Which vintage were you sipping at the 1995 Final Four? Wasn’t that the one that had gone just a bit old and vinegary, leaving a sour taste? Or did Dean always look like that?

We Hogs have nothing to lose in this one. You Blue-Bloods are supposed to win without breaking a sweat. We just hope we can use the right forks, not make too much of a mess with the runny camembert, and in general not embarrass our hick selves too badly.

No thanks on the white wine, but if you have a dram or two of sippin’ whisky, I’d be much obliged.

Break a leg!

My tarheel compatriots and I have our own, how you say, “mojo” that guarantees a tarheel victory. We’re chilling a delightful 2005 chardonnay, which is one of my favorite vintages as it was the year of one of our many national championships. And what the heck, let’s chill a pinot grigio to cleanse our palates after devouring gamey hogs. We’ll pair our chardonnay with a delightful camembert that makes our senses soar while watching Tyler Hansbrough stuff it over that 7-foot cretin who is rumored to be Bjorn Borg’s and Dickey Betts’ love child.

So you and your hog faithful enjoy your squirrel, or whatever in the wide world of sports it is that you consume in the Ozarks, as the hogs’ season comes to a grinding halt in the second round. My tarheels look forward to a nice warm up for the sweet sixteen, so thanks in advance for giving your best effort.

Toodles!

After some desperate calls to Comcast and neighbors, it was determined the problem was just us, and they could send someone out — Saturday morning. AAAAIIIIIEEEIEEIIEEEE!!! This was going to screw up my entire NCAA ritual.

I called my mom. She was thrilled to have some company. Even if it was a pretty loud company for her quiet condo. (She told me she had already warned the neighbors.) When that big fat boy for Indiana drew about the third chippy foul on the Hogs backing his lard butt in down low, I went off pretty good. Mom said, “I haven’t had this experience watching a game since I was married to your father.” Yeah, he taught me some things.

We watched the Miss State - Oregon game while I kept an eye on the ticker, watching Vanderbilt justify everyone’s upset pick. Alma mater gone, it was up to the Hogs. And they were looking pretty good.

At the half, my wife called. “They fixed the cable.” Okay, but we were up seven. You just can’t screw with good mojo. I stayed at mom’s. I found a call I had missed from Janet, somewhere in the first half. “So, what? Are they allergic to the post?” And a second call a few minutes later. “Never mind. They figured it out.”

A great win. Sonny was nothing short of heroic. Every time we needed a big shot, he came through. And Indiana’s playing White and Fat Boy at the same time led Pelphrey to adjust to a lineup I have thought all season we should see more of: both Hill and Townes in the game. And he went zone to limit Gordon’s drives, once it was clear his shooting slump was still alive.

My prediction for Sunday hasn’t changed. But if this team shows up, we’ll acquit ourselves pretty well, and, who knows?

I just hope I don’t have to go out and cut my cable line . . .