Friday, April 17, 2015

Geococcyx californianus

 We had a visitor yesterday.
It began by tapping on the glass panel of the back door last night.
TBG heard it on his midnight saunter to the 'fridge.
He ignored it.  
"Who wants to see what's out in the desert in the middle of the night?  It's dark and creepy."

I heard it the next afternoon. 
It was not a gentle sound.  
No, denizens, it was quite imperious.
TBG laughed, told me he'd heard the same thing the night before, and wondered what I thought it might be.  I looked up and saw a tail running across the deck.

A ROAD RUNNER!!!

 We share their habitat, but rarely encounter them.
I've seen two or three in the nine years I've been sitting at this desk, watching the fauna go by.
This afternoon made up for all my yearning. 
This one was here for a serious visit.

I followed it to the kitchen windows, where I thought to take this video:
no sound - safe to play at work
It's 57 seconds of progressively less jumpy images,
and yes, that is a lizard in its beak.

The more I looked at it, the creepier it became.
It's prehistoric.
It's sharp and pointy.
Those feet are menacing.
Here, look at it closer, still:
The crest blew in the wind.
It nimbly skipped onto the pony wall when it grew tired of being the subject of my photos.
I chose not to follow it outside.
I seem to prefer my wildlife with a protective shield between us.

Thursday, April 16, 2015

C'mon, AARP

TBG and I laughed when the AARP spam began arriving in our mailboxes.  We were in our 40's; AARP membership seemed like a cruel joke played on us by rapacious lobbyists, seeking greater numbers and financial backing.

Then, he came closer to turning 65.  He began to examine his insurance options.  He was beyond confused.  I refused to help him; I am younger and didn't want to be bothered.  Yes, my social work background might have prepared me to analyze the situation, but what it mostly prepared me for was being on hold.  Large bureaucracies are not user friendly.  Their policies change mercurially and with no apparent rhyme or reason.  When my turn comes, I'll pay attention.  This time, it was on him.

The information he received gave him a 3 month window.  He applied before his birthday.  His Medicare card came 45 days after his birthday.  Finding a human at the other end of the Medicare Hot Line was a challenge, but it was his challenge. I watched from the couch, and I smiled.  Welcome to my world, sweetie.  He was uninsured for that overlap period.  It was scary.

He needed supplemental plans, as well, and for that we had a stack of advertising materials that was nearly two feet tall.  It accumulated until it began to topple.  It turned into two piles. He finally tackled it, scratched his head, felt overwhelmed, asked Fast Eddie what he'd done when he applied, and ended up in the office of an advisor.

She asked for no money; there must have been a piece of the policy he chose which returned to her. No one would spend her days immersed in these things for free.  She recommended Humana, through AARP.

Yes, we would have to join.  We did.  We didn't get a free backpack or water bottle.  We did get a subscription to a paper magazine, which will create more recycling.  We got large white envelopes with fat books of regulations and caveats and What We Cover and, more important, What We Don't Cover.

There were no forms on perforated sheets at the back of the book.

After a visit to a San Francisco orthopedist who does not contract with insurers, it was on us to file for reimbursement.  The absence of those forms was a problem.

Coincidentally, AARP/Humana called to speak to him.  I answered the phone; she wouldn't talk to me.  I took her number, he called her back, she informed him that there was a website which would answer all his questions.  He asked for my assistance in connecting.

Assuming that it would be simple, since it's designed for a demographic which did not grow up with the technology, I logged on in a ten minute window of opportunity before I had to leave the house.

BIG MISTAKE.

I chose a username for him.  All sorts of red type appeared.  I read it.  I had the requisite number of letters and numbers, I didn't use any odd characters, I was compliant.  Still, the site would not accept my input.  Swallowing deeply, taking a very big calming breath, I dialed the Help Line.

I listened to two long advertisements in which I had no interest before the Press One for... options began.  I entered the identifying information the robo-voice required, was connected to a representative, repeated that information once again, and was told that I was not an authorized adjunct to TBG's account.

I explained that I didn't want any information.  I just wanted to sign him up... because what I really wanted was a claims form.  It didn't matter.  They will send the required paperwork in 7-10 days.  I'm not holding my breath.

I hung up and tried the website again.  Continued frustration sent me to the tech desk...  I thought.  Turns out I had to go throught he entire commercials, identification, Press One for... rigmarole all over again.  I found Randall, who assured me that he didn't write the code.  I went over what I'd entered, and he suggested that I include a capital letter.

