Good morning to all. Some weird sports notes in the last 24 hours.

First, there’s the story of Princeton setting the all time mark for college hoops futility with a 21-point output last night. Records of futility are great. Much better than win streaks or the like. Wouldn’t you rather see my performance evaluations from my supervisor than read Google’s 4th quarter earnings report? I hope so. Because . . . lucky you . . . we are up for our yearly evaluations next week. I promise to share the damage with you. Should be fun times all around. But I digress . . .

While Princeton’s score is notable, the final score of the game was the most depressing. Monmouth 41, Princeton 21. Congrats, guys. You have just played the least entertaining athletic contest in the history of sports. Wow.

Next, the Donovan McNabb/President of the NAACP tiff is a weird one. I look at this and am not outraged. I am amused. This is what the NAACP has come to? I bet Martin Luther King, Jr. would be proud. Really. Where’s Fred Shuttlesworth when you need him. “Hey, NAACP, don’t you worry about the widening gap between the haves and the have-nots. You just stay busy with Donovan. Power to the people!” What a joke.

So I want to get on with some comments about TO and A-Rod, but if I don’t vent I will explode. Every morning when I walk into my “office,” if by office you mean low ceilinged room with plain gray walls and a dozen cubicles crammed in, I have to walk past The Linewomen. Let me explain.

The Linewomen are the twin-sisters who make-up our Accounting Division. Lest you think it inappropriate that two people could be called a division, let me describe these two beauties. Think big. I mean, real big. I endearingly refer to them as Gilbert Brown and The Fridge. (Or I would if there were anyone else in my office that knew anything about organized athletics.) They are chain-smoking, polyester pant wearing, multiple heart-attacks waiting to happen. How did they get the job you might ask? They are my company owner’s first cousins. And they are the bane of my existence.

You see my cubicle is right across from the fire-exit. Not a big deal. Except that I lie in a direct path between their office—a wood paneled, shag carpeted nightmare full of old ledgers and tax code manuals—and the exit. And roughly 35 times a day, they shuffle past my cube to go smoke. Not only is this annoying, but it makes it even harder to catch up on sports via my illicit personal Internet use. In fact, they busted me once checking my Fantasy roster and the next thing you know . . . yup, you guessed it . . . Yahoo! Fantasy Sports were blocked by the firewall. I’ll tell the rest of this story later . . . let’s just say it involves a deadline waiver acquisition and me calling my wife to try and explain how to drop and add a player. Yikes.

I’ve typed too long already. I hear Gilbert wheezing her way towards the exit as I speak. I’ll get to TO later.