Ugh...this joke writes itself. The job of late night comedy writer just got a bit easier for at least a week. Just sad.

Slow your roll, Maurice. That's right, the courts did the right thing, in my ignorant opinion. As much as I am a mark for Clarett (being a Harding alum and all), I still think his career, and that of every other player who would try to get into the league under this ruling, will be better off in the long run. I just hope he can get his college eligibility back.

In other "news," I'm going to Salt Lake City this week to visit my good friends, Mr. and Mrs. C. It should be fun. The last time I saw both of them together was almost five years ago, when they had only one dog and one kid (who at that time was just a day old). I saw Mrs. C a month later at the wedding of Mr. and Mrs. M, whom I will be seeing (among others) on my trip to Chicago in June. (FYI to those which the following is applicable: rooms without ridiculous daily rates are impossible to find for those dates, so I will likely be seeking assistance on the housing end. I have one more connection to try to get me the hookup; otherwise, expect some requests.)

The weekend that was: home for mom's birthday on Friday night (this trip also included an "inspiring" trip to Annapolis on Saturday afternoon), drunkenness at the Black Cat on Saturday night, and nothing of consequence on a beautiful, lazy Sunday. (Well, except for Backlash, which featured two must-see matches for you marks who missed it: Cactus Jack vs. Randy Orton was tremendous for its brutality, and the booking and execution of the main event made it another match of the year candidate for Triple H, Shawn Michaels, and Chris Benoit. That's two PPVs in a row now.) Here's something useful to all you aspiring alcoholics out there: black cherry soda and Vanilla Stoli, like Ben Affleck in Phantoms, is the bomb, yo.

There is nothing else to report.