No where in the instructions is capitalization mentioned.

I capitalized all the letters, and failed once again.

Randall said there had to be at least one upper case and one lower case letter in the username.  Again, there was no mention of this on the website.  He had no explanation for that.  He suggested that I use TBG's email address as his username.  I try not to do this, for security purposes, but by this time I was willing to do anything so that I could leave the house and go to the gym.

The email, insecure as it is, went through.  He was signed up on the MyAARPMedicarePlans site.

I opened the site, expecting to find a link to FORMS somewhere near the toolbar at the top of the page.  No such luck.  I opened Get Forms and Resources and found ways to put myself in his personal life, by getting information about his bills and claims, found a form for ETF payments of his monthly bills, but found nothing about submitting a claim.

I went through Plan and Benefits and Forms and Resources and Claims and then I found Order Materials.  At the very end of that last link was a button labeled Claims Envelope.  I clicked it, the site updated, and it told me that the materials would be mailed in 7-10 days.

All I wanted was a form I could print on my computer.  I want to file the claim.  I want to be reimbursed for the out of network doctor visit.  I don't want to identify myself over and over again.  I don't want to wait for snail mail to deliver an envelope.

And then there's that envelope..... will it come with instructions?  Will it include a form?  It says envelope.  I can't get an answer from AARP because I am not authorized.  This isn't a personal question; it's a process issue.  It's the kind of question a social worker would normally ask a provider. It's the kind of question that should have a very simple answer.

Were I a calmer person, I'd continue to deal with this.  Since I am not, I've tossed it back to TBG.  He's willing to wait for the papers to arrive, and I'm happy to have shifted this issue over to his side of the desk. But the aggravation persists.  I imagine Daddoooooo or G'ma dealing with this.  I imagine someone with limited English or competency dealing with this.  I wonder why a website for older adults is so difficult to navigate.

I'm wondering if I should have stuck to my guns and never joined AARP.

Wednesday, April 15, 2015

The Exploratorium


I love that.
I love the simplicity and the complexity.
I love the questions.
I love laughing while I'm wondering.

The fact that Feynman was in a math class at City College with Daddooooo 
(or so the story goes...) 
and scored 100% on an exam the rest of the class failed, thus ruining the curve, 
only adds to the joy.

That's kind of the point of The Exploratorium.  
Artess is delighted that we enjoyed ourselves; 
she's been involved with the place since our kids were teeny.  
The fact that my boys were enjoying themselves even as adults
was exactly what the creators of this new, wonderful, waterfront space had in mind.

There's something for everyone inside the repurposed piers.  
There's art from cutlery
(yes, those are spoons) 
on the walls as you wait to purchase tickets.
Or, if you have a connected young adult in your midst, you can buy the tickets over your phone.
It was funny watching his expression change as I reminded him that two of us were seniors.
"I keep forgetting that you're old," was what he said.
I think that's a good thing.

The exhibits are interactive.
Big Cuter smoothed then spiraled the sand in a very satisfying way.
The girl on the other dial was using a flatter edge, but was equally mesmerized.

The exhibits challenge your perceptions and explain the world in exuberant ways.
We stood in front of this contraption for quite some time
It doesn't seem possible, does it?
The explanation comes when you press the red STOP button.
It's welded together.
Brother, if you are reading this please consider creating one for me.  
You are the best tinkerer I know.
In fact,there's a tinkering lab which looked like a fabulous place to while away a cloudy afternoon. 

Many of the old favorites still exist.
The line to try the gyro-chair was filled with giggling 4th graders; the apron clad docent would dissect a cow's eye on Wednesday; the pendulum-cum-spirograph would be available at noon. 

I was glad to see that FlapJilly will get to enjoy some of the same things her Mommy did when she was a little girl. 

As we sat in the world's most comfortable rocking chairs, I allowed that fantasy to wash over me. That's another thing which hasn't changed about The Exploratorium - the many comfortable resting places for grown-ups who are watching little ones learn.

It's a very thoughtful space.
It's an expensive place, too.... 
but we felt as if we'd gotten our money's worth within the first 15 minutes.  
It's not often that I can type that.

