Ah, the opening of the baseball season in Pittsburgh, and all the good images it conjures: Grandfathers, fathers and sons strolling together into the ballpark ... the precision artistry of the well-turned double play ... the obese people in too-short shorts and sleeveless shirts loading up on a fourth plate of nachos.

That's right, it's the debut of the all-you-can-eat section in PNC Park's right field, and that's where The Morning File's correspondent wants to be. I mean, why stop at one or two hot dogs if you can have, say, six? If baseball is the American pastime, what can be more American than mass gluttony among your fellow man?

It's about time baseball caught on. People pay more than $30 for all-you-can-eat buffets at casinos in Las Vegas, and the only sport to see there is the jostling at the jumbo shrimp cocktail bowl. PNC Park fans will be one up on them, reloading their soda at the same time they can view a pitching change for the always-popular lefty-versus-lefty matchup.

As always, do-gooders -- the same kind who will be consuming salads in the Pirates' all-you-can-eat section -- try to spoil everyone's good time. After the Dodgers started the feasting concept in Los Angeles last year to fill empty seats, the critics' complaints came swifter than a Matt Capps fastball.

"It's disgusting," American Dietetic Association spokeswoman Christine Gerbstadt told USA Today. "Why can't people just enjoy the game and eat sensibly?"

Ms. Gerbstadt evidently has not seen the Pirates play for the past 15 years. Nor perhaps has author Neal Pollack, who described his experience sitting amid the Dodgers' section as "a gluttonous orgy of stupidity."

"The smell ... was unbearable," he recalled. "By the end of the game, it was like sitting in a sewer."

Well, yes, maybe, but a happy sewer.

An estimate by the concessionaire at Atlanta's Turner Field was that the average all-you-can-eat customer downed 3.35 hot dogs (explaining the two-thirds of a hot dog I always seem to find under my seat), one 20-ounce soda, one 7.9-ounce bag of peanuts, one 3-ounce order of nachos and 32 ounces of popcorn. Ummmmm.

They may need to offer a special eating section in San Antonio's Alamodome tonight to lure fans there to watch the NCAA basketball championship.

When both North Carolina and UCLA got knocked out Saturday night, it derailed the hopes of not just their legions of fans but the millions of Americans who had made the Tarheels and Bruins the two most popular choices in tournament bracket pools across the country.

So who wants to end up at an NCAA title game party tonight with some know-it-all who brags, "Yeah, I had Memphis to win it all"? Yeah, me neither.

I'll suffer in silence. Presumably, presidential candidates John McCain and Barack Obama will do likewise. They both publicized bracket picks that had North Carolina winning the whole thing. Hillary Rodham Clinton never made that mistake, so don't be surprised today if she produces some sheet she claims to have filled out weeks ago showing Memphis and Kansas in the final.

If you're upset about your NCAA picks, just let it be a reminder of the sin of gambling. Or at least, of the bad luck involved.

An Associated Press story last week noted it is proponents of legalized gambling, actually, who are encountering misfortune after making so many inroads in recent years in Pennsylvania, West Virginia and elsewhere. Government officials in both Kentucky and Massachusetts recently killed proposals to allow casinos in those states.

"People are saying, 'No more. Enough is enough,' " said Tom Gray of the National Coalition Against Gambling Expansion.

Maryland voters will decide in November whether to permit slot machines, but the public rejected a similar proposal in Ohio two years ago. Most gambling expansion comes when legislators are willing to approve it themselves, as Pennsylvania lawmakers did in 2004, rather than leave it to the voters.

One man who is happy for his right to gamble, however, is David Sneath of suburban Detroit. He won a $136 million jackpot last week in Mega Millions, the Powerball alternative used by Michigan's lottery.

His reaction immediately after he won was the one sought by so many lottery players across the country: "I yelled to the boss, 'I'm out of here,' " the Ford parts warehouse worker explained.