I’m not Irish in the least bit. I hate Notre Dame, I’m normally not all that fond of redheaded people, and even on St. Patrick’s Day I don’t claim to be “Irish for a day”, I claim to be “a drinker for another day out of the year”. But at some point I think everyone should go through a class that says when you do your second “Irish Car Bomb” of the night, you shouldn’t try it with a full pint of Guinness. (It’s in the “helpful hints” part of the class that includes, “know that with a standard rag, you have 4.3 seconds before your Molotov Cocktail becomes a series of flaming glass shards in your arm” and “please kiss the Blarney Stone, but not if Pamela Anderson or Magic Johnson is in front of you in line”.) For that, I’d like to thank whoever it was that spent the last half of last night smacking me in the eyeballs with a two by four.

On the bright side, the weather is awesome, and my NCAA bracket is reasonably intact, 18-6 on the one for the money, with only one of the losses making it past the second round anyway.