Tuesday, April 14, 2015

San Francisco Sunshine

After the long weekend we spent in San Francisco, Tucson feels very small.
*****
Doesn't this look like a bank?
Our banks are in the corners of parking lots, 
and there's no way to distinguish them from the drive-thru taco shops except for the signs.
Those pillars are bank-like.
*****
I met up with Miss Nancy at The Ferry Building.
Sharon McCone always comes to mind when I'm walking in that neighborhood;
Marcia Muller's detective always seems to be walking out of her office at the end of the pier.
*****
Now, it's a much trendier space than that occupied by McCone Investigations, Inc.  
I waited in front of this sign.
Inside, there were Pig Parts and Slow Fast Food and Creamery Girl cheeses.  
There were oysters and crabs, coffee roasteries and bakeries.
Some of it was do it yourself.
*****
There was more, much much more, denizens, but traveling has left me exhausted and in need of some time alone with my roses. 

So, I will leave you with this quote from an exhibit at The Exploratorium
and its proof:
hat and onesie courtesy of MOTG and Gr'mu

Monday, April 13, 2015

Hillary for President?

It's official.  She's running.

The campaign office is open, the bumper stickers are on sale, the promises and position papers and invitations to meet-and-greets and fundraisers will begin to flood the mailbox and the inbox and the airwaves.

There will be a familiar female face on everything - and that certainly will be different.

FlapJilly will never know that a woman cannot run for President, as I knew it when I was a child. When my grandpa told me that I would grow up to be President, I laughed at him.  "I'm poor, I'm Jewish, and I'm female," I said.  "Those are three permanent strikes against me."

Not so much, any more, it seems.  At least as far as gender is concerned.

Girls who grew up with all the accessibility Title IX provided have no frame of reference for the magnitude of this announcement.  They were never faced with the closed doors their mothers bumped into whenever a promotion or an opportunity arose.

Little Cuter begged me to "stop with the Title IX already" as we sat in the Rose Bowl, watching the 1999 Women's World Cup. The women sitting around us shared my smile.  We knew that those girls on the field had benefited from chances unavailable to us.  It was a beautiful moment in time.  I felt as if I were participating in a seismic shift in the universe.

And now Mrs. Clinton is seeking the Presidency.  Her husband is absent from the video clips I've seen.  Her time in the White House as First Lady is a footnote to her tenure as Secretary of State and Senator from New York.  Just typing those jobs gives me goose bumps.  If there were female governors when I was growing up they were unknown to me; a cabinet position beyond Health, Education and Welfare was unthinkable.  HEW was women's work; diplomacy and statecraft belonged to the men.

I am trying to stay away from comparing Hillary to Claire Underwood.  Mrs. Clinton was not a Dallas debutante, and her failure to reinvent health care in America can hardly be considered completely her own fault.  Everyone talks about her clothes, even if the comments are more likely to be nastier than the compliments Claire's couture conjures up.

The fact that I'm talking about her clothes at all is a reminder that change is gradual, and that not all the pieces have fallen into place.  So, I will move on to what I think is the major issue plaguing Mrs. Clinton's candidacy - her character.

She hitched her wagon to a rising star, at a time when women were just beginning to make major headway in the political arena. I can't fault her for that.  Nor can I judge her decision to remain married to a philanderer.  I saw her, with Chelsea, at a rally in Tucson, and the love between them was palpable.  One of the attendees in the front row fainted, and Mrs. Clinton refused to continue her speech until the woman was cared for.  She bent down, kneeling at the edge of the stage, until she was certain everything was all right.  I have no doubt that she is a good person, in the way that good mothers and friends are good people.

But, there's a larger piece that must be considered, because she's not campaigning to become my best friend or my babysitter.  I have to look at her character when the issues are beyond caretaking and loving.  What has her track record been when politics is involved?   When I look through that lens, I'm less enthusiastic.

How did the envelope land on a table in the Open To Visitors' section of the White House? Travelgate seems like pique gone wild.

Her huge profit on Frank Perdue's chickens has no reasonable explanation.  TBG was in the business at the time; without inside information, he says, no one could have expected that kind of return.

The rumors about her relationship with Vincent Foster never gained much traction with me; without a note, how can anyone presume to understand the demons behind suicide.  Secret boxes in White House closets don't do much for me, either. The stories are there, but I'm unconvinced.  Having been in the public eye, having seen untruths reported as verified facts, I'm skeptical without more data.

I'm not touching Benghazi, either.  Had the Republican dominated Congress authorized the funding, there might have been more guards surrounding the Ambassador, who chose to go there despite warnings about his safety.  After nearly twenty hearings on Capitol Hill, I've heard nothing to make me believe that she is culpable.

