When it comes to unintentionally pejorative phrases, "Made for TV" is right up there with "an Aaron Spelling production," "NBC sitcom," and "I only like you as a friend." Labeling something as made-for-TV conjures up images of Meredith Baxter Birney playing an abused housewife battling an eating disorder or Marg Helgenberger trying to track down her kids after her abusive boyfriend kidnapped them. Throw the made-for-TV designation in front of a sporting event, and you've got beach roller hockey or the Winter X-Games or the XFL or, at its very worst, C-List celebrities and has-beens boxing each other on Fox.

But on rare occasions, saying that a sport is made for television can actually be a positive thing. It suggests that everything about the sport -- the pacing, the strategy, even the stoppages in play -- translate well to the boob tube. In those instances, the transition to TV is so smooth and seamless that watching the game from the safety of your couch is almost as good as being there in person -- certainly better than catching action from the nose-bleed seats next to a 350-pound season-ticket holder named Ox who expresses his displeasure with the officiating in a voice that could drown out jetliners.

(About here, I should mention that this is one of those of sports columns we do from time to time, which we note only because every time we do one, we get letters. Some of the letters are very complimentary. Others are not, going so far as to suggest that a thousand-word article about sports and television is not the best use of my time, let alone theirs. The hard-headed man receives such feedback and fires off a surly invitation to create your own damn Web site, write more than 200 articles, and then we'll talk. The wise man simply nods, smiles, and points out that this is one of those sports columns we do from time to time so if that's not your cup of tea, perhaps it would be a good idea to take your business elsewhere, at least for today.

Football -- that's a great sport to watch on TV. It fits snuggly into a manageable three-hour window. There's plenty of breaks to allow you to make a snack or go to the can or -- if your two watchwords aren't "sane" and "sanitary" -- make a snack while you go to the can. Baseball doesn't fare nearly so well on TV. The game's lyrical pacing that feels just about right when you're sitting out in the sun-soaked bleachers nursing a second beer, but try watching it from home, and by the fifth inning of a Marlins-Braves yawner, you'll be lucky if you haven't slipped into irreversible coma.

We could stay here all day listing sports that, regardless of their other merits, come across well on TV. Golf? Good TV sport. Hockey? Not so good. Auto racing? Surprisingly good TV sport. Yachting, soccer, professional bowling? Exciting to particularly devoted partisans, but on TV, like watching paint dry.

Add to the list of great televised sporting events perhaps the greatest of them all -- the first weekend of the NCAA men's basketball tournament.

Thanks to my college days, the NCAA tourney will always hold a special place in my heart. Not because of anything my alma mater did in the tournament -- the University of California, San Diego was a Division III school when I went there, which means that we had to get our athletic kicks thrashing the likes of California Lutheran University, Pomona-Pitzer, and the hated Poets of Whittier College, and we had to do all this far away from the unblinking cameras of CBS Sports. No, I have fond memories of the NCAA tournament because the winter quarter at UC San Diego always came to a close the week that the tournament began, and my final exams invariably wrapped up just before the opening tip-off. Every year, I would pull an all-nighter Wednesday, polishing off a paper on the use of disguises in Shakespeare plays of the Elizabethan era or the emergence of party politics in the presidential election of 1828 -- God bless you, liberal arts education! -- turn in the finished product Thursday, and sack out in front of the TV for the next 48 hours watching continuous basketball coverage.

At some point, I would also shower.

Since not every one of the millions of people who will tune in to this year's NCAA basketball tournament pursued a bachelor of arts in communications at UC San Diego, I can only assume there are other explanations for why this event plays so well on TV. Near as I can figure, there are four, possibly five reasons that the first weekend of this college basketball tournament makes for such compelling television.

* Variety: With 32 basketball games in two days -- that's 16 per day, for those of you who have trouble doing math in your head -- you are sure to see at least a few good contests. And even if you stumble upon the occasional blowout, you won't have to stay there for long. Duke's thrashing Winthrop mercilessly? Let's head out west where the gutty Gauchos of UC Santa Barbara are giving the mighty Arizona Wildcats all they can handle.

* Surprises: Yes, the tournament is usually dominated by the likes of Big State U. and Powerhouse Tech and the University of Semi-Pro Athletes. But these mighty teams also have to share the stage with the likes of Commuter College State and the North Dakota School of Mines and Fisheries. At least a couple of times per year, one of these unheralded schools that even the student body would have a hard time finding on a map pulls off a stunning upset. And while that usually just forestalls the crunchy beating a Cinderella team has to endure at the hands of a bigger, better rival, for 48 hours at least, the Valparaisos and UNC-Wilmingtons of the world get to enjoy their moment in the sun.

* Drama: You will never see as many games go down to the wire as you'll see during the first weekend of the NCAA men's basketball tournament. Vince McMahon wishes he could rig wrestling matches this compelling.

* Unexplained Psychological Manipulation: You know that "One Shining Moment" song that CBS plays at the end of the tournament each year -- the song that folks like Peter Cetera and Richard Marx and Christopher Cross would reject as too schmaltzy? I'm convinced that if you play it backwards, you'll hear subliminal messages convincing you to keep watching CBS for more basketball as well as JAG and The Education of Max Bickford and CSI.

It would explain CSI's ratings, anyhow

Yes, the NCAA basketball tournament offers all that and more. And thanks to a quirk in my work schedule, I'm here to bring it all to you.

