I recently listened to a discussion detailing the greatest traditions in sport. The co-hosts bantered about many of the pre-game, in-game and post-game rituals that have weaved their way into college football’s Southern fabric. Rubbing Howard’s Rock in Clemson, the entrance of the Gamecocks to the musical score of 2001 A Space Odyssey in Columbia, Tiger Walk in the “loveliest village” of Auburn, the Volunteers running through the “T” in Knoxville and Chief Osceola planting the spear in Tallahassee all were mentioned.

During the next 10 weeks, however, there are numerous traditions that some of you simply don’t pay attention to and I encourage you to do so even if you have to watch them on TV. Among them is the NCAA men’s basketball tournament selection show when the field of 65 is announced, analyzed and pundits discuss the easiest and most difficult region. Television cameras capture the joy of the bubble teams when they are invited. They also show the disappointed countenances of at least five teams that didn’t make the field. Millions witness the riveting television spectacle of seeing the hurt and bewilderment of 18- to 22-year-olds. Wouldn’t miss it. Couldn’t miss it.

Opening Day of the Major League Baseball season used to be a great spectacle. The season used to open with a day game in Cincinnati but no longer. Now, we have to watch a prime time broadcast so ESPN can take full advantage of Sunday night advertising rates while true baseball fans (the only ones watching) can listen to Joe Morgan reflect upon this unfortunate steroids era, Roger Clemens’ impending perjury trial and how beautiful the packed new Nationals’ park is even though the stands are likely to be vacant by mid-June. If Chris Berman (let’s not forget him!) makes an appearance that night, we all can’t wait for the unveiling of his next clever nickname. Is it EverLastings Milledge? Or Elijah Put Up Your Dukes? Get a life Chris! These aren’t even mildly amusing after 28 years.

Please don’t forget to tune into that time-honored tradition of watching a multi-millionaire extend his arms so another well-heeled professional golfer can help him put on a $500 green blazer. Then, Jim Nantz and Billy Payne can gush over both golfers for four silly and interminable minutes from the Butler Cabin.

During the five prior hours, we can listen to the “experts” drone on about Augusta National’s landmarks, Magnolia Drive, the Eisenhower Tree, Rae’s Creek, Amen Corner, the slick as owl crap greens and all the maddening commentary that accompanies the Southeast’s greatest annual golf event. We’ve seen it, we’ve heard it and we get it! Please tell us something we don’t know this year. We don’t care about Amy and the children. We don’t care about Elin’s postpartum depression or what was served at the Champions Dinner. Wasn’t it Fuzzy Zoeller who coined the phrase, “Winner, winner chicken dinner?”

Ah yes, the first Saturday in May. Is there anything more misplaced than watching an under-dressed, big-hatted actress or a rap artist in a retro Curtis Mayfield get-up shown arriving at Churchill Downs or slobbering over the Millionaires’ Row railing prior to the Kentucky Derby?

Do we really care about what “show people” think about who will win the race? For most of them, it’s the first time they’ve been to a horse race and they’ve got more medication in them than a Steve Asmussen claimer. We know Barbaro is dead. Some of us know an aging trainer or owner will have his first Derby horse running this year after a long, storied career, and that most jockeys can’t enjoy a Hot Brown, a slice of Derby pie or a foul-tasting Mint Julep like the rest of us because they can’t weigh more than the typical fifth-grader if they want to make it to the winner’s circle.

And, if you want to talk about filling time, how about the 75 minutes between races on Derby Day? You had me at “Welcome to Churchill Downs!”

The best tradition in all sports in my opinion, which all hockey fans have recognized for many years without being incessantly reminded, is the handshake line after every playoff series. Not that many of you will witness it, because few of you get the Versus channel or will stay inside on a weekend afternoon for three hours to watch an NBC hockey broadcast, but watching the players assemble at center ice and greet every player on the opposing team is wonderful theatre. It is particularly meaningful after a heated seven-game series between hated rivals, like the Rangers-Flyers, Red Wings-Avalanche, Maple Leafs-Senators or Bruins-Canadiens who collectively have beat upon one another seven times in the span of 17 days or so. Several analysts will describe the tradition, and for the umpteenth time in the past several decades they’ll go on and on about it.

The best thing about these traditions is seeing them in person where we don’t have to rely upon talking heads to provide us clues about what we are about to witness. Or we can simply utilize the mute button, which has become my favorite tradition when watching a sporting event I really care about.