The Great Buffy Rewatch and the imminent return of the vampire cage matches

My friend Nikki has been doing "The Great Buffy Rewatch" over at her excellent blog dedicated to all things teevee, NIk at Night, and invited friends and colleagues of hers who write about television in some capacity to take part. And this week it was yours truly's turn ... so click on over to Nikki's blog to see my thoughts on episodes 2.04, 2.05, and 2.06 ("Inca Mummy Girl," "Reptile Boy," and "Halloween" respectively). Nikki posts twice, first with spoilers, and second with spoilers whited out for the newbies.

Anyway, as I mentioned before, I've been meaning to get back to the vampire cage matches that I have let languish for an unconscionably long time. Hopefully the somewhat more substantial readership Nikki boasts will help kickstart them. For thus I say unto you, lo, the cage matches shall recommence! In three days time! Come out, read my summary of the fight, and vote for which vamp you think should reign supreme! We are now at the semifinals, with two spectacular matches coming up: Blade vs. Eric Northman of True Blood, and the one the Whedon fans have been waiting for: Angel vs. Spike.

Three days:

On to the semi-finals!

With a decisive 9-2 score, Blade defeats Selene and goes on to face Eric Northman in the semi-finals ... which means we are a mere three bouts away from finding out which vampire reigns supreme.

I was wondering why the voting on the last match was so desultory, but was informed that apparently Google is giving Blogger's polling app grief ... which is odd, seeing as how Blogger is now owned and operated by Google, but then I know less than nothing about computer programs and their various neuroses.

It is a bit of a concern going into the semis however, so I will do what I can to settle this out ... and failing that, will add an extra day on the voting window in the hopes that more people can get through to vote on those occasions when Google is not being bitchy. Fingers crossed.

At any rate -- the first of the semi-final matches will go up tomorrow, and it promises to be a big one: an all-Whedon match between Angel and Spike. This promises to be interesting, so be sure to tune in!

Cage Match: Blade vs. Selene

OK, the vampire cage matches have been on a longish hiatus, but we're back and ready to settle who will be battling it out in the semifinals. In our last quarterfinal bout, we have Blade from the film trilogy of the same name, and Selene, the über-stylish death dealer from Underworld. The winner of this fight will go on to meet Eric Northman of True Blood in the semifinals.

Blade won the coin toss, and has opted to have the fight in one of the more notorious vampire night clubs in town, presumably in the hopes of wreaking a certain amount of collateral damage on the clubgoers.

HOW I THINK THE FIGHT WILL GO:

The music throbs through the smoky darkness, punctuated by occasional strobes and the multicoloured lasers emanating from the DJ booth. Selene walks slowly in from the kitchens, having let herself in through the back door. She clutches her semiautomatic pistol under her long coat like a talisman, knowing that, whatever else she has faced in her long and bloody tenure as a death dealer, she was about to have one of the most difficult fights of her life—if not the most difficult.

She pauses, using a knot of writhing dancers as cover as she surveys the club's massive interior for her foe. It seems to her that there are thousands of obliviously dancing vampires here in this hangar-like space and she instinctively keeps close to the walls so as not to let Blade sneak up behind her.

She is just about to check over her shoulder when she sees him—standing absolutely still on the other side of the dance floor, up on a dais so he is above the other patrons. Though he is wearing dark sunglasses, she knows he can see her; and when her eyes meet his, he smiles slowly, revealing unsettlingly white teeth. All at once, her hand grows slippery on the butt of her gun.

He cocks his head as if asking a question. Selene breathes deeply, and nods.

Blade seems almost to explode in movement, his long coat billowing out around him as he draws a pair of guns and brings them to bear on Selene. Selene responds in kind, twin .45s emerging from beneath her coat as she dives to her right. His shots pass through the air where she had been an instant before. She hears their quick, wet thuds as they strike the dancers behind her, and the screaming sizzle as the vampires dissolve in flame. She fires off her own volley as she dives, her nervousness now gone as her body instinct takes over. Her shots are dead on, but Blade whirls away and her own silver-impregnated shells cause carnage among the dancing bodies where he was an instant ago.

