The morning I was to sit down and knock out my picks, after consuming reams of AI compiled data (From Buck’s Dollar Discount Data Mart not Watson), I got a visit from the emissary of my landlord, who is some rich dude named John Beresford Tipton.
I had to move immediately due to some hazmat situation. They’d found me some space in another property of theirs, Nakatomi Plaza. All well and good, except that on the day in question, there was no internet connection. So I had to write out my picks in longhand, and fax them into my editors, who transposed them.
Alas, given all that it’s not misunderstandable that I only predicted one title game correctly — Texas in the Big 12. Meanwhile the Quack, Bulldogs, Runnin’ Rebels and Cardinals all fell.
1-4, meaning I ended the regular season 48 right, 29 wrong.
Not bad, despite the woeful finish.
So, here I sit trying to work in my new digs on, yes, Christmas Eve. I obviously have no other life than to entertain and illuminate my loyal readership.
Earlier this evening, from the floor above, I could hear the cacophony of Zentonic Corp’s party. Since this guy Clay Vanstone invited me when we shared an elevator, I checked it out, for a few minutes anyway. I’m no longer a drinker, but was bemused at the sight of couples slinking into offices, closing doors and locking them, as secretaries slide down stairway bannisters with champagne flutes in their hands.
I took my leave.
Back at my desk, I heard what sounded like shattering window glass from several floors above. Then disturbing sounds, which resonated more like gunshots than corks. Something is going on. I can hear sirens, and see lots of police cars gathering outside.
So, before ill befalls me, I’m going to finish these picks.
My Christmas gift to you: Winners: Continue reading Seedy K’s Peerless Pigskin Prognostications: Fun is Bowling