It's beginning to look a lot like Christmas..

"Mblahhh?"

That's "hello" in "8:30 a.m. on a holiday" for Garland. She was asleep when I called, as was my mom, but I didn't care. It felt like Christmas morning -- and not just because it's so cold in my shed that I can easily see my breath when I exhale, a result of being too cheap to turn on the heat. I'd also gotten zero sleep -- less than six hours -- and was deliriously tired when my uncle Dan called to ask about my plans for after the game tonight. But once I was up, I was up.

Like I'd gotten two cups of Starbucks injected into my bloodstream.

Garland was not up. She was asleep. Until my mom handed her the phone.

"WASSSUUUUUUUUP!" I screamed.

"Uggghh!" she groaned. Garland is probably the biggest Strake basketball fan at her school, St. Agnes, which is right across the parking lot. But even she, the captain of the Strake cheerleading team, was annoyed. "You are way too pumped up for this," she grumbled. "Way too pumped." (yaaaawn). "You're like a little kid on Christmas morning."

Garland and I back when I was the senior in high school, and she was in fifth grade. How badass is that old school Jesuit baseball jersey? That's what I'll be wearing today at the Erwin Center.

"I DONE KILLED SO MANY N********!!" I screamed back across the line. That's the first line from the Ludacris/Lil' Wayne song dubbed onto the YouTube clip I've watched at least 30 times in the past week. I can't type that starred word because I'm not black. But I can sure scream it over the phone to Garland to wake her up. And I can sure rap it to myself allllll day at work today, while I'm just watching the clock, waiting to punch out. "LUDA!"

"God," she said, trying her best to act annoyed, "do you want me to just give you Joey Brooks' number so you can call him to tell him how pumped you are?"

"Forget Joey Brooks," though he is the leading scorer, and he is going to Notre Dame, and is therefore down with me, "I want Tim Frazier's number. THE GUY WHO JUMPED OVER THAT DUDE AND DUNKED IT."

I'm going out of my mind with excitement. I haven't seen Strake play since I was in high school, before we even made it into the UIL, also known as the 5A public school league that can't handle a 4A sized Catholic school. And now look at us. I am so, so glad I didn't go to St. Thomas, Lamar or St. John's. Think about if you had had to go to all three! Man. I can't even imagine.

Oh, wait, I can. I know someone who did. His name is Raja. Raja is fluent in English, French, Arabic and Hater.

"sj blows," he texted me this morning. Right. Right. I understand your point. We blow... all three of your alma maters out of the water on the hardcourt.

Sports, unlike anything else, get me going. They get me going. I am not patriotic at all; I hate the phrase "God Bless America" more than you know; I was against Iraq from Day One; I despised myself for not saying something inappropriate when I met George W. Bush in Tanzania. But when it comes to Team USA -- whether it be Olympic basketball, the World Baseball Classic or Forrest Gump on his trip to China -- I am the biggest flag waver you'll ever meet. I almost came to blows with a black American soldier I met in Germany during the World Cup who was openly rooting for Ghana to beat us in an elimination game, since, as he said, "I'm African before I'm American."

"That guy should have his passport taken away," I kept saying over and over in the wake of our argument. "Send him to Guantanamo."

Team USA Sports turn me into an Ugly American, for sure. Remember this guy?

U-S-and-A! Greatest country in the world! (during the World Cup, that is...)

And just the same, sports turn me into the most obnoxious alumnus I can be, when we're playing well.

Hence, this blog story.

DUDE! I'm sorry. I just can't believe it sometimes, still. I can't believe we're about to go Hoosiers on some people's asses. The word on the street is that the Erwin Center -- where Texas plays its home games -- is going to be sold out, filled with Catholics coming back to rep their college prep. I know the Parsley family will be well represented. Here was my little sister's half-asleep account of how that came to be:

"Oh my God, did you hear about Uncle John? He went to Strake the day after we beat Chavez [which was the first day Final Four tickets went on sale; they were being sold at the school] and got 48 tickets -- for the entire Parsley clan [the Parsley clan, a.k.a. the Parsley Patch, rolls deep. My dad is the oldest of ten. I have 29 first cousins on his side of the family alone. We are pre-Vatican II Catholicism in the flesh: a living, breathing argument against, or in favor of, depending on your opinion of us, birth control.] Strake didn't put a limit on the number you could buy, which was their mistake. So Uncle John [the ultimate salesman] goes to Coach McDonald's office [the A.D.] and says he wants 48 tickets. And Coach McDonald is like, 'I'm not selling you 48 tickets.' But they didn't put a limit! And Uncle John knew that, and he was just like, 'Yes, you are.' So he talked him into it; he was just like, 'I am buying these tickets. Give them to me.' So... the entire Parsley clan will be there, sitting in the same section."

And this is considered a sparsely attended family affair. It's what the Parsley Patch would look like after an Avian Flu epidemic.

"That is SO AWESOME!" I yelled, probably waking up my new neighbor in the efficiency next door as I envisioned an entire section of Parsleys rocking out at the biggest event in Strake Jesuit history. "Dude. I need to rock some Parsley gear today." Our family is so big, we have an annual Parsley Charity Golf Classic, a legit tournament with real sponsors and, well, we have gear. Polo shirts, hats, windbreakers, all sorts of gear, with the trademark Parsley sprig classily stitched onto the breast -- I'm telling you, Parsley Gear is gonna supplant Polo and Lacoste within our lifetimes.

So I'm pumped. And so are all the other Strake alum, too.

"I heard someone is flying in from Colorado for the game," Garland said.

Probably because they have an Internet connection and saw Tim Frazier "done kill SO MANY *****!..."

All I can say is that the timing of this is perfect, because I got invited to go to a St. Patrick's Day party Saturday night after the championship game. (I know it's not technically St. Patrick's Day that day, but whatever.) So I'll already be wearing green. And I'll certainly be ready to party.