But I don't trust her.  I don't think she has a strong moral compass.  I think she is Hillary-centric, and that scares me.

On the other hand, Rand Paul and Ted Cruz and Jeb Bush and Marco Rubio frighten me even more. And, as usual, they are all men.

Is voting for a candidate based on gender pandering to an agenda?  For sure.  It's an agenda of inclusion, of possibilities for FlapJilly and Little Cuter and all the other little girls growing up with grandpas who think they can rise to occupy the highest office in the land.

I'm sorry, Grandpa.  Maybe you were right.

Friday, April 10, 2015

San Francisco

TBG and I flew to the Left Coast this morning. Our plans include his visit to the orthopedist who repaired his knee two decades ago, a visit during which I spent a lovely couple of hours talking with Bunionella.
 
The clinic is in The Marina, right on the shore of San Francisco Bay. It's also across the street from a Safeway. The combination of take away foodstuffs and a bench in the shade was irresistible; we grabbed lunch and ate by the sea.
 
I'm starved for water it seems. I couldn't stop watching it sloshing against the moored yachts. I wish I had taken a photograph. I was too busy being in the moment.
 
I did take these as we tried to find a garbage can for our lunch trash.
 
I noticed the punching bag first. With the breeze and the sea air and the sunshine it seems like a perfect location....except that it's right on the main drag. Privacy must not be important.
 
TBG waxed eloquent over this boxwood hedge.
 He loves the clean, geometric lines of a formal garden. Unfortunately for him, he's married to a free form gardener.  There's not much rigid symmetry in my cultivating scheme.
 
As if we needed a reminder of why we love this city, we stumbled upon this workout center amidst the grass of Marina Green.
There were two women using the bumps and the steps and doing crunches and other floor exercises on the soft cushioned surface. We bounced as we walked over to the mounted equipment,
which came with instructions.
Had we been wearing the appropriate suite we'd have joined right in.
 
There will be eating and sightseeing and more eating and there will be much hugging of our eldest child. Come back on Monday for some more of our adventures.

Thursday, April 9, 2015

The Mirror Lab

Image result for very large array
Very Large Arraymreclipse.com
Did you ever wonder how and where the extremely large mirrors used in telescopes, like these in the Very Large Array in New Mexico, are made?  How about the ones for the Giant Magellan Telescope, coming soon to the Chilean Andes?  How do they move them?  Aren't they worried about breakage?

I had all those questions and more before I toured the UofA's Steward Observatory's Mirror Lab. Free thirty minute tours were offered to those lucky enough to secure tickets at the Festival of Books; I received the very last one available.... at 9:30 in the morning for a Festival which didn't open until 10.
This was a hot commodity, and I was thrilled to be able to join the party.

High in the sky so that ambient (man-made) light is not a factor, in an area with little to no rain or geologic disturbances.... or people, for that matter, the world's largest telescope will be created by linking seven ginormous mirrors which will collect images at 10x the resolution of the Hubble Telescope.

This is the model.
Three of the mirrors have already been cast.
They are working on the rest.
It's not a simple process.
Those parabolas are 27' in diameter.

They melt glass 
by loading it into a honeycomb mold
the sections of which are secured beneath those silver fastenings and covered with the foam.
It takes almost three weeks for the furnace on which it sits to reach the peak temperature of 1165 C (2129 F).  The glass spins and melts and then spins some more and cools.

It's lifted by a very cool machine which is fixed to the mirror itself by very strong silicone rubber sealant
The mirror is tilted and placed in the turning ring and then sent to the Large Polishing Machine.
You couldn't make this stuff up.
I guess the creativity goes into the engineering and not the naming.

The mirror sits in that white tray and is polished with two diamond polishers which lap one another, creating the offaxis optical surface with an accuracy of about 10 ┬Ám rms.(http://www.gmto.org/Resources/GMT_5494-8.pdf)

That's very very exact.  Because there will be seven mirrors in need of synchronization,  the slightest variation between the Mirror Lab's creations will cause massive distortions.  
It's a gigantic project of infinitely small details.
Where is it happening?  
Underneath the football stadium at the University of Arizona.
How do they move it from Tucson to the Las Campanas Observatory in Chile?
Specially designed trucks back up to the Observatory in the middle of the night.
Once they are loaded, the mirrors are accompanied by a brigade of flashing lights as the highway is closed down.  The thing is too big for just one lane, or two lanes.  It can't be jostled or bumped or caught in a multi-car collision.  So, they close the road.
The mirror is loaded onto a ship, floated to Chile, and put on another truck to travel to the Atacama Desert.

