You, over there ... start singing Auld Lang Syne, or I will break you.

Well, New Year's Eve is upon us and that can only mean one thing ... PAR-TAAA... err.. Sugar Bears basketball from Phoenix, piped back to Arkansas thanks to Monty Rowell and his KCON/KUCA crew, and the fine folks at The Computer Works and whoever else is involved with the Internets. Those interested should already know where to turn your radio dial or your web browser. Tip is at 5 p.m. Central time. Tonight's game is Rd. 2 against Grand Canyon, a team UCA knocked off a few nights ago.

The Sugar Bears are 2-0 out in the desert, and have one last pre-GSC game to take care of before returning back to Arkansas. Then they turn right around and, along with the Bears, head to Memphis to open conference play against Christian Brothers. The Bears may have some rust to knock off, having not played since a 73-51 thrashing of Washburn out in Vegas way back on Dec. 18. But before they head to CBU, they have to make a pit stop for another non-conference game Monday in Florence, Ala. as they try to avenge a loss earlier in the season to North Alabama.

Speaking of trips, it's about time to pack up and leave the bustling wonderland that is Hoxie, Arkansas (pop. 2,817 for those scoring at home). There's an old saying ... If the streets are clean and the women foxy, you can bet your ass you ain't in Hoxie. So with the dirty streets and dirtier women, I've had about all I can take. The journey to Conway begins as soon as I can round up all the Christmas goods, the junk I brought, and when the iPod is finished charging (as that is my sole means of music for the trip since the car stereo is D-U-N done).

One thing I have enjoyed about my time back in the ol' stomping grounds has been rolling out to the courts at Stewart Park where I used to spend sometimes four, five hours a day perfecting the hook shot, flushing on people, throwing shots out to the road, and basically building my status as a playground legend. I was like the Booger Smith of Lawrence County. I have also been known to embellish things a little bit from time to time, but humor me in my nostalgia, please.

This pic of my thunderous dunk may look like a crappy Photoshop job circa 1998, but it's actually a crappy Photoshop job circa 2001.

As expected, nobody was out there the couple times I went over the break, but that was fine by me. I was content with just shooting around by myself for 2½ hours (although my wrist is not one bit happy). I was actually quite pleased, as nobody had to witness the effects of what winds gusting at 21mph can do to a 30-foot jumper.

I guess everybody has a favorite court, and that one is probably mine. It's the place where basketball was, and is, fun. Not the crusty old gym or the crusty newer gym at dear old HHS. Basketball there was drudgery, being an indentured servant under glorified track coach Greg Volner. Given the option of spending an hour with that man or running a 100-yard dash through a minefield, I'm lacing 'em up. If there was ever a person who could suck the fun and spirit out of the greatest game ever invented, it was that guy. If I learned anything from him, it was that "Michael Special" is the best offensive play of all time, and that knee injuries are no real excuse to sit out a practice. Just run it off, son.

Hi, I used to ruin basketball for children of all ages.

In searching for that photo, I see he has been relegated to assistant volleyball coach at another school. That is absolutely outstanding news ... except to volleyball players. Give it a few more years, and maybe he'll move all the way up and take over as Assistant Director of Court Maintenance for the elementary tennis team. And no, I'm not the least bit bitter.

Maybe that'd be a good New Year's resolution for me, be less bitter and more kindhearted.

Nah.