You see, I have this miserly tendency to hoard vacation days as if I could use them as currency should the local economy ever collapse. The employers at my day job frown on this practice and have convinced me to burn off some of the hundreds of man-hours worth of vacation time that I've accrued. And what better way to spend your off-days than hunkered down in front of the television set to watch 12 consecutive hours of basketball and writing about it for your penny ante Web site?

Other than spending time outdoors or volunteering for a local charity or taking your wife on a fine vacation to an exotic locale, you say? Pffft. That is so predictable.

So I'll be here all day, updating the Web site with wry commentary and potentially leaden and thunderously unfunny observations as they happen -- from my brain to my PowerBook's keyboard to your eyes. This is TeeVee without a net, folks. Nobody knows what's going to happen. Will I run out of things to say by 2 p.m.? Will I go mad sometime during the Mississippi State-McNeese State game? Will my posts be littered with misspellings and poor grammar? Will I hopeless butcher the HTML coding?

All signs point to "yes."

So sit back, relax, pour yourself a frosty beverage of your choosing and join me as I more than likely make an ass of myself. Let's begin.

While I shoulder most of blame for the virtual pratfalls that have been occurring this morning, I should point out that I'm not entirely at fault. The cat, who normally treats me with studied indifference, has decided that the Apple PowerBook sitting on my lap is taking up a space that rightfully belongs to her. So I'm splitting my time between typing this paragraph with one hand and gently but firmly stiff-arming the cat with the other. When contortions like this are taking place, invariably, mistakes will be made. Which is my way of saying that if you find any typos, the fault lies not with me, but with my cat.

Also, this morning the TeeVee Web site went down, which I blame on Greg Knauss, who probably had nothing to do with it, but since he's not here to defend himself, will make a perfectly acceptable scapegoat. I blame Greg whenever anything goes wrong, from my cable modem crapping out to the stinging pain in my neck. It's very therapeutic blaming Greg. I suggest you folks try it sometime.

9:03 a.m.: The NCAA men's basketball tournament, of course, began yesterday, with 16 teams advancing to the second round. I caught a little bit of it with my dad, watching Kentucky beat Valparaiso as if Valpo had been caught lifting money out of the Wildcats' wallets. Then we went golfing before heading over to a sports bar to take in the evening games.

"Michaels, you fraud," you're probably saying, assuming you made it past the paragraph about my cat. "You go on at some length about what great television the NCAA tournament is, and then, before CBS can barely complete its sign on, you're out the door and hitting the links. What gives?"

Pacing, my friends. Sure, as a sleep-deprived undergraduate, I could spend several days in front of my television set, watching schools from the backwaters of Indiana get their heads handed to them by their betters, but even then, by Friday evening, I'd be a raving, delusional loon. As I approach my thirties, I can't imagine being able to watch basketball for two solid days, let alone form coherent thoughts for a Web article. So I took one for the team and got some fresh air yesterday, all in the name of lucidity for today's proceedings. If that means I missed the Pepperdine-Wake Forest tilt, then so be it.

9:08 a.m.:Speaking of taking one for the team, normally I'd watch a sporting event like this on TiVo, freeing me from the tyranny of commercials and fast-forwarding through the inevitable dead spots when some hapless CBS analyst explains that the key to victory is scoring more points than the other team. But to capture the essence of watching network coverage of the NCAA tourney for you, the disinterested observer, I'm making this a largely TiVo-free day -- taking advantage only of the Pause Live TV feature and TiVo's 30-minute buffer. Which explains why I'm currently watching a commercial for Capitol Expressway Auto Mall and gritting my teeth for the slew of ads to come, instead of fast-forwarding to the start of the North Carolina State-Michigan State game.

The things I do for you people...

9:16 a.m.: And you know why TiVo comes in handy for events like this? Because CBS has been on the air for 16 minutes and we're only now getting our first glimpse at actual competition. Excruciating.

Really -- what's the point to having Greg Gumbel and Clark Kellogg flap their gums for 15 minutes before starting the games? To generate interest and excitement in the telecast to come? The folks who are going to watch college basketball during the middle of the day are going to tune in whether Clark Kellogg articulates Michigan State's keys to victory or not. And the people tuning in and wondering where the hell The Young and the Restless is probably won't be convinced to stick around by all the pre-game hype.

I'd be interested to see what would happen if CBS were to provide coverage on two channels -- one with all the bloviating and pontificating and unnecessary interjections from Greg Gumbel back in New York, and the other just televising nothing but game coverage. I'd be willing to wager a significant amount of Greg Knauss' annual income that the game-only channel would generate blockbuster ratings and that only lonely shut-ins and people immobilized by a steady diet of nachos and microwave burritos would bother to stay tuned to Kellogg and Gumbel fill the airwaves with noise.

9:34 a.m.: Your color commentator for today's Michigan State-North Carolina contest (and indeed, all the games being played in Washington D.C.) is Billy Packer. You may remember that just last week Packer was busy blasting ESPN for broadcasting the Season on the Brink made-for-TV movie about hotheaded basketball coach Bob Knight. Packer's issue wasn't with the quality of the movie or with the motivation behind Brian Dennehy's performance or whether the actors playing basketball players could fire off a convincing jump shot -- understandable since Packer never bothered to actually watch the movie he was criticizing. No, Packer's problem was that ESPN aired Season on the Brink without editing out Knight's notoriously salty language, including his fondness for a certain earthy obscenity that rhymes with "duck." This so incensed Packer that he suggested ESPN's college basketball analysts should boycott their network's NCAA tournament coverage in support for cleaner, more whitewashed made-for-TV movies.

