In Which I Become Old and Cranky

I'm not much of a basketball fan. I've never really been a fan. In high school, when I was supposed to be really excited about basketball, being a cheerleader and all, I found it nearly impossible to get to the games on time. (Oh, hi, Kathi. Hi, Julie. Nice scrunchi. When does the game start? What, this is half time? Oops. Sorry.) I haven't watched more than highlights on the news in (old and cranky moment:) 23 years.

Last night, I watched a complete buzzer-to-buzzer game (okay, during the commercials I watched Meerkat Manor) for the first time since we went to the games at that famed fire trap, Mac Court, as students at the University of Oregon.

The occasion is the Ducks' stellar year this year, bringing them to the Sweet Sixteen (and after last night's exciting game, to the Tangy Eight).

I know about the change in shorts fashion over the years. After all, I watch the news, but actually seeing those floppy, floppy shorts swing around the players' legs like silky skirts was disturbing to an old Tom Selleck fan like myself.

Here's a picture of the Duck uniforms the year I graduated:


Here is Malik Hairston playing in last night's game:


If there weren't free throws to give them time to hike them back up and pretend to tuck in their shirts, their shorts would be down around their ankles by the end of the first five minutes.

When will it all end, people? With the coolest players tripping over their own shorts? With one hand devoted entirely to holding them up, kind of like half of the no-hands rule from soccer?

Okay, I'm going to have to stop before my hair turns gray. er.

And Go Ducks.