Aaahhh. Here we go. Finally, the brackets are almost upon us.

Just the notion of “brackets” makes our weary, frantic world appear much more orderly, and much more riveting. Remember waiting in elementary school for the sixth-grade dodgeball bracket after school. How about Quiz Bowl or Debate square-offs?

Your adrenaline rushed to all-time highs in late spring, a member of the junior high traveling tournament basketball team, facing off other AAU teams in two-day stretches at a time. You even cheered at State Wrestling in high school. While you got drunk, of course. Now, even as a faux-chaperone for mock trial tournaments – involving law students, no less! – your blood coarses through veins.

Not only that, those sunny brackets infiltrate your persona: Now it’s you versus your pile of expense reports. Your grudge-match race to the breakroom with Cindy from receivables. Your death-defying weekend bout cleaning up leftover winter lawn refuse. When your cats guard the entryway, it’s you versus them. Don’t think they aren’t seeking revenge.

Suddenly, instead of navigating a gray Wednesday, you’re looking down the road to an upset-riddled path to greatness. It can happen! That’s what brackets tell you.

(At least, of course, until the impending tournament expansion as early as 2010. Don’t bother fighting it, it’s destined to happen. Even though the bulging of the field relieves coaches of accountability, and simultaneously murders the cash cows of Championship Week and Opening Weekend, it will happen. Who, exactly, is for this?)

And speaking of, here’s what we’re looking for when the greatest brackets of all are unfurled this Selection Sunday.

WE LIKE

Kansas. No, it’s not a nouveau hometown bias for us – it is a respect of their commitment to the extra pass and their outstanding quickness on defense. By any measure, these guys appear primed for a deep tourney run.

Syracuse. In addition to the most ferocious incarnation of the 2-3 zone in a decade, the ‘Cuse may actually be the best transition team in the country. Maybe I’m biased (cough), but this team is more complete than the 2003 champion, way more talented than the 1996 runner-up, and nearly as frightfully explosive as the 1987 and 1989 squads. At least I hope. (I’m tempted to bet my life savings on Georgetown tomorrow. For whatever reason, high seeds in the Big East tourney don’t quite mesh with the Orange.)

But that’s it. No other team has looked quite as complete at any point as either the Jayhawks or Orange at their best. Either can be beaten, sure, but I’m picking one of the field’s two juggernauts to win the title, and since I would never actively jinx my childhood favorite team, I’m picking Kansas.

(By the way, Chuck Klosterman called this the best ’Cuse team ever, and lauded Boeheim’s strategy to “always bet that college kids couldn’t shoot.” Besides the hyperbole, he’s absolutely right. Jim Boeheim is brilliant. Glad we sorted this out.)

WE GRUDGINGLY ENDORSE

Duke. I’ll admit, this isn’t a popular opinion. But as card-carrying leader of the “Duke is hopelessly overrated” tribe during the Redick and Paulus eras, I recognize this team has more than that. They play a bit better defense, and Scheyer and Singler and even Smith are all quality – quality enough to get to the Sweet Sixteen. Is that really a failure for this team?

Baylor, Texas A&M.  A voice keeps telling me I’m overrating the Big 12, but I don’t think so. Truth is, I could envision each member of the morass behind the Kansas schools making a four-game run, but they’ve all been so hot and cold, you never know. Baylor and A&M seem the most consistent, least dependent on home floor, and look like they’re hitting their strides at the right time.

Ohio State. Evan Turner is very, very good. Something about Ohio State never quite sits right with me, but this team is solid, quick, can dial it in, and has Turner to fall back on. I approve, but the depth is shaky.

Vanderbilt. I trust Kevin Stallings. Is he the next coach at Iowa? I don’t know – but you heard it here first if the rumor mill begins grinding in 2011. (Of course it won’t. With 96 teams, Todd Lickliter may get his team in.)

Wisconsin. Speaking of coaches who I trust … Bo Ryan, despite the appearance of a chain-smoking 1950s car salesman, will once again pocket another first-round win. Wasn’t this supposed to be a down year for the Badgers, yet here they are, improbably 24-7? Who knew?

UNI. Wow, do they guard. Admittedly pesky, the Panthers might be the best defensive team in the field, and you can print that. (Hey, I just did!) It remains to be seen if their suffocating defense suffers when the opponents get more athletic, but they’re good for at least a round, and a legit chance for the Sweet Sixteen, especially if they play an erratic foe. Maryland and Villanova: I’m looking RIGHT AT YOU.

Xavier. Riding the wave of tournament karma since 1988, when they beat a No. 3-seeded Nebraska. Come to Mister Faded Glory for all your tournament history lessons.

Louisville. They’ve beaten Syracuse twice by playing the exact opposite of how Rick Pitino usually plays. This is no bubble team, and a conceivable Sweet Sixteen pick.