It is a sign of the clubgoers' collective trance-like state that they do not at first notice the fight claiming so many bystanders. And it is not the deaths that trigger the panic, but someone turning in anger at being shoved out of the way by Blade and recognizing him. The shout, shrill and panicked, goes up over the music. "The Daywalker! Blade is here!"At that, the throb of the bass cuts out suddenly and the club's patrons begin a stampede for the exits. Somewhere in a cold, detached part of Selene's mind, she takes note that the mere mention of her opponent's name—not gunshots and bodies dissolving in fire—is what causes a collective panic.

And with that thought, her fear returns.

They continue to duck and weave amidst the vampires scrambling to get out, each firing fusillades that miss their target but hit the fleeing bodies. Selene exhausts her clips and smoothly reloads; she sees Blade discard his guns entirely, throwing them wide. His hands dive under his coat again and she sees silver glint as curved blades snick open. She swings her guns up, but even as she brings them to bear, one of the double-ended blade spins toward her. She manages to knock it aside, but feels it bite into her suddenly nerveless hand. One of her pistols goes clattering across the floor. As she tries to aim her remaining weapon, he is suddenly upon her, his hand on her wrist, yanking her around, pitching her across the floor.

She hits the ground, rolls, and is back on her feet with her two long, wickedly thin knives in her hands. They pause, regarding each other. Blade nods at her, his face registering respect. He reaches behind his head and in a smooth, elegant sweep draws his sword. She nods back at him and they move together in a blur of steel.

The ending comes quickly. Selene knows even as their steel meets, that she is outmatched. She can fend him off, but only barely, and cannot come close to bringing one of her knives under his guard. The look of regret and respect on his face is but cold comfort to her when he finally makes an end with a slash that sends her head across the room.

Projected Winner: BLADE

Cage Match: Eric Northman vs. Drusilla

I hope that Joss Whedon fans are pumped for the first semifinal, which after Angel's decisive thumping of Damon Salvatore 25-6, comes down to Angel and Spike. I'll tell you right now, that fight's going to be too close to call. I will leave it in the capable hands of my tens of fans.

But before we can get there, we have two more fights to get through, the first of them today between another Whedonverse favourite, Drusilla, and Eric Northman of True Blood. Drusilla won the coin toss, and has opted to fight in ... well, I'll let you see for yourself.

HOW I THINK THE FIGHT WILL GO:

Eric peers around at the surreal landscape, which looks like a cross between the fevered imaginings of Lewis Carroll and Christina Rossetti. Drusilla, he has learned, was cursed with clairvoyance in her mortal life in Victorian England, and driven crazy with religious guilt by Angelus before being turned. The result was a deeply unstable, highly unpredictable and exceptionally cruel vampire. Eric is confident in his own power and strength, but in his long life has learned to be wary of the caprices of an insane mind.

He senses her before he sees her.

"Pretty boy," she coos, her singsong voice echoing eerily around the murky storybook landscape. "I do so love my pretty, pretty boys. So much tastier than the repulsive child of the snow and dark."

Eric favours her with a long, appraising look. Drusilla stands about thirty feet away, under the branches of a gnarled and massive tree whose trunk, Eric realizes with a jolt, is twisted into a cruelly expressive face. Drusilla wears a simple white dress, and has draped over her shoulders a deep crimson wrap. She is barefoot.

"This is you, isn't it?" Eric asks, gesturing around him. "This place. This is some sort of manifestation of your own mind."

She gives a high, trilling laugh. "They said, they said, choose your territory. Where are you most at home, I was asked."

In your own mind, Eric thinks in reply. He peers into the gloom of the sinister cartoon forest, whose rustles in the nonexistent breeze sound like the whispers of a dozen voices.

Eric does not move, but stands with feigned nonchalance, staring intently at Drusilla. For the first time, she seems slightly discomfited.

"Will you not come and join me, my pretty boy?" she sings out to him, but he hears the slight quaver in her voice.

"I think not." Eric smiles. "I am very old, Drusilla ... much older than you, and I really have no need to hurry. I can stand here as long as is necessary."

She frowns, and clucks her tongue in annoyance. "So very, very boring. The ugly child of snow and dark liked to play."

Yes, I imagine that was his undoing, Eric thinks.

Drusilla emerges from beneath the tree, letting her crimson shawl trail behind her like a silken wound. "Do not be boring, my pretty boy. Come play with me."