And it all starts here, in my home town.


Wednesday, April 8, 2015

Are You Who We Think You Are?

Can you recognize celebrities if you pass them on the street?

TBG and I were finishing lunch at Sauce in Casas Adobes Plaza this afternoon, when he wondered if I could come up with the name of that awful blonde woman on television.  Considering the enormous amount of television viewing which happens under our roof, there was a wide universe from which to choose.

Nevertheless, I knew the name without hesitation.

Ann Coulter?

(There are times when sharing alumna status is somewhat revolting.)

He nodded and told me that she was standing in line, waiting to order.

Casually, oh,so very casually, I stood up, readjusted my sweater, grabbed our half-full drinks, and sauntered to the refill station... all the while, surreptitiously, covertly, slyly, sneaking glances toward the line.

Without judging, merely noticing characteristics so that I might match her to a remembered image... and then I remembered the interwebs.
(Yes, young humans, the fact of immediately available answers to your questions is not intuitively obvious to those of us who grew up with three channels and a test pattern.)
I dispensed ice and iced tea as fast as the machinery allowed, sat down and unlocked my phone.

Of course! he said, and then we both examined the image on the screen.  He didn't have to turn around in order to stare and compare. Facing him across the table, I had to wait until the live person walked through the doorway to my left.  She did.  I gaped.  He noticed a tattoo on her right forearm. I evaluated her haircut. We compared our analyses to the image on the cell phone one last time, and then we finished our lunch.

I remember being the object of that kind of attention.  No matter how hard they tried, those who thought they recognized me did the same kind of quasi-subtle-not-paying-attention-but-looking-too-often dance TBG and I were performing right then and there.  When I was on the receiving end, I did what the object of our attentions did this afternoon; I ignored it entirely.

She's a public personality, one whose livelihood depends on attracting the attention of an audience, but does that mean that she has to be on on a Tuesday in Tucson?  I, too, was a public personality, and people showered me with love instead of ratings, but there were times when all I wanted to do was buy a melon and go home.

Sometimes the attention, or the studied lack of attention, is more intrusive than anything else.

On the other hand, had I admired her work, I probably would have smiled and, if she smiled back, I'd have told her how wonderful I think she is.  Interrupting her and insulting her seemed like too much, even for me.

I smiled at myself, and moved on.  I'd played all the roles I'd imagined in those who sought to hug or admire or pray for me on countless Tucson afternoons.  I was not focused on anyone's interests but my own, although I was aware of that fact as I continued to invade her privacy..... if only with my eyes.

In my defense, if I need one for looking at a woman just a bit younger than I am across a crowded restaurant and taking no action other than craning my neck, I was never angry with those who invaded my personal space with their eyes or with their arms.  I understood the need to get close.  I knew that the hugs were as much for themselves as they were for me.

Jesus, my man with the mop while I was hospitalized, brushed my head every time he passed by, whispering  "You are luck." Not that I was lucky, but that I embodied luck itself.

I was happy to share that which he saw, even if it was eluding me right then.

In the same way, I hope that maybe-she's-Ann-Coulter understands that I was only trying to add to my life list of famous people. Yes, I have one, just as birders have theirs.  I've never hidden the fact that I love love love the times I've been up close and personal with people you'd recognize.  Buying art supplies with Jerry Garcia is right up there at the top (along with the Obamas' visit, of course, but I had to get shot for that to happen) and the memory makes me smile every time I think of it.

Now.... does anyone know if Ann Coulter has a tat on her arm?


Tuesday, April 7, 2015

Following the Rules

Are you watching The Last Man on Earth? It airs on Fox on Sunday nights and it's absolutely delightful.  I've just deleted three sentences because they were filled with spoilers.  You can find it On Demand, and in reruns; be sure to start at the beginning when you binge watch the season.

It's more than comedy, though.  It raises real questions about the rules.

Do you stop at stop signs if there are no other humans around?

Do you drive on the wrong side of the divided interstate, just because you can?

Are the formalized institutions of civilization anachronistic or that which holds us together?  Does marriage matter?

The characters come to grips with these issues, as they learn to dispose of sewage and create meals reminiscent of those containing meat.  Raisins, it turns out, are a poor substitute.

