the Madness table altogether (Indiana)?" you're also-also asking.

Hey. Do I LOOK like the Shell Answer Man?

(Obligatory geezer reference)

All I know is, yes, there's a lot more playing out than playing in going on in West Lafayette and Bloomington these days. And that figures to make March a lot less fun than it should be.

 

Not dead yet

 I suppose there's some sort of whack duality at work when I say I despise social media with the white-hot intensity of a thousand suns, but also spend a disturbing amount of time cruising  the Majik Intertoobz Emporium in search of even more social media.

"That's not duality, that's hypocrisy," someone just said.

Yeah, well. How 'bout I forward you this TikTok of Donald Trump playing hockey naked? That'll learn ya to crack wise.

Anyway, there I was scrolling through my Facebutt wall the other day, and, holy gee, Gene Keady DIED? And Tony Dungy, too?

Uh ... no.

Actually, they're both still alive, but ha-ha, tee-hee, some sick twists thought it would be hilarious to put up virtually identical posts about Keady and Dungy dying enroute to hospice care. This, mind you, was a week or so after some other sick twists put up the same exact post about Lou Holtz and Daniel "Rudy" Ruettiger, star of book tours and the movie "Rudy."

"Watch us mess with those Notre Dame (bleeps)!", you can imagine the sick twists saying as they created the latter two posts.

'Cause, see, Holtz and Rudy are not dead yet, either, to quote Monty Python. Or at least they weren't as of this morning.

Now, I'll be the first to admit I don't know what Facebutt (legit, non-mocking handle: Facebook) is talking about when it occasionally tells me I've violated its "community standards." As far as I can tell, Facebutt doesn't have any community standards. It just dings you when you've crossed some mystical algorithmic line or other -- which no one can identify, either, because no one knows who exactly Algo Rithm is, and why the miserable son-of-a-biscuit seems to have no discernible sense of humor.

Point is, how can telling people someone's dead when they're not dead NOT be a massive violation of "community standards"? And why do I think the folks who post this stuff are the Intertoobz equivalent of the drunken redneck whose last words are always "Hey, ya'll! Watch this!"? 

Then they try to jump the General Lee over Farmer Bob's hog barn or some such thing.

These fake-death clowns aren't attempting anything as catastrophically spectacular, but the aim is generally the same. Because it's the Interbooz, see, people actually get sucked in by this cruel hoax-ery. This is true even when they're posted on fan sites with names like Purdue Pete And His Big-A** Hammer and Jesus Saves But Rockne Gets The Rebound.

(OK. So there are no fan sites with those names. But there is a fan site named Black & Gold Hoops Community, which recycled the Gene-Keady-died-on-his-way-to-hospice meme. Doomscrollers beware.)

The rule of thumb here, of course, is don't believe anything you see on the Majik Intertoobz Emporium until you can verify it via a legitimate news source. (Of which there are fewer and fewer these days, thanks to billionaires buying up American media companies and Sovietizing them into Trump State Media. Ah, the good old days of Tass and Pravda, we remember them well!).

But enough about that. Just remember one thing: The next time someone tells you Gene Keady or Tony Dungy or the Great and Terrible Oz has died, consider the source.

Unless, of course, the source is Abe Lincoln. He did tell us never to believe anything you see on the internet, remember.

Saw that on the internet.