It would seem that if bad language upset Packer so much, he'd take his complaint to his good friend Bobby Knight for making with the sailor-talk to begin with, but who am I to question the wisdom of Billy Packer? As for Knight, he apparently wasn't too bothered by the prospect of ESPN's warts-and-all biopic, since he appeared on the cable network for an interview a scant 10 minutes before it aired a TV movie depicting him as a foul-mouthed bully.

This isn't the first time television has offended Packer's delicate sensibilities. He once called 60 Minutes "a cancer" for airing a story on the Fresno State basketball program and the proclivities of its players toward committing felonies. He later publicly berated 60 Minutes correspondent Leslie Stahl for a piece that suggested that the NCAA exploits student-athletes since it makes millions of dollars off of things like the men's basketball tournament without actually giving the players a cent. Since Packer is employed by CBS, which also broadcasts 60 Minutes, that must make for some awkward moments at the company picnic each year.

9:58 a.m.:: My favorite part of CBS's first-round coverage? It's got to be the Live Look-In, when the network cuts away from the game it's currently broadcasting to bring you live updates from the three other games taking place around the nation.

Michigan State-N.C. State not grabbing you? Let's head to Pittsburgh where the Blue Devils of Central Connecticut State are giving the Pitt Panthers all they can handle early. Or let's head over to Chicago, where Creighton is sticking with the Florida Gators. Or maybe Dallas, where Oklahoma has broken out the whipping stick on Illinois-Chicago. It's like sports coverage specifically for people with short attention spans.

It's like sports coverage specifically for me.

A few years ago, when CBS was feeling particularly puckish, it would show all four games at once, with each game taking up a quarter of the screen. It was like watching a basketball game played by ants -- unless you happened to have on of those TVs with a screen the size of a city block.

I wonder if I should hang out in front of his house today.

10:07 a.m.: So there's this Taco Bell commercial I get a feeling I'm going to be seeing a lot of today. It's this group of painfully hip young people, sitting around a table and playing what appears to be a game of poker. Maybe five-card draw. Maybe seven-card stud. It really doesn't matter.

The commercial at the point in the game when the players are revealing their hands. One fine-looking young woman has a straight. Another hipster doofus has a full house, jacks over tens. Then we get to our hero who's sporting what the leather-jacket wearing dealer calls "the unbeatable pair" -- a bacon-chicken chalupa.

Now I have an offer I'm willing to make to any Taco Bell executives who happen to be reading this. I want you to hop on the next flight to Las Vegas, head over to one of the more stylish casinos -- Ceasar's Palace, say, or maybe the Mirage -- and sit down at one of the poker tables. Now, when it's your turn to reveal your hand, I want you -- instead of turning over your playing cards -- to slam one of those chalupas on the table and sit there with the same shit-eating grin as the guy in your commercial.

If you are physically able to walk out of the casino under your own power after doing that, I pledge to eat nothing but Taco Bell's particularly awful brand of Mexican fast food for the rest of my life.

Deal?

10:11 a.m.: Hey, during an event that can attribute much of its success to the myriad NCAA tournament betting pools that spring up around this time of year, it's a public service announcement from the NCAA, warning us of the evils of gambling on college sports. That's like airing a public service announcement during Fear Factor, chiding you for voyeurism.

10:21 a.m.: Other things about TV that bug Billy Packer: all that violence on NYPD Blue; when Pacey and Joey broke up on Dawson's Creek; when the "Guess the Year" quiz on Dateline NBC is just too damned hard.

10:32 a.m.: One drawback to watching the NCAA tournament from the comfort of your own home as opposed to a crowded sports bar is you don't get to experience the dynamics of crowd reactions. Anyone working on a doctoral thesis about mob mentality and fan psychology would be well-advised to spend the next couple of days Margaret Meade-style at the local Legends or Champions or Bob's Tavern o' Sports with nothing but a couple of notebooks and a fistful of sharpened Number Two pencils.

The first thing you notice is that unless you're at bar crammed to the rafter with an alumni group from the favored university, everyone in the place is going to be rooting for the underdog. There are no exceptions to this. At the bar I was at last night, everyone -- save for maybe a couple of Kansas graduates who were smart enough to keep to themselves -- wanted to see the 16th-seeded Holy Cross Crusaders knock off the top-ranked Jayhawks. Since Pleasanton, California hasn't seen a large influx of Holy Cross alums in recent months, I can only assume this has something to do with our country's inherent love for the underdog. And why not? The U.S. got its start as an underdog, upsetting off the heavily-favored British in the regional final, before racking up an impressive series of wins against Mexico, Spain and a two-game sweep of Germany. Damn straight we're going to clutch the Holy Crosses of the world to our collective bosom.

The other great thing about sports bars is when you have fans from rival teams on opposite sides of the room. You can almost set your watch by how fast things will devolve from good-natured ribbing into outright hostility, particularly as more beer is consumed.

