One of the more prescient observations made by Chuck Klosterman, the brash Herc to my more forgiving Carver, in our Wire­-centric podcast this week was that we were unlikely to see many upsets in the Smacketology tournament. The reason being The Wire was much more than a mere entertainment to those who watched it; immersing oneself in the ebbs and flows of the heroin trade in West Baltimore became something of a social obligation, a sign to the world that you were a person comfortable with moral gray areas like the war against drugs and the insane way people in Maryland say “pony.” So even though this bracket was cooked up by a bunch of overworked soup-slurpers in Los Angeles, a city where people think Old Bay means a double feature of The Rock and Pearl Harbor, The Wire’s loyal marching band of social scientists, Go-Go fans and Dickens-riders took the voting nearly as seriously as David Simon takes himself. Sure, sentimental favorites like Bubbles and Cutty were able to score a surprise TKO or two in the early rounds, but Smacketology, like Marlo’s corners, is no place for upstarts. Even an Emmy voter could have predicted this Final Four. Omar, McNulty, Stringer, and Avon? In the words of an immortal State Senator ... well, you know. If you come at these kings, you’d best not miss. And if you’re an unmemorable Ukrainian enforcer that even George Pelecanos probably had to Google when the bracket went live, well, you’d probably best not come at all.

Opening Scene

Robert Mays: I don’t know how many times I’ve watched this scene — it's somewhere between five and 15. When it comes to my experiences with TV, the only feeling that approaches the first trip through The Wire is vicariously living through the first time of others. My college roommates love to give me shit about plenty of stuff (mostly my dish-cleaning and rent-paying deficiencies). The one I never minded was their imitation of me as I watched the pilot with them, the eagerness with which I waited for that final exchange:

“If Snot Boogie always stole the money, why’d you let him play?”

“Got to. This America, man.”