When I was in 5th grade, my best friend and I spent our time as any two 10-year-old idiots do -- sports, Monopoly, and talking about girls. Just talking about them, as this was two years prior to the sexual renaissance that were my middle school years.

I'd run over to his house -- he lived down the street -- and we'd play Ken Griffey Jr. Baseball on his N64 in his guest bedroom upstairs (he mashed with Jay Buhner, I struggled with Joey Cora). Then, after the N64 had stopped working and we'd turned a dull violet from blowing on the cartridge, he'd get out a piece of paper and begin folding. He'd fold and fold and fold until the paper became almost like a paper football. The game most likely has other names, but for us, it was "Push."

You know the game or some variation of it. The way we played was simple. One person would write down a bunch of numbers on a section of flaps and colors on the reverse side. Underneath the folds would be the names of people, usually girls of varying levels of attractiveness in our 5th grade class. The goal of the game was to figure out, through abject randomness or cheating, which girl we would have sex with. It was 5th grade, guys. All I knew about sex I learned from recently released The Bad Touch by the Bloodhound Gang. Gimme a break.

Because we each wanted the hotter girls to ourselves in this fantasy (natch), when it was our turn to pick the names on the back of the flaps, we'd pawn the uglier ones off on the other guy. Again, 5th grade. Upon selecting one of the less visually fortunate, we'd laugh and plead for death rather than hypothetically do the deed.

To sum up:

1. We had no idea what we were talking about.

2. The options were less appealing than suicide.



3. No matter who we decided on, it wouldn't make a positive difference.

This has been your Sixers Free Agency Preview.