House of Cards bumps up against the rules, too.  The consequences are a bit more glaring; murder, scandal, disgrace, divorce follow in Francis J. Underwood's wake.  The moral issues play out in the faces of the secondary characters.  Frank can't seem to imagine a world where he is bound by convention, where his behavior is limited by rules.

I'm beginning to think about these issues as the Arizona legislature adjourns.  Among the disasters wrought during their time in Phoenix, is a rule mandating that physicians inform women that the abortifacient drugs administered to terminate a pregnancy can be reversed.

Whether that is true or not is one of those science vs belief arguments which make my head spin. The larger issue of smaller government except when it involves a uterus makes me wonder if Arizona's doctors need to take a page from Will Forte and start ignoring the rules.  Whether no one is there or the rules were created by idiots doesn't seem to matter to me, as my indignation begins to split my brain.

This came from the same legislature which rejected my Representative's attempt to create a helmet law for motorcycles.  "I'll wear one if I want to, not because you tell me I must," was one colleague's response to my physician/legislator's bill.  The fact that Rep Friese is an ER doctor who sees the results of brains meeting concrete on a regular basis was meaningless.  I just hope that fool has health insurance; I'm not looking forward to my tax dollars paying for his long term disability.

But what really set me off on this rant is the bill which allows traffic cops to cite me for wasting a scarce resource and fine me $15 and not report the violation to my insurance company if I am going 10 or fewer miles an hour over the speed limit.  Voted down was the amendment to add an asterisk to all speed limit signs in the state.

So, denizens, I ask you: am I breaking a rule if I travel 55 miles an hour on the posted 45 mph roads leading up to my street?

It's enough to make a girl cry.

Monday, April 6, 2015

Random Thoughts on March Madness 2015

I apologize denizens. I have been remiss.  For those of you who rely on The Burrow for water cooler chatter on sports, I have let you down.  We traveled and I was ill and Arizona lost and it just never seemed to happen, did it?  I apologize, again and again.

But, reading this (as the 20 or so of you who do so) on the day it's posted, you have time to make your feelings known.  You can participate, with little or no memorization required.

Start out with "My bracket was busted two rounds ago."  Everyone else will nod in understanding. After the round of 64* there was only one perfect bracket out of the 11.6 million or so entered on espn.com.  You don't have to reveal that you picked Iowa State to go to the Final Four (as did someone I love)... you don't have to reveal anything at all.  Just look stricken and shake your head.

I've been doing it for two weeks now.
*****
*64 was the number of teams in the tournament when I began paying attention, in the late 1970's. In the last few years, there have been play-in games. The winner of these contests between teams on the bubble (almost but not quite qualified...maybe) was granted admission to the round of 64... what used to be called The First Round.... as the lowest seed, a 16. 

This year, a play-in team went in as an 11 seed... and continued to play quite well. Are you confused already? If that's too much, hang on to this: They may call it the Round of 64 or The Second Round, but I still think of it as The First Round.

You'll demonstrate historical knowledge and your sports chops at the same time.
*****
Everyone, from pundits to players, thought that Kentucky would be in the final game.  They were undefeated.  They had 9 McDonalds All Americans on their team.  They are, collectively, taller than any NBA team.  Players eschewed the draft last year to come back and win a national championship. John Calipari, their coach, was just elected to the NBA Hall of Fame

Unfortunately for Ashley Judd and the rest of the fans from the bluegrass state, Wisconsin whipped their butts the same way they punished Arizona.  Th Badgersy don't make a lot of mistakes.  They shoot well. They box out and play tenacious defense and, did I mention that they shoot well?

"They shot 78.9% against Arizona in the second half ," will garner sage nods; the Badgers made more than 3/4 of the baskets they attempted.last week in the Elite 8 (another nickname I despise). As a Wildcats fan, I was cringing.  As an admirer of the game, it was amazing.
*****
Some final thoughts:

The Duke Blue Devils are once again in the final game.  Coach K has been there, done that.

Wisconsin has never won a national championship.  Their coach just missed election to the Hall of Fame.

There will be good coaching and precise execution.

It will be basketball as it should be: a North Carolina team versus the Big 10.

Of course, the Big 10, the nation's oldest Dvision 1 conference in the United States, now has 14 member schools. That's another water cooler tidbit that is sure to evoke smiles, and can be used when all else fails.

A little bit of snark goes a long way sometimes.


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