Last night, the bar was packed with UC Santa Barbara fans on one side and Arizona Wildcat partisans on the other. The Wildcat fans, in particular, were aggressively enthusiastic -- I think if you were to have a tournament of aggressively enthusiastic college fans, the University of Arizona would be a perpetual number-one seed -- clapping loudly and obnoxiously for even the most routine of plays. The UC Santa Barbara supporters took the bait, adding loud and obnoxious claps of their own. By the end of the game, you had both sides of the room loudly cheering everything from free throws to substitutions to random shots of the crowd.

The game ended with Arizona staving off UC Santa Barbara, which, of course, sent the Wildcat fans in the building into a frenzy of celebratory taunting as the Gaucho fans sat silently. Finally, the cheering stopped and the air was still, until one lone Santa Barbara supporter meekly raised his voice.

"Go fuck yourselves," he said in the general direction of the Arizona fans.

And from his hotel room in Washington, Billy Packer bolted upright in bed and immediately lodged a protest with CBS for encouraging such vulgar behavior.

10:57 a.m.: Good Lord, this North Carolina State game has gotten out of hand. Time for a live look-in at Creighton-Florida, don't you think, Mr. Gumbel?

11:06 a.m.: TeeVee's coverage of today's NCAA Tournament is now being brought to you by Round Table Pizza, the Gordon Biersch Brewing Company, Apple Computer, America Online, and the good men and women at Jockey.

11:12 a.m.: And we've had our first major technical glitch of the day -- CBS, I mean. Not me. I've had about 73 technical glitches so far, and I haven't even cracked open my first beer. By about 5 p.m. today, this site is going to look like Cantonese.

No, the CBS glitch game during its coverage of Creighton-Florida, when the scoreboard in the lower right corner of the screen went from Florida 65, Creighton 59 at the 3:57 mark to Florida 1, Crieghton 59, and then Florida 16, Creighton 59.

You can make your own Kathleen Harris-Florida recount joke here, OK?

It took CBS about 10 seconds to notice the error and sweep the erroneous scoreboard off the screen, no doubt after the director unleashed enough profanities at his crew to make Billy Packer fall to the ground whimpering.

And yes, we will be heaping ridicule on Billy Packer for the rest of the day, thank you very much for asking.

11:24 a.m.: More proof that we're a nation of underdog-lovers? At Chicago, the once-quiet fans are now cheering a furious comeback by the Creighton Bluejays as they attempt to send the favored Florida Gators home early.

Of course, since the winner of this game will likely face Illinois in the second round, perhaps it's more than just this David-versus-Goliath match-up that has the audience cheering. Because if there's one thing this country is about besides cheering for the underdog, it's about exercising enlightened self-interest.

11:32 a.m.: God, I love overtime. It? like stealing more games.

11:42 a.m.:: Double overtime -- now that's like stealing free games and free beer.

11:52 a.m.:: CBS gives us slow motion replay and multiple camera angles and all the stats you could possibly want. But there's one feature the network is missing that would dramatically improve its coverage -- the Avid Fan Cam.

I thought this up yesterday while watching my father, who had no less than three of his favorite teams in action. First, there was Valparaiso, which is my mother's alma mater and the team of choice for all good Lutherans everywhere. Then, there's Indiana, which is his alma mater. And finally, we had Stanford, where my dad is a season-ticket holder.

So you can imagine that my father was a little bit on edge yesterday. And you can probably also imagine, it was a lot of fun to watch. So much fun, in fact, that I think CBS should have one of those picture-in-picture features, where the upper right corner of your screen has a camera trained on an overly emotive fan of the teams in action.

Exult with the Avid Fan as he celebrates a crucial lead change! Cringe as you watch him fall to the ground in agony as his star player fouls out! Stare down at the ground uncomfortably when a last-second loss ends the season of his favorite squad and sends him on an all-night crying jag!

Think of it this way: during yesterday's Valpo-Kentucky game, wouldn't your enjoyment of the game have increased exponentially by watching my father scream, "Come on, you little shit!" at a Valpo player who failed to hustle to his satisfaction or seeing him throw down his Valpo hat angrily when Kentucky stretched the lead to 18 points?

I know it worked for me.

11:55 a.m.: OK, that commercial where the Michelin Man makes sweet love to the tires on the assembly line while "Never Going to Let You Go" blares in the background?

Unspeakably creepy.

12:04 p.m.: Not to brag or anything, but I picked Creighton to beat Florida long before today's double-overtime thriller. Just as I picked Missouri to upset Miami and Kent State to take down Oklahoma State. In fact, I'm 14 for 20 in picking the winners so far in the tournament, which would be a much more impressive stat, had I actually bothered to enter one of those illegal tournament betting pools the NCAA is warning us about in those public service ads.

For the record, I like the Yankees and the Giants to reach the World Series, I'm picking Lord of the Rings to win Best Picture, and I'm taking the Republicans plus the points in the House mid-term elections.

Use this knowledge for good and not evil.

12:15 p.m.: And so we leave behind the joyous Creighton Bluejays to celebrate their win for California-versus-Pennsylvania already in progress. And this contest raises something of a rooting dilemma for me.

Barring the surprise entry of UC San Diego into this tournament, I really have no dog in this hunt. So I have to get my thrills vicariously. That means adopting the alma maters of my friends and family and rooting for them as if they were my own.