Butler. Not that I’m looking ahead, but I’m deathly afraid of any possible collision between Syracuse and Butler, early or late. Sound fundamentally and great shooters – I actually think these guys are scary for real, not just a matchup problem. (Sidebar: Is Butler the anti-Gonzaga? I mean it. Always overseeded, but they end up proving themselves in the tourney, rather than letting you down.). Also: Likelihood of (4) Butler vs. (5) Northern Iowa in Round Two? Only about 90 freaking percent. Screw you, committee.

Old Dominion. Is ODU a bad-ass school name or am I a hopeless tool? I’m also jacked for a possible Chris Gatling crowd shot after a full season of Derrick Coleman riding the Orange wave.

UTEP. I’m also irrationally excited for Darick Caracter versus Demarcus Cousins somewhere along the line. Somewhere in this alliterative matchup is the mother of all malcontent puns, and I’m not going to miss it.

WE DISLIKE

Kentucky. I realize I’m not alone. They may well cruise to the Final Four, and depending on the draw, I may pick it. But – legit analysis here – they cannot shoot, and thusly remind me of Coach Cal’s last Memphis squad (The one with Evans, not Rose). Anyone can hang around, but someone will beat them.

West Virginia. Well, it’s not because of Huggins. I mean, not just because of Bob Huggins. This team has passed so many tests that I feel like I should be more confident in them. But, Huggins’ teams – even the ones with the most glaring talents, like Dontonio Wingfield(!) – are the textbook “Great on Thursday, poor on Saturday” style. They know exactly what you’re going to do, but only if they’ve got time to prepare. This is a benefit in conference tourneys, against familiar foes, but the opposite in the Show. I think this. I really do.

New Mexico. Thirty wins! Don’t sleep on the … oh, I can’t even finish this with a straight face. Good luck with Alford. Remember, if they lose, in no way is it ever Steve’s fault.

Villanova. Repeat after me: Cannot. Guard. A. Post.

Maryland. The groundswell of high-profile love for these guys is off the charts – or do I listen to too much Tony Kornheiser? Sure, they’re a good team, and finally rounded into one of the best in the ACC. (More below.) But I don’t think they’ve faced the kind of defense they’ll run into early and often, and excuse me, but I am not sold on Greivis Vasquez in any way. Maryland is so desperate for a star, they lionize this guy, and I think he’s a beggar’s Juan Dixon, if that. He may not even be Exree Hipp. (OK, sorry. Just wanted to type that name.)

UConn. That felt good.

Cal. No one believes in them, and I’m not going to be the first. These guys won a major conference, and Syracuse demolished them.

BYU. I wish, just once, the committee would schedule them on a Friday, just to say: We don’t think you’re getting to Sunday, you presumptuous babies.

Richmond. Only because I still remember 1991. Ah, the Billy Owens era.

Texas. Am I really piling on? Hey, tune into 810 in Kansas City so they can continue to tell you how great an NBA player Damion James is going to be.

Saint Mary’s. I just cannot stand schools who refuse to abbreviate “Saint” and make a stink about it if you don’t.

Gonzaga. Surprise! Oh, just kidding. I’m hopelessly predictable. I always hate these guys.

WE ARE CONFUSED.

Kansas State. To think, I had these guys penciled in my “approve” column only two short weeks ago. Then I saw their offense, in the flesh. They don’t move. They don’t set screens. They don’t sniff out a zone or man defense. They rely on either Denis Clemente to beat his guy with quickness, or Jacob Pullen to bomb from long range. Their defensive capability is on par with anyone, and so I’m tempted to think they can make a run once they’re out of conference. But depending on the 8, 9, 7, or 10 across from them, I may pick the upset, because: (see Bob Huggins), Frank Martin’s is not a team that thrives on the fly.

Purdue. And I’m sorry, because these guys were a legitimate top-5 title contender.

Michigan State. I can never decide. These greenies are my Kryptonite. They are well-coached, play hard defense, and hit free throws. Still, I’m not sold. I wasn’t last year and was proven wrong. This usually leads to my typical over-correction for Michigan State and their subsequent flameout. NOT THIS YEAR, SPARTANS.

Oklahoma State. I’ll reserve judgment until after the Big 12 tournament. They’ve pulled some monster upsets, they play a unique style, and they can be deadly beyond the arc. Still, I hate every font they’ve ever used. (And does anyone else feel like I’m harder on the land-grant schools?)

Anyone else from the ACC. I will say one thing in the ACC’s defense. When they have a down year … man, it’s a down year. Pick any of these teams at your own peril.

Georgetown. Totally schizophrenic. The highest ceiling and lowest basement of any team in the field. Georgetown could beat Duke by 30 and lose to St. John’s in one week. They could be upset by Murray State in a rout, or sleepwalk through a Final Four win over Kansas. They’re seeded eighth in the Big East tournament and could legitimately upset Syracuse, win four games in four days, and win the whole deal. Try and figure them out.

