Well, it’s show-and-tell time here at Daily Sports, and I guess I’ll start.

I grew up in Berkeley, Calif.—you know, that Mecca of free expression situated on the left coast. At a young age I learned that not all adults wear pants, piercing your septum is A-OK, and some green plants can be a whole lot of fun.

Weeks after starting here, I naively revealed my origins to my editors, hoping to break the ice or something. Big mistake. They took aim and never let up. From then on, I no longer had a name, just a label—”Hippie.”

I couldn’t wear sandles in the newsroom. Political debates? Not a chance.

Now I’m sharing this because I want to make a connection with all of you. Our e-mail response these first two weeks has been pretty disappointing, and I think it’s because you know nothing about this pathetic party of five.

There are really two good reasons not to make jokes about Kasses. First of all, he’s got a laught that makes Pee Wee Herman sound like a librarian. And most well-executed puns throw him into floor-pounding convulsions, tempting ruptured spleens and hyperventilation. Maybe his lengthy love affair with Joe Tiller will end after Iowa thumps the Boilers in West Lafayette, Ind.

Then there’s Mr. Ebersole, our elder statesman. We may need to check him into “assisted living” after this week—being loyal to one’s home state is admirable, but the Terps are on a roll.

Now we come to Katz, the homespun hick with the picks that click. Well, not exactly. He might actually fit in well among Berkeley’s residents. They also don’t put much stock in shaving regularly. It must be killing this guy being all the way over on the right. Sorry Katz, the Horns will trump Oklahoma and you’ll remain far, far away from me.

Last but not least is Prof. Boye, who ran the table last week and won a coinflip tiebreaker to earn this esteemed slot. But luck can only take him so far, and this academic obviously did not do his research. Any hippie knows Humboldt State is not known for its foortball.

So those are the shclubs with whom I associate. But I want to know more about you guys, so e-mail me your picks.

Hey, it’s lonely at the top.