Valpo? I'll root for them, especially if I ever expect another home-cooked meal from my mother. Stanford? Indiana? Sure, go team -- especially for the countless hours of comedy you'll provide through the trials and tribulations of my father.

I'm inclined to root for other schools representing the University of California, like UC Santa Barbara since, in a sense, we're all playing for the same team. Nine campuses, one university -- go Gauchos! The exception: UCLA since a snot-nosed punk wearing a Bruins sweatshirt was once rude to me on a subway train. Screw 'em, I says. My emotions are not to be trifled with.

So you would think that I would be all in favor of California triumphing over those Ivy League elitists from Penn, especially since my good friend Snell got his master's degree from Berkeley. But then again, a high school chum of mine graduated from Penn, and that bastard Snell called me up a little while ago to ask why I was taking so long to update the site. "What are you doing?" he demanded. "Watching porn instead?"

Not yet, I'm not. Go Quakers.

12:36 p.m.: I like those IBM e-business-as-basketball commercials as much as the next guy. If nothing else, it's good to see that Detlef Schrempf is still finding work. But I have to wonder: Just who does IBM think they're reaching with those ads during a weekday basketball telecast?

IBM can't possibly think that the people responsible for making decisions about implementing enterprise-class servers are knocking off work just before 1 p.m. Pacific time on Friday to take in a basketball game or four. No -- the people watching CBS right now are people like me. Dopes. Wage slaves. Guys in bad need of a shower. Not the sort of people who are in a position to call up IBM and say, "That e-business think you were talking about in those ads? Make it so."

Of course, I'll take that ad any day of the week over the one that immediately follows it -- the 7-11 spot featuring a guy who looks like Quentin Tarantino's bastard spawn trying to make me buy a Big Gulp.

Come back, Detlef Schrempf. All is forgiven.

1:00 p.m.: Why, it's Baby Bob, the sitcom about a talking baby -- a premise that's nothing at all like Look Who's Talking, since this time around, the baby talks out loud and spouts off one-liners written by a roomful of Harvard Lampoon alums.

Baby Bob is based on a series of advertisements for an Internet company that may or may not still be in business. If that's now a fertile source for programming ideas, why not a show about that Russian guy with the nut-flinging monkey on his shoulder from the Yahoo ads a few years back? Why not a late-night talk show hosted by the Pets.com sock puppet? Why not an hour of William Shatner recreating his favorite Priceline ads?

Better yet, if Baby Bob is what's passing for inspiration in the television industry these days, why not just give up?

I understanding that reasonable people can have differences of taste. I just got an e-mail from a grandmother who expressed her displeasure with my year-old review of The District in language one does not always associate with grandmothers. She calls The District one of the highlights of her week. I'm thinking if that's what passes for a highlight, maybe it's time to reassess your life. But hey -- to each their own.

But geez Louise -- Baby Bob? If you, in any way, think this sounds like a good idea for a show, you are to report to my palatial Alameda estate immediate so that I can shower you with a barrage of beer bottles.

1:12 p.m.: Speaking of shower, it's about time I took one. Back later.

1:19 p.m.: And we're back. Sort of. Let me explain.

Shortly after concluding my shower, the wife returned home and reminded me of an errand I had committed to long ago in one of my more gallant and less reflective moments. It involves adopting a second cat from our local animal shelter (and please, let me just echo the sentiments expressed daily by Price is Right host Bob Barker and remind you to spay or neuter your pets. Or do both, just to be on the safe side...). So since I wasn't doing anything like entertaining dozens of readers with snide comments at the expense of Billy Packer, off to the animal shelter we went.

It was also at this point that I realized the only food I had taken in today was half a pizza, one or two or possibly more beers, a large coffee, and half a box of Girl Scout cookies. If I didn't stop and get some fruits and/or vegetables into my system immediately, then I would have to make like Magellan and start boiling my shoe leather just to stay alive.

So we're pretending that it's 1:19 in the afternoon, when in fact, it's actually 5:15. But through the twin miracles of TiVo and time compression, it's almost like I never left.

Now let's get this farce back on the road.

1:20 p.m.: You know how at sporting events people are always holding up signs with pithy exhortations like "Go Cats!" or, for the more creatively inclined, slogans that incorporate the initials of the network covering the game such as Can't Beat State? Well, at Penn games, you get slightly longer signs more befitting an Ivy League school. Signs along the lines of:

"We believe that the superior athletic ability and court smarts of our squadron will prove to be no match for those our rivals. And just as Perseus slew the Gorgon, we shall triumph over our enemy, who will be left sulking in his tent like Achilles."

No -- I'm just kidding. The Penn fan was holding up a sign that said, "It's Bear huntin' season." But to his credit, his sign was impeccably spelled.

1:27 p.m.: What can Brown do for me? Repeatedly lose my packages is what. Thanks, UPS!

1:34 p.m.: Well, Cal has a 11-point lead over Penn with 1:34 on the clock, so I guess the Quakers will just have to take comfort in the fact that their Ivy League education, connections and secret handshakes will lead to opportunities, careers and orgiastic excesses that you and I can barely fathom.

The poor bastards.

1:46 p.m.: Remember all that stuff I said about this basketball tournament being a great made-for-TV event? Penn and California have conspired to make me look like I'm talking out of my ass. It's taken 12 minutes to play the last minute of the game because Penn keeps fouling to stop the clock and Cal can't make enough free throws to turn a comfortable lead into a laughable one.