Tennessee. I like Bruce Pearl, and these teams are fun, but again, his squads can never shoot. Their act usually wears thin by the second week, if not the first.

Temple. I haven’t seen enough. Blunt honesty: the hallmark of Mr. Faded Glory.

Pittsburgh. Pitt shed its “Mister Faded Glory rule of thumb” last year by advancing to the Elite Eight. I’m never sold, I think they always outplay competition in the regular season and that’s just who they are. Like Wisconsin, without the wins. And again, I have no idea what to expect.

More later – perhaps even sooner than next week! Consider yourself either lucky or warned.

Today, Olbie took Bill further to task, with snide comebacks to each of Simmons’ snarky Friday tweets. I’m not sure who’s winning here, nor if any of this is even interesting. Really, though, aren’t Simmons and Olbermann alike? Could this feud actually be a concoction to drive Keith’s baseball traffic, or to excise Bill from the evil clutches of ESPN?

Alas, no one will ever know. Or care. Besides, Simmons is all square with me. How, you ask?

Well, I should point out that the Mister Faded Glory road to redemption isn’t exactly arduous … but during Bill’s Mar. 5 podcast with Chuck Klosterman, the Sports Guy re-earned his stripes. Discussing college basketball, Bill described Evan Turner’s return from injury, and I transcribe loosely:

“But, I mean, Evan Turner’s comeback from injury. This is a guy … (pause)…

Oh, wait. I sound like I’m on ESPN. HERE IS A GUY WHO … (giggles)…”

Yes, the road to my heart is short. Simply make fun of the ubiquitous “Here is a guy” syntax dotting jockspeak and poor context. An unnecessary prefix that makes you, another guy, sound stupid.

Bill Simmons, welcome home! See how easy that was?

In other news, the podcast was notable for Klosterman’s crazy/brilliant theory that ESPN and Nike are collaborating to engineer a dual NBA-NFL lockout in 2011 simply to promote soccer in the U.S. One of my readers is now giddy with joy.

Also notable about the podcast, it’s further demonstration I spend way too much time in the car. But, uh, here’s a guy who digresses.

For those unfamiliar with the Keurig drip-pod or K-Cup or whatever system; it’s the sleek, chic, super-expensive coffee pot that brews one tiny cup at a time. Instead of sifting through beans or grounds, you just drop in this pod, and the machine loudly unfurls nearly a tablespoon of tepid coffee.

I won’t confess to being a coffee snob, but I do like my sludge, and the stronger the better. I drink at least a travel mug every morning. Coffee fuels me, before I enter the soul-crushing world of corporate America. Yep. I’m like you.

But the Keurig thumbs its nose at that nonsense. With the Keurig, you can safely turn your nose up at breakroom or lunchroom coffee. Whereas us serfs will not eschew a cup from the cafeteria machine, even with stray grounds in the bottom, you can safely pass. Bully for you!

Now, again, I’m not a snob. Maybe I’m a purist? I don’t drink lattes or frappucinos or any of the stuff that makes you demonstrably fatter or poorer. I require only that my coffee be black as night – with a tangible bite, taste, and kick – and that it flows like the Nile. My coffee need be plentiful. With the Keurig, I get none of that.

How would I know? Well, I’ve got one. Yes, I do. But not only is your cup of Joe tiny and unfulfilling, once you’re a Keurig owner, you have the luxury of shopping for boxes of these K-Cup pod-thingys, made from the dregs of various coffee conglomerates’ beans or grounds. Green Mountain, Caribou, Tully’s, you name it – they all eagerly charge you thirty bucks for twenty thimbles of coffee, with a watery cup weaker than your standard Maxwell House scoop.

That’s right, Keurigs make weak coffee, and they don’t make enough coffee. Two settings exist on my model – puny and punier. Apparently I’m supposed to decide whether I want an espresso or a swallow. Which, I suppose, is fine in some instances – but it’s not fine when you can’t regulate the coffee amount. You drop in a pod, and you’re at the pod’s mercy. The pod controls the strength. Your role, as a coffee purist or gourmand, is finished!

But John, you say. You can buy one of those Keurig attachments that convert grounds into K-Cups! And that is true. For twenty dollars (NOTE: You can buy a full-fledged Hamilton Beach coffee maker for twenty dollars) I can have my Keurig converter. And, again, I do. I won’t bore you with the gory details – but just try and use one of these things. When your entire kitchen is covered in the converter’s wreckage, thousands of stray, messy coffee grounds, and you’ve got a sludge-filled half a cup, you’ll nod along with me.

So that’s the Keurig. If you like your coffee like a scalding cup of Aquafina FlavorSplash, I implore you – shell out your 200 bucks for the Keurig. Basically, it’s coffee drinking for those who want to convey an impression of coffee drinking, rather than your serious caffeine addict. Enjoy.