Gunning for that great white whale

*A bar in Ames, Iowa. Two Iowa State frat boys are eagerly looking over the recently released NCAA brackets in between various drinking-related initiation activities.*

Thad: OK, Marcus, what do you think about the BYU-Florida matchup? I mean, it's a 7-10 which means it's basically a toss-up.

Marcus: Yeah, but Andy Katz and Pat Forde at ESPN are pretty high on the Cougars. And Dicky V. has said positive things about this Fredette guy. I mean, did you see that he dropped 49 on Arizona at Arizona? I don't care how bad the 'Cats were this year, that's pretty freaking incredible.

Thad: And then he went and did it again against TCU in the MWC tourney. OK, just 45, but he knows how to carry a team on his back.

Marcus: Plus Emery's like a glove on D. And that freshman Miles is really coming on. I think first round, no-brainer. The question is whether to put them through to the Sweet six...wha???

*Old man in filthy rags appears at the bar*

Old man: A pox upon you! Place no bets on this devil team! They are cursed, doomed. Fore'er shall they play in the tournament and ne'er again shall they win a first round game.

Thad: C'mon old man! Why such crazy talk? I mean, they really only lost games where they had major injuries/sicknesses. If everyone's healthy, they're fine.

Old man: So say ye. But so said others before ye. Remember ye this decade? All gone, all gone, all lost, all victims of mental weakness at the MWC tournament turning to underseeding in the tournament, turned to rust. Let the semifinal loss be a sign to you!

Marcus: Nah, this team's different. They'll be seeded higher than those other BYU teams.

Old man: Watch for the day where the score is tied at halftime, where the crowd begins to buzz at the sighting of solid play by role players. The game will remain in doubt through the second half. At the time when triumph seems imminent, opposing guards will drive with impunity into the lane. Big men will begin shooting ill-advised three pointers early in the shot clock. Tall skinny white forwards will make critical mental errors and turn the ball over. And thus will the season sink...BEEEWWWAAAAARRRREEEE

Thad: Whatever, I'm outta here. Let's go Marcus.

Marcus *pausing, looking back*: What's your name, old man?

Old Man: They call me...Nathan.

(Anyone who can figure out why he's Nathan gets a digimedal.)