The result? We still have 25 seconds to play, and I feel like I've aged about 17 years watching this game.

1:47 p.m.: Another Penn foul. Twelve seconds on the clock. Cal up by 7. Jesus God, let it go. Al Gore didn't take this long to concede.

1:49 p.m.: And as Cal celebrates its win, CBS cuts to gratuitous close-ups of the Cal cheerleaders cavorting in victory. All we need to complete the scene is a pole, some strobe lights and Van Halen's cover of "You Really Got Me." I believe this may put Cal over the top in the always competitive "Cheerleading Squad Most Likely to Wind Up in a Girls Gone Wild Video" contest, taking over the top slot from defending champions Southern Cal.

Interesting side note: I once went out on a date with a girl who played in the USC band. In case you ever find yourself in a similar situation, let me just warn you that the question "So does the USC band only know how to play two songs?" will not be received as the sort of witty icebreaker that you may have intended.

2:00 p.m.: And apparently I've broken the Web site. Serves me right for speaking ill of the Cal cheerleaders, who have friends everywhere -- even online, it appears.

5:02 p.m.: Wow, time sure flies. It felt like only a few minutes ago it was 2 p.m.

So let's get caught up to date -- Hawaii's failure to upset Xavier means that I'm now a slightly less impressive 17 for 24 in picking winners in the first round match-ups, with eight games to tonight. The Web site is up and running again after a momentarily meltdown we'll just have to blame on the incompetence of Greg Knauss, whether he had anything to do with it or not. And Bobby Knight is now on my TV screen, coaching the Red Raiders of Texas Tech against the Salukis of Southern Illinois.

And he's probably cussing.

Good thing CBS doesn't have Bob Knight miked, or Billy Packer might storm off the air in protest.

5:09 p.m.: We don't make this stuff up, folks. Actual transcripts of actual CBS basketball broadcasts.

Tim Brando: Emmett almost lost it on the in-line, and as he tried to save the ball...

Eddie Fogler: Ouch.

Brando: ...he threw it, I believe, into the lower abdominal region, for lack of a better term.

Fogler: The family jewels.

Brando: Yes, and I believe it's going to take a little while for him to get over that. That's Brad Korn. Ouch.

To repeat: Brad Korn of Southern Illinois University has been hit in the groin with a basketball. Do not panic. Stay tuned to CBS for further updates.

5:15 p.m.: I assume that it's Tim Brando and Eddie Fogler discussing Brad Korn and the status of his testicles. They keep calling each other Tim and Eddie, and I seem to recall that both Tim Brando and Eddie Fogler are employed by CBS. But really, their announcing styles are so indistinct and non-descript, they might as well be anybody. Don Squarejaw and Skippy McBland. Johnny Deepvoice and Freddy Insight. Joe AnnoucerBot and Ken CommentatorTron.

Really, I've been watching basketball since 9 this morning and the only three CBS announcers to stand out are Verne Lundquist, since he's been broadcasting sports since the turn of the century, the clownish but relatively inoffensive Bill Raferty and Mr. Personality, Billy Packer. When he's not telling 60 Minutes their business, Packer's schtick is to second-guess every move made by the coaches and their 20-year-old players.

"You cannot do that," Packer will hiss whenever someone travels or throws the ball out of bounds or commits a stupid foul. Because, you know, the player thought it was a good idea to lose the ball. It's a shame Billy didn't speak up earlier.

But at least Packer has a personality, love it or hate it. Too many announcers don't. They seem to share the same sturdy baritone, the same steady delivery, the same string of endless clichés. I guess there are worse things in the sports coverage world than bland announcers. You certainly don't want someone who detracts from the broadcast, but then again, having one that doesn't really add anything isn't much of an improvement.

Think back to the Winter Olympics, in which NBC was lucky enough to acquire the services of Gary Thorne, who normally plies his wares calling hockey games for ESPN. Thorne, for my money, may be the best play-by-play announcer on TV today. He didn't get that way by relying on over-used catchphrases flashy gimmicks -- Thorne simply calls games, clearly and concisely. He brings the same excitement and energy to a midseason Panthers-Flames match that he does to Game Seven of the Stanley Cup finals.

I don't tune into hockey games specifically because of Gary Thorne. But when I do tune in, and he's calling the game, I know I'm going to enjoy it more.

And I wish to hell he did college basketball right about now.

5:20 p.m.: Boston University is losing to Cincinnati 43 to 16 at halftime. I mean, what do you do when you're trailing by 27 points with another 20 minutes-worth of beatings and humiliation still to come? Fake an injury? Invoke the mercy rule? Disband quietly in the locker room so as not to attract attention?

6:00 p.m.: I don't care how many times you show the promo, CBS -- it ain't going make me tune into Baby Bob. If anything, I'm now actively rooting for the show's prompt demise.

6:03 p.m.: You will be happy to know that Brad Korn, who earlier suffered the indignity of having a basketball ricochet off his groinal area, is back in the game. His testicles, sadly, will be out for another two to four weeks.

I kid, of course, because, I know. I used to play goalie for a rec league floor hockey team and once took a point blank slapshot in an area that God did not design for stopping high-speed projectiles. To make matters worse, this was the one game I forgot to wear a cup. To make matters even worse, the guy ended up scoring anyhow on the rebound.

Wonder how Tim Brando and Eddie Fogler would have called that one.

