Ah, Blackout Sunday, a Tradition Unlike Any Other...every year at the Final Four.

Every year, a group of guys from across the country descend upon the host city and proceed to party harder than John Daly at an all-you-can-eat buffet. This year's destination: Houston, where the only green jacket they'll be competing for is the one the guy at the strip club wears.

The festivities begin on Friday night, as the group will surely hit up every bar on Washington Ave, leaving a trail of empty Lone Star cans and broken dreams in their wake. By Saturday, they should already be in mid-season form, shotgunning beers and doing body shots off each other at the tailgate before the big game.

But it isn't until Sunday that the true spirit of Blackout Sunday will be revealed. Waking up with a collective hangover that could fell a rhinoceros, the guys will stumble out of their rooms in search of sustenance. But alas, they set up shop at the nearest sports bar, ordering round after round of Bloody Marys and screwdrivers. As the afternoon wore on, with the group witnessing the White Sox dismantling of the World Series Champions Astros, they will begin to feel invincible. "I could hit one over the Green Wall," slurred Michael, pointing at the left field porch. "Just give me a bat and a shot of Fireball."

And so, as the sun set on Houston and the National Championship game still a night away, the group of intrepid partiers stumbled out of the bar and into the night, ready to take on whatever challenges lay ahead. They may not have won any championships that weekend, but they sure as hell won the hearts of everyone who saw them stumbling down the street in matching "Blackout Sunday" t-shirts.