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I'll try to keep this short, because it's still a little too painful for me to talk about the whole thing.  It's official -- my dreamgirl is not only married, but knocked up...and no, I'm not the baby daddy.  Sure, it hurts like knives, and the mental image or her and Shelden Williams sexing (Firefox says it's a word) is enough to make a man put a gun to his brain...I shouldn't have to explain.  And as one of 10 living males who follows the WNBA, I can't help but think about the ramifications of the league losing its biggest (only?) star in her prime.  I've seen it compared to Jordan's retirement, but it's really not even close.

All that aside, I'm happy for the two of them...no, really, I am.  Family is a beautiful thing, and well, if Candace is happy, then I'm happy.  And I mean, if this thing with Shelden doesn't work out for some reason, I'll be waiting.  It's like the time when the Max had a dance contest, and Lisa Turtle sprained her ankle and got dumped by her date.  Screech was there to come to her rescue, and if memory serves me right, Lisa called him her "nerd saint."  Well, Candace, I am your nerd saint -- believe that.

And finally, I'd like to extend a sincere thank you to Deadspin editor A.J. Daulerio, who cracked me up by telling me that he was sorry and that it shoulda been me.  He also linked to my commenting profile in his post, which in turn brought the most visitors ever to this website.  I bow to your greatness, sir.  Now, if you'll excuse me, I've gotta dance to keep from cryin'.