Lockport Union-Sun & Journal — I watched a movie last Saturday that was made sometime in the 1930s. The writing was brilliant. Filmed in black and white, as was the norm of the day, it was a tense, dark comedy that captivated the very essence of the motion picture industry.
I’m not sure if it was a true story or based upon one, but what I liked is the fact that it didn’t drag on laboriously as some films of the modern era are prone to do. In fact, it was only 20 minutes long.
The 3 main characters — Larry, Moe and Curly — are suspiciously close to one another, yet likable. They deal with some peculiar situations throughout the film.
Sadly, at the end, they are sentenced to death. When asked by the judge which method they preferred, Curly showed no hesitation in opting for, “Old age!” Nyuk, nyuk!
And that brings us to today’s topic: the NCAA Basketball Tournament. I’m getting killed in my bracket pool.
And it’s not a slow death. The initial tip-off pretty much signified the end of any hope I had of coming home a winner. But that’s how I roll.
Disclaimer: Because it is illegal to bet money on such endeavors, cash is strictly forbidden. Instead, we put up houses, cars and children. First- and second-place prizes are unknown until it’s over. But, usually, the last-place winner takes home someone’s mother-in-law.
But I digress. I am usually full of optimism when I get the bracketology forms. (I love that word … bracketology. Anything with “-ology” in it has such a scholarly ring to it. Is “bracketology” even a word?)
Whom I get them from shall remain anonymous for obvious legal reasons. (I told my son, Eric, not to worry because “mum’s the word.”)