(In his heyday, Mr. Arbuthnot, the Cliché Expert, regularly graced the pages of The New Yorker, offering his two cents on the Silver Screen, the Great White Way, the National Pastime, and other arenas where catchphrases and bromides rule the roost. Although his wingman, Frank Sullivan, met his maker in 1976, Mr. Arbuthnot has improbably reappeared from time to time, including in the pages of The Chronicle of Higher Education. With the NCAA men's basketball tournament set to begin, Mr. Arbuthnot is baaa-aaack.)
Q. Ah, Mr. Arbuthnot, long time, no talk. Can I get you a coffee, or maybe a Red Bull?
A. Naw, I'm good.
Q. Selection Sunday is just two days away. How do you break down the brackets?
A. No question, a lot of programs are on the bubble. If you come from a midmajor or minimajor and you want to punch your ticket to the big dance, your résumé, or should...




In November, a waiter at an Upper West Side deli was thrilled to see sitting down at one of his tables none other than Philip Roth. You see, the waiter, whose name is Julian Tepper, is also a novelist, and had recently published a book called Balls. As Tepper described the encounter in a Paris Review