If you’re like me, the NCAA Men’s Basketball Tournament is an intractable demon. Getting a handle on a field of 68 that changes every year, with teams that cycle through players at least every four, is a bit like trying to build a sandcastle with a colander.
The NCAA men’s basketball selection committee sorted the field for us on Sunday, but for casual fans or fans whose programs didn’t make it in this year, it’s tough to figure out what group of unpaid workers led by a millionaire several times over is worth giving your support. I am not the person to solve that quandary. I am far too pretty to pay much attention to March Madness (unless it’s Natalie Weiner and Marisa Ingemi covering Women’s March Madness for the New York Times, because they rock) outside of editing work on this website. Instead, I have devised an alternative system of evaluation to guide our way through the men’s tournament.
My system is simple: I look at a coach and instantly know whether they fuck. I’m not here to tell you what to do with this information, only to tell you that it is 100-percent accurate and the ability to divine it is a gift I received from an unknowable higher power. The specifics of my perception are janky at the edges, but I can give you a rough overview right now.
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This is CU Boulder men’s basketball coach Tad Boyle.
Boyle worked as a commodities trader for eight years before one day in 1994, on his way to work, a driver ran a red light and plowed into his car. The front of Boyle’s own vehicle was crushed, and he woke up in the hospital with no memory of what happened. Remove the airbag from the story, and Tad Boyle probably dies that day. When he realized how close he came to meeting his end, he decided to leave his six-figure job behind and chase his dream of being a basketball coach.
Tad Boyle fucks. One does not tread so close to the edge of the mortal realm to live a life devoid of passion, occupational or otherwise.
Now here, we have Drexel University men’s basketball coach Zach Spiker.
His name is Zach Spiker. He does not fuck. Sorry Zach, thanks for playing.
This system is, by its nature, flawless and pristine unless it becomes the basis of a libel suit, in which case it’s some dumb shit I made up to pass a Monday night. But these next few weeks will see a lot of rich guys earn big raises on the backs of unpaid laborers. So I think it’s only fair we have a little bit of fun with them.
Anyways, here’s some NCAA Men’s Basketball Tournament head coaches, and whether or not they fuck.
Bob Huggins: West Virginia
Bob Huggins is a tricky case at first glance. The gray-Morrie-Kessler-in-a-polo look he’s settled into does at first seem to suggest that we are dealing with a man who fucks. But Bob Huggins has a podcast named after him that he routinely appears on.
Bob Huggins does not fuck. Nobody who podcasts has ever had sex.
Joe Golding: Abilene Christian
I need nothing more than a quick glance at his headshot to prove to you that Joe Golding fucks.
Look at this man. This man fucks. He fucks so much it’s like breathing for him. This man oozes fuck. You can see it in his soft eyes, his gently arching eyebrows, thickened with the gristle of testosterone. It’s that messy, sex-god bowl cut that really lets you know; the bedraggled asymmetry of a man who is simply too busy dragging his program up from Divsion II mediocrity (and fucking) to get in a proper trip to the barber.
Joe Golding fucks. And if you ever doubt it, he’ll fuck you too.
Greg McDermott: Creighton
Greg McDermott most assuredly does not fuck. I know it seems like he does fuck, but don’t let any evidence to the contrary stray you from the truth. Nobody who makes a million dollars a year telling his unpaid players to “stay on the plantation” has ever had any type of romantic contact.
This is a man who has not even been kissed on the cheek. Doug McDermott is a psyop.
Patrick Ewing: Georgetown
New York Knicks legend Patrick Ewing does not deserve the indignity of having his sex life debated in this blog. This is a man who should have been coaching an NBA team ages ago. He did not claw his way to glory in college and the pros through years of racist abuse for me to sit here and give him any sort of disrespect. Ewing deserves nothing but praise for how he’s turned the Hoyas around.
And for the record, Patrick Ewing does not fuck, he makes love.