While my pro football pool performance this past fall was a winner, my pro basketball fantasy team was a disaster. The badness started as soon as the computer produced my team in the draft. I got Dwight Howard, which was a godsend, but the rest of the squad was pretty weak. Corey Magette of Golden State got hurt. Then they traded Allen Iverson from Denver to Detroit, where he pretty much disappeared before hurting his back, being relegated to benchwarmer status, and effectively leaving the building. Around mid-season, I made a few gambles on injured guys that came back strong -- Richard Jefferson, Jermaine O'Neal, Hedo Turkoglu, and Zydrunas Ilgauskas among them -- and for a while lately, I've looked as though I might actually squeak into the league "playoffs," which start over spring break.

Ah, but no. One of my late-acquired stars is Zach Randolph, the former Jailblazer who recently sat out 2½ games for punching a Euro pretty-boy. Then Zach's father took ill, which led to one of his patented bereavement deals. I don't know if he went to the strip club on his way out of town again, but he managed to miss two games for the bedside farewell and another two (and counting) for the funeral. Though perfectly healthy, he's missed half his games over the last month. All those zeroes don't matter much in the real world -- his team is hopeless, and they'd probably just as soon not have him, his bong, and his gun around at any given moment. But alas, my chances at a payoff are now worthy of bereavement as well.

Perhaps somebody up there is trying to tell me something. Right around the time that the calls are coming in for entry fees in the guessing game known as the NCAA Tournament, I'm realizing that there are too many players whose hoops savvy and luck outweigh mine. My dough might better be spent on Powerball.