FITS never misses an ACC Tournament, so last Thursday he buzzed on
down to the Queen City in plenty of time to have breakfast at one of those good
old Carolina style breakfast places. After a tasty bowl of fried rice
krispies, some deep fried french toast, a few ham biskits and a stack of
heart-healthy sausage globules, your bug-with-ballast managed to achieve just
enough altitude to enter the Charlotte Coliseum unnoticed.
FITS congratulates all teams and attendees for coming well prepared,
especially North Carolina's tall talented Tarheels, who came equipped with their
very own bereavement counselor, Dr. Splat, just in case things didn't go well.Â
Which they didn't. And so on a sunny Friday afternoon, with temperatures
nudging towards the 80 degree mark, FITS found himself on the ceiling of
the UNC locker room as Dr. Splat began the arduous task of dealing with a team's
grief.
"No way we lose in the first round, no way!" shouted one particularly
agitated hoopster. "We're a third place team!" (editor's note: playing
in a fourth place game)
"Ah," replied the scholarly Dr. Splat. "You're in denial.
That's the first stage of grief, you see."
Some confusion ensued as two particularly long and immobile players insisted
that denial was a river in Egypt, but Dr. Splat stuck with the script, and in no
time he had half the team punting lockers and elbowing cheerleaders.
"Great, now you're angry, and that's the second stage of grief,"
pronounced the bearded bard of psychiatric sycophancy, and before you could
spell Roy Williams, the team was a whimpering mountain of pastel blue.
"Aha", cried Dr. Splat. Now you're so very nicely in the third
stage of grief: resignation!"
"Resignation?" croaked a heretofore slumbering figure, softly holding
a bag of popcorn and a cup of ice in his hands. "If you
insist..." and with that he quickly scrawled a quick note on the
popcorn bag, before return to his hard earned sleep.
And as soon as he finished the note, a veritable sea of light blue clad Polident
warriors broke into a rousing Ram's Club favorite tune from the days when
Chester A. Arthur was president, snatched the note from the ancient figure's
hands, and carried him out into the darkness.
"Acceptance, the final stage!" cried the elated Dr. Splat.Â
"You guys may move like glaciers on the court, but I've never seen anyone
get through the stages of grief faster than you!"
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