Hi, I'm George Mason or, as the kids who play this game called basketball refer to me now, ol' G-Mace himself.

I understand you've probably heard my name a lot these last couple weeks without really knowing anything about me, so a little re-introduction might be in order here. Like I've always said, a man shouldn't be defined by his RPI numbers or conference tournament appearance alone.

After all, it has been more than 200 years since I was in the public eye — a true big wig in the days of powdered wigs. The title "father of the Bill of Rights" apparently doesn't carry nearly the street cred it had in horse-drawn times.

You can understand I wouldn't want to leave my reputation to this guy named Billy Packer, who, I'm told, had been banging on me and my namesake school pretty hard. Next thing you know, he'll blame me for the so-called Patriot Act.

Clearly, I've got some catching up to do. I mean, I didn't even know I had a college in my hometown of Fairfax, Va. All I had ever advocated was some sort of an Electoral College and if you thought the marquee conferences had a fit about us being in the NCAA Tournament this year, you should have seen some of the Federalists' wooden teeth clacking back then.

Now they tell me my school has stirred up this March Madness thing, capturing the imaginations of more people than even my impassioned opposition to the Stamp Act in 1765. Those were the days.

And, when you think about it, who better to represent me than a bunch of revolutionaries intent on turning the college basketball world on its ear. I don't understand their game, but I love their spirit.

So, please excuse me for speaking out so much for the first time since the 1787 Constitutional Convention. I understand we play Florida on Saturday, which is interesting because the last time I looked, Florida still belonged to Spain. Like I said, a few things have happened in the interim.

But, hey, if my school is playing and my pal George Washington's has been sent to the sidelines it has to be good. They tell me Thomas Jefferson's school never made it to this "Big Dance."

What's more, my guys whipped up on James Madison's school twice this season and kicked some royal fanny, too, knocking around King William III & Queen Mary II — William & Mary to you — pretty good. A little payback on the Brits and for some of the guys who ragged on me for refusing to sign the Constitution.

There was a perfectly good reason for not signing, of course. There was no Bill of Rights at the time and I wasn't going to put my name on it without one. After the Declaration of Independence, I figured it was more room for John Hancock. Nor was I in favor of allowing the importation of slaves to go on until 1808.

They eventually came around in 1791 on the Bill of Rights part at least. Not that I had much time to savor it before I died in 1792.

For a couple centuries I've been one of the forgotten founding fathers, consigned to a dusty corner of history alongside the whale oil lamp. Who knew, after all this time it would take a basketball team to get me back in the news?

But, hey, I'm fine with it. Now, if the students who have made a tradition of rubbing the toe of my campus statue for good luck before exams will just knock it off, I can enjoy the Final Four and rest in peace.

Reach Ferd Lewis at flewis@honoluluadvertiser.com or 525-8044.