Defending Champeen

The Bracket King Has Arrived

Ladies and gentlemen, older people, and especially my unfortunate competitors,

In my 10 years I’ve learned some indisputable truths…There’s no such thing as a free lunch, math is hard, beer is good, and winning the Bulldog Battle is the pinnacle of one’s existence. Everything that has happened to me since that amazing moment when I realized I was superior to all of you, has frankly paled in comparison. I’m struggling to find purpose in my life.

I stand before you today, a 10-year-old genius, to accept this well-deserved honor as the undisputed champion of last year’s Bulldog Battle. Let’s take a moment to reflect on the sheer magnitude of what has just happened: a kid—who still gets told to “wash his butt” and has a bedtime—has absolutely crushed all of you.

Now, I know what you’re thinking: How did this happen? How did someone who wasn’t even alive when most of you graduated high school just waltz in here, randomly fill out a bracket (in between crushing kids in Fortnite, of course), and embarrass a bunch of grown-ups who actually think they know basketball? Well, I could say it was my deep strategic analysis, but that would be a lie. Honestly, I just picked the teams with the coolest mascots and the best jersey colors. And guess what? It worked.

Meanwhile, some of you—who have been watching college basketball since dinosaurs roamed the earth—spent hours researching stats, watching “expert” analysis, and pretending you knew what you were doing. How’d that go? Oh yeah, not great. You guys had spreadsheets, betting strategies, and some of you even whispered things like, “This is my year.” I mean, wow. Just… wow. That level of misplaced confidence is inspiring—in a tragic, embarrassing kind of way.

Now, I know losing to an elementary schooler stings. It must be hard realizing that your years of so-called sports wisdom have been rendered useless by someone who still eats Lunchables. But don’t be sad. Let this be a learning experience. Next year, instead of pretending you have some kind of insider knowledge, maybe just do what I did—trust the process. And by “process,” I mean pick teams based on which one sounds like a cool superhero.

I took a break from my Phonics and finger painting to remind you all that you got beat by a 9-year-old. I was nine. I can’t even spell Syracuse and I did better than some of you that are carrying some alphabet soup bullshit past your name. You should be ass-hamed.

So, as I take my victory lap, just remember: you all lost, badly. To a 10-year-old. And not just any 10-year-old—this 10-year-old. The Bracket King.

Thank you, and better luck next year. (But let’s be real—you’ll still lose.)

TanManFoSho