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Our editor-in-chief was indisposed and asked yours truly if I’d mind giving a non-Bronx cheer to the victors in our N-C-A-A tournament pool. Possessing a stiff upper lip I acquiesced, even though I don’t cotton much to laying odds since placing some dough on the ‘19 White Sox to win the Fall Classic (I still haven’t got my money back from Kid Gleason—lousy bum). Regardless of my feelings toward games-of-chance it is my understanding that several of our readerate were rather adept at picking the correct ponies in Naismith’s grand tournament and should be recognized for their accomplishments.

The Big Cheese

Every contest must have a victor, and leading nearly bell to bell was one “NYBroncosFan”, who tallied a healthy 144 points. Mr. BroncosFan picked 46 correct games out of 63 which makes me wonder if he had an inside man (an anarchist, no doubt). I won’t level cheating charges at any man (except the aforementioned Kid Gleason), but maybe this New York fellow should be picking stocks and not inconsequential games of brownball.

In second place, was a fellow named Travy. His bracket name, “Fumble Safety”, was an uncouth jibe—but he picked 40 correct contests and eked out 110 points (incidentally, the same number of points Cumberland surrendered to Heisman’s boys by half-time I rather think!). I’d say that makes him worthy of a cap-tip.

In third, a fella named Joel, whose "Funk Nasty Dunk" bracket earned him 109 points. If one can feel good about 3rd place, that's just swell...but the Francs came in 3rd in the great war and no one much remembered.

A sad display

I may be under their employ, but I won't sugar this plum—the staff did not do well enough to warrant much discussion, but since I have a character count to attain, I'll tell you how they fared. The top-finishing staffer was Drew Roberts, in 7th place (the "Hungary spot"). He picked 40 correct games out of the field but I'll eat my brown trilby if that's anything to pen one's mother about. Michael and Damien finished in second and third, respectively (11th and 18th overall if one cares to check) and if they can derive some pride in their standing at least they earned bragging rights over Casey, who finished in 22nd place—dead last (like Prussia). There's no telling how many jazz cigarettes Mr. Joplin smoked before filling out his pitiful bracket but the Japanese have a practice for dishonorable results such as this that I believe is called harakiri.