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Thank God. Just in the nick of time. Something not-quite-as-wicked comes along to shift the nation’s focus from our bottomless pit economy to something a little more, ahem, distracting.
Of course I’m speaking of March Madness. That time of year when men would rather watch ten fellow primates competing to throw a ball through a hoop than do something constructive for society. Like, say, hmm, solve this fricken economic crisis? Or, how about, learn to find our G-spot once and for all? Or does that futile hunt have to wait till Easter again? Hallelujah, sister!

“Um, yeah, it’s that time of year again, honey…”
Ok, ok, I’m not here to go all maniac on your Madness, or stand in the way of your DNA — especially when it’s glued to a television set worshiping a bald, one-eyed Italian freak who is suffering from far longer than a 4-hour erection. I’m here to demonstrate what good sports we ladies can be, and how, if given the opportunity, we like to participate.
With that said, please accept my token of affection in the form of a pop quiz. Remember: there are no stupid questions. Only stupid athletic directors who look the other way when stupid athletes find someone else stupid enough to take their quizzes for them. Please! Eyes on your own computer screen.
1. What is a RPI rating?
a. An impossibly complex system that, together, the CIA, FBI, NSA and PETA wouldn’t be able to figure out, especially if the nation’s security depended on it.
b. In female terms: Ratings Penetration Index. (What you should be studying instead of your brackets, boys! Hehe.)
c. An anagram for RIP, our last letters to you as we’re walking out the door after deeming your RPI rating unsuitable for any woman that doesn’t dance on a pole down at Cy’s Secondhand Strip Club.
2. The real fear factor during March Madness is:
a. Watching grown men reduced to blathering babies after your team loses.
b. When your idea of Survivor is not getting off the couch for three weeks and living off the leftover potato chips and cockroaches you find between the cracks.
c. Having your every household chore scrutinized as if we babes were UN Weapons Inspectors and you were the desert. Nope, that isn’t a mirage, those actually are divorce papers in our hands.
3. If we happen to be gracing you with our presence when the savvy TV director cuts to the proverbial “Cheerleader Cam,” you should:
a. Hit pause button on TIVO (again) and try to explain to us (again) the finer significance of the art of Camel Toe spread all over your coverage.
b. Suggest the two of us go over a few “cheers” of our own, which would mean, me, which we both know would end up fully documented on MILF.com. (P.S. Don’t worry boys, I’ve given the little one up for adoption. i.e., SINGLE!)
c. Describe how being a cheerleader is a vital stepping stone to grander things in life, like Paula Abdul groping an Idol contestant, or the entire cast of Pom Pom Girls Gone Wild learning to eat rice cakes.

“Eat me! You skinny bitch!”
4. A man knows he’s on the bubble when:
a. His buddies vote themselves off the island and swim ashore before the final two-minute warning of the Significant Other arriving.
b. He comes home to find his TV set has been TP’d and his remote control reprogrammed to a trap door straight to the doghouse.
c. He tries to create a “living room wave” (as his buddies hit the door) and all she’ll give him is a middle finger.

5. When your game conflicts with any of our favorite Reality shows, or re-runs of Dirty Dancing, you should:-
a. Find the shortest route to any sports bar (with the exception of Hooters).
b. Understand: for each game taped, you get 80 extra minutes to do something useful for the world. Like commiserate with me over my favorite realty show, or how Jennifer Grey must be feeling over Patrick Swayze’s cancer
c. Realize the reality that the reality of us arguing over what to watch could make for compelling Reality TV of its own one day.

6. When going through withdrawals because the games are over, you should:
a. Join a 12-Step program moderated by Jim Gray.
b. Go back to the crack. Such a turn-on for us.
c. Find something else to pour your passion into. Um, I’m thinking: Relationship?
7. How to get drafted from the doghouse back to the bedroom:
a. Diamonds are a girl’s best friend, but taking out the garbage every once in a while, shaving (both places!) and actually bringing home a real paycheck wouldn’t hurt.
b. Be understanding when OUR season begins. Oh right, it already has. It’s called Shopping, and it never ends, bitches!
c. Figure out OUR RPI rating and stay in the ballgame long enough to satisfy it, pal.

Because that’s obviously the real reason we hate sports: More sports’ times equals less “us” time. Which breaks down into less shots at our basket, and, in turn, a world not multiplying as fast as we’d like it to.
Yes, we’re in a hurry to overpopulate this planet so we can move to another. One where Venus and Mars will be aligned a little differently: with no fricken sports in between! Enjoy your balls while you’ve got them, boys. I’m outta here.
About The Sports Basher:
Betty Burke is president of the Beverly Hills-Adjacent Chapter of W.A.S. (Women Against Sports). She’s a single mother of one gorgeous child, and she also runs the Betty Burke Beverly Hills-Adjacent Dance Academy — basically training women to instill “awareness” in sports-addicted husbands with the aide of pole dancing. This is her first assignment for The Guy Report. You can follow her at http://twitter.com/thesportsbasher.
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