6:08 p.m.: Remember that Britney Spears commercial from the Super Bowl where the almost natural pop sensation pitches Pepsi in jingles from the '50s, the '60s, the '70s, the '80s and today? Well, there are now two other commercials like that. Burger King has an ad where Shaquille O'Neal pulls up in front of a restaurant dressed like a '50s greaser and by the time he makes it up to the counter, he's gone through five decades and four costume changes. Mercedes puts a different spin on the concept, showing one of its cars driving through the decades while different versions of "Unchained Melody" -- each one reflective of a different era -- play in the background.

To which I say, OK -- we get it. [Insert name of product and/or service here] is so timeless, it defies eras. And people sure had funny hairstyles thirty years ago.

Now go do something else. Hey -- how about an ad with a baby? A talking baby...

6:22 p.m.: We get letters. Letters from Pleasanton, California residents thanking us for our patronage of their sports bars. Letters from Arizona Wildcat fans suggesting we go to Tucson to witness aggressive enthusiasm first-hand. And letters from our own Monty Ashley, who writes:

I suppose you'd prefer having Dick Vitale screaming in your ears for an entire game?

I stand corrected. Next year, we lock Monty in a room for 12 hours and make him watch basketball.

6:33 p.m.: Just in case you were wondering -- because I have been for most of this game -- a Saluki is a dog, a member of the hound family to be more specific. According to our friends at the American Kennel Club:

The whole appearance of this breed should give an impression of grace and symmetry and of great speed and endurance coupled with strength and activity to enable it to kill gazelle or other quarry over deep sand or rocky mountains. The expression should be dignified and gentle with deep, faithful, far-seeing eyes. Dogs should average in height from 23 to 28 inches and bitches may be considerably smaller, this being very typical of the breed.

Which are qualities you look for in a basketball player, too, I suppose. Except for the stuff about killing gazelles.

"Gee, Phil," the three or four of you who have toughed this out to the bitter end might be saying. "You certainly seem to know a lot about collegiate mascots. Just what kinds of mascots are competing in this year's NCAA men's basketball tournament?"

Glad you asked. The mascot hierarchy stacks up thusly, from top to bottom.

Regionally or Historically Specific Mascots
Examples: Indiana Hoosiers, Oklahoma Sooners, Ohio State Buckeyes, Pennsylvania Quakers, Maryland Terrapins, Kansas Jayhawks

Fearsome Animal Mascots
Examples: Missouri Tigers, Montana Grizzlies, Pitt Panthers
Bonus points for regionally-specific animal names, such as California Golden Bears and Florida Gators

Deadly Profession Mascots
Examples: Texas Tech Red Raiders, Xavier Musketeers

Not-So-Fearsome Animal Mascots
Examples: Boston University Terriers, Florida Atlantic Owls, Oregon Ducks
Too damned fluffy and cute to be intimidating

Religiously Conflicted Mascots
Examples: Wake Forest Demon Deacons, Duke Blue Devils

Copycat Nicknames
Examples: Georgia Bulldogs, Gonzaga Bulldogs, Arizona Wildcats, Kentucky Wildcats, Oklahoma State Cowboys, McNese State Cowboys

Four-Element Mascots
Examples: Illinois-Chicago Flames, Pepperdine Waves, Western Kentucky Hilltoppers
Beats the Western Kentucky Dirt, I suppose

Weather Mascots
Examples: Miami-Florida Hurricanes, Hawaii Rainbows

Vaguely Insulting Ethnic Stereotype Mascots
Examples: Notre Dame Fighting Irish, Mississippi Rebels
Drunken Micks and Unrepentant Confederates apparently were already taken

Mascots Named After Colors
Examples: Stanford Cardinal, Kent State Golden Flash

For those of you who had 6:33 p.m. in the "When Will Michaels Lose It?" pool, please collect your bets.

6:50 p.m.: Tim Brando waits until the waning moments of the game to tell us what a Saluki is. Goddamned copycat.

6:53 p.m.: Well, Bob Knight's Texas Tech team just lost to Southern Illinois. Somebody hide the furniture.

7:15 p.m.: Wisconsin, Southern Illinois, Cincinnati, and Mississippi State -- all winners, all selected by Phil. If that doesn't excuse a brief break for dinner, I don't know what does.

7:30 p.m.: Well, for a brief, giddy moment, it looked like Siena -- another one of those 16-seeds and the only team with a losing record to make the Final 64 this year -- might make Maryland sweat a bit. But then the Terps ran off eight straight points to take an 11-point lead, and suddenly this game has taken on the air of a motorcycle-gang stomping.

The dreams, they crumble quickly in March.

7:47 p.m.: Our games tonight are coming from the MCI Center in Washington, the American Airlines Center in Dallas, the United Center (as in United Airlines) in Chicago, and the Mellon Arena (as in Mellon Bank) in Pittsburgh.

I dunno. Arenas have to stay in business, too, I suppose, and if that means cutting a lucrative naming-rights deal with a local corporation, then so be it. I guess I just miss the innocent days of college basketball -- back when they played games in gymnasiums named after the alumni who wrote the largest checks.

