This almost became another column devoted to the greatness that is Cornell basketball 2010 style. Almost. Writing about the newly-ranked No. 22 team in the nation would have been a fairly simple task. Just ask the sports writers from any of the other Ivy League schools. Keep in mind Cornell has not even played all of the teams in its conference, yet I still am finding “expert” analysis from other Ancient Eight writers popping up on the Cornell Basketball Blog. Incorporate a few statistics, supplement them with several clichés, make some blanket statements about being ranked in the Top 25 and call it a day I guess.

After thousands of miles logged, hundreds of dollars spent on tickets, and many different couches, we sorrowfully approach the final regular season road weekend of our college careers. Between us, we have visited every ECAC Hockey rink multiple times while fitting in trips to Estero, Fla., and Grand Rapids, Mich. We were escorted by the police at Union College, received threats from grandparents at Quinnipiac University, ate deep fried calzones at St. Lawrence and saw Emma Watson at Brown. We tasted comeback victories in Albany and suffered humiliating losses at Bright Hockey Center (“Lynah East”) in Cambridge, Mass.

In Monday's column, we noted that strong results in January had pushed the Big Red to No. 10 in the Pairwise Rankings, the system which determines NCAA Tournament selection.

Welcome back everyone; I hope Cornell doesn’t have you too down on yourself. Remember, it’s only the second week of classes. Yes, your ass is probably being kicked already, but hey at least you haven’t had a prelim to fail yet.

While the rest of us were burrowed away somewhere, either on a sandy beach, enjoying some much-needed warmth after the beginnings of the Ithaca winter, or sadly buried under mountains of snow somewhere in the northeast, Cornell Basketball was making waves.

The month of January should not have been an easy one for the Cornell men’s hockey team. They faced No. 13 New Hampshire on the road, traveled to Clarkson and St. Lawrence (winless in both rinks since 2005) with half of the team down with the stomach flu, played two tough games against No. 4 North Dakota, and carried an 0-for-31 powerplay streak through most of the month.

As Cornell students spent the last part of Winter Break trying to secure a bid to their fraternity or sorority of choice, the Cornell hockey team was making its case for a bid to the NCAA tournament. However, the NCAA selection process is not determined by likeability, social skills or Pi Phi’s dress code, but rather by the pairwise rankings (PWR).

I could easily use this opportunity to weigh in on the Tiger Woods car crash scandal, and the ensuing fallout that has added Tiger’s name to an ever-growing list of disgraced athletes. Or, I could use my last column of 2009 to reflect on a beloved veteran’s return to Philadelphia, where it all began.

This column almost didn’t happen. I almost chickened out, lost my nerve. I almost was — gasp — a wump (my own neologism for a combination of wuss and wimp.) And I really don’t like wumps. But the thought of writing what will be my last column as an Assistant Sports Editor was starting to give me hives. Either that, or my nickel allergy is flaring up again. Either way, there is a really concerning rash starting to form on the back of my neck, and true to Sports Section tradition, I am going to blame it on The Sun.

It was the best of games, it was the worst of games, it was the period of wisdom, it was the period of foolish penalties, it was the epoch of NCAA beliefs, it was the epoch of new skepticism, it was the season of victories, it was the season of losses, it was the Friday of hope, it was the Saturday of despair, we had goals for us, we had nothing for us, we were going directly to the top of the sta

Correction Appended

The Real World: for some it’s a pretty terrible reality television show on MTV, for others its life after Cornell, for others it’s the state of being they realize when they’re not heavily intoxicated after a long night at Johnny O’s. But regardless, the Real World is coming, and none of us can stop it. (Unless, that is, you are Hiro Nakamura).