7:51 p.m.: So there's this American Express commercial. It shows people running around, racking up thousands of dollars in credit card debt in many different exotic locales, while a Natalie Cole-sound-a-like croons the following ditty:

Got a song I like to sing
There's a bell I want to ring
I like to have this feeling
Everywhere I go

And what exactly that has to do with usury and crippling fees and the cold-hearted tight-fistedness you and I think of when we hear the words "American Express," I really can't tell you. But I can quote the song from memory, since I've seen this very ad no less than 500 times today.

I understand that it's important for advertisers to saturate the market with the their message. I realize that there's only a handful of people like me who have sat around and watched every minute of coverage since CBS signed on this morning. I realize that the three most important aspects of a good ad are repetition, repetition and brazen prevarication. But still -- you see that ad a couple of three or four or forty times and you're not thinking about dropping everything to make American Express your credit card provider. Instead, you're thinking of dropping everything to burn to a cinder every American Express card you can find -- even if you find it in someone else's wallet.

Not to pick on American Express -- a lot of advertisers have made this mistake today. I think I've probably seen that Blockbuster ad where the gerbil with the voice of Jim Belushi dances around the rabbit with the voice of James Woods about four times today.

8:06 p.m.: Let us now take a moment to pay tribute to the humble sideline reporter, that poor overworked sap who tracks down information on groin injuries and points out where the relatives of players are sitting in the arena. And, if they're lucky, the only thanks sideline reporters get is when the play-by-play announcer remembers to pronounce their name correctly.

The sideline reporter also must endure the most thankless of televised sports tasks: The Fleeting Interview with the Coach on His Way to the Locker Room. Personal styles, approaches, and training may differ, but the Fleeting Interview with the Coach on His Way to the Locker Room remains the same, whether it's conducted by Bonnie Bernstein or Solomon Wilcotts.

Sideline Reporter: Coach, it seemed your team came out tentative at the start of the game, but as the half wore on, you really seemed to settle into a grove.

Coach on His Way to the Locker Room: Yes, that's right. We just have to stick to our game plan and keep executing and minimize turnovers and we should stay in this basketball game.

Sideline Reporter: Good luck in the second half, Coach.

Of course, since the Coach is already on his way the locker room, he doesn't hear that last bit of advice. That doesn't bother the sideline reporters, though. They're just happy the Coach didn't hit them with a forearm shiver on his way off the court.

Just once, I'd like to see something different from the Fleeting Interview with the Coach on His Way to the Locker Room.

Sideline Reporter: Coach, it seemed your team played like a bunch of sick nuns like there. Are you guys taking mob money or what?

Coach on His Way to the Locker Room: Well, obviously I'm disappointed with the way the game has gone so far, and the minute I get back to the Locker Room, I'm going to thrash my players within an inch of their lives. I may even strip a couple of them of their scholarships right on the spot.

Sideline Reporter: Coach, I have money riding on you bums.

Coach on His Way to the Locker Room: Yes, well the NCAA advises against that. Haven't you seen the public service announcements?

Sideline Reporter: Try not to suck as much in the second half, loser.

Of course, the Sideline Reporter will never do that. He or she will keep his or her nose to the grindstone, reporting on those groin injuries, churning out those content-free interviews, and doing it all with a smile. Because they know if they play their cards right, one day they can find themselves in Billy Packer's color commentary shoes. And then the Sideline Reporter can tell everyone that everything they do they're doing wrong.

8:19 p.m.:: This eighth airing of the Pepsi commercial's got me thinking: when do you wager that Britney Spears ditches it all and poses nude? Me, I've got in a couple years after two of her next albums tanks. I drew either "Oui" or "Juggs" in the office pool, which are longshots, I admit, but I live in hope.

And yes, I've absolutely stopped caring about what I'm watching.

8:30 p.m.: Because, really, when you look at Shaq and realize that it appears as if he's eaten the Lakers' last two championship trophies, the last thing he needs to get his hands on is a Whopper.

8:42 p.m.: So UCLA's about to win by 22, Maryland has pushed its lead to 20, Texas is up by about 10, and while Murray State only trails Georgia by seven, I just can't work up the energy to care. Whoever said you can't have too much of a good thing never watched basketball for 12 consecutive hours.

So what did we learn today, kids?

* We learned that watching NCAA tournament action from a sports bar divided between drunken fans of rival teams is one of life's guilty pleasures.
* We learned that asking me to do anything involving unsupervised HTML coding is to invite disaster and ruin to sit down, kick up their feet and stay awhile.
* We learned that Billy Packer knows how to run a basketball team, produce a TV news magazine and edit a made-for-TV movie better than anyone.
* We learned that nothing -- not even a full house, jacks over tens -- beats a bacon-chicken chalupa. Except for maybe a heavy bat.
* We learned man may not be able to live on bread alone, but he certainly should not try and live by beer and pizza if he wants to stay regular.
* We learned that America loves underdogs. Except when they lose.
* We learned that a couple more Whoppers, and maybe Shaq becomes the stunt double for the Michelin Man.
* We learned that Baby Bob may prove that mankind has exhausted its capacity for creative endeavor.
* We learned that even if the USC band can't play more than two songs, you shouldn't tease them about it.
* We learned that the only thing worse than getting hit with a basketball in the family jewels is to get hit with a basketball in the family jewels on national TV.
* We learned that a Saluki is a hound and that nicknaming your team after colors is unspeakably lame.

But most importantly, we learned a lesson that each of us should hold dear in our heart: there is no way in hell I am doing this next year.