Eric does not move. Drusilla flashes past him, letting the wrap float on the air. Eric raises his hand in time to block the loop of piano wire Drusilla had hidden in the shawl. As she yanks on the wire, he wraps his hand in it and hauls forward. Drusilla finds herself pulled toward Eric as he throws his head back to crunch into her face. Whiplike, he spins around, pulling the wire from her stunned hands and winding it around her neck.

"You know, someone once said that the definition of insanity was doing the same thing twice and expecting a different result," he says conversationally. "I've never quite understood that." He tightens the wire and watches Drusilla explode in dust.

Projected Winner: ERIC NORTHMAN

Cage Match: Angel vs. Damon Salvatore

Well, based on the crushing defeat Spike handed the first-seeded vampire--with the margin of 34-3!--I'm going to go out on a limb and suggest that this tournament is now his to lose. He certainly excites a lot more voting than anyone else competing so far ...

As far as that goes, I noticed something interesting in my SiteMeter stats—every time I post a Spike fight, I'm getting a lot of referrals from a web discussion group called Don't Kill Spike, whose Live Journal page reposts the fight account and links to me. So a shout-out to those lovely Spike-obsessed peoples, and thanks for coming out to see the fights! Please don't be shy about leaving comments ...

But now, on to fight number two of our quarterfinals. Angel has returned from his Mexican adventure, ready to face Damon Salvatore. Angel wins the coin toss, and, in spite of Spike's earlier comments, selects the Sunnydale cemetery for the fight's location.

HOW I THINK THE FIGHT WILL GO:

Damon sits cross-legged on top of a lichen-crusted tomb, peering around into the gloom. An interesting place, he thinks. I saw at least two other vampires stalking in the shadows, and also what I could almost swear was a Lubber Demon. Haven't seen one of those in decades.

"Hi."

Damon leaps to his feet, startled. Angel stands behind him about ten feet away.

"Nice," Damon jumps to the ground. "It's been a long time since anyone's been able to sneak up on me."

Angel shrugs. "Welcome to Sunnydale."

"Quite the nightlife you've got here."

"Being on a Hellmouth does that."

"Might take up residence here myself."

"Well, the town comes with a resident Slayer, but hey ... knock yourself out."

Damon peers more closely at his adversary. "I've heard a lot about you."

"Really? I can't say the same about you."

Damon shrugs off the jibe. "From what I've heard, you were pretty badass back in the day. Now you're all domesticated and concerned with mortals and stuff."

Angel's expressionless face suddenly splits in a wolfish grin. "Well, I guess you're about to see just how much of a house cat I've become."

"I've already seen it," Damon snorts derisively. "My brother Stefan is just like you. Weakened and hobbled by a conscience. I can't believe—"

Angel's attack catches Damon under the chin, and the blow lifts him up in the air to land on his back on top of the tomb. He rolls off, dropping into a defensive posture. Angel stands impassively, his arms at his side, as if he had never moved.

"I thought you said you'd heard of me, Damon," he says conversationally.

Damon snarls, and launches himself forward. They trade punches and kicks, neither managing to land a blow; on his guard, Damon finds that he can match Angel's seasoned fighter's skills, but cannot break through his defense. They move in a brutal ballet through the graveyard, leaping atop tombs and mausoleums, each testing the other carefully. Damon feels his blood seethe, enjoying the exchanges of blows, not having been matched against such an adversary in years and years.

They pause several meters apart, looking at each other appraisingly. "Not bad," Angels says grudgingly. "You've got a natural speed, and your viciousness almost makes up for your lack of technique."

"I'm just getting warmed up."

"Indeed?" Angel's arm flashes forward, throwing something at Damon's face. Damon feels a thin shell crack against his cheek and a gelatinous fluid spray out over his face.

He's throwing eggs at me? he thinks, enraged at the insult but puzzled at why Angel would stoop to such tactics. He wipes the goo from his face, and is about to sneer something derisive as a reply; he notices that it is not egg yolk on his hand at about the same time as he feels his knees buckle and the energy leave his body. He falls to the ground.

"This is—"

"Concentrated vervain extract? Right first try." Angel kicks the stricken Damon over on his back. "See, when I said I'd never heard of you, that wasn't entirely true. I have a pretty accomplished research team, and we were able to find out some fun things about you." From beneath a nearby tree, Angel retrieves the sword he'd hidden. "I'm sorry you'll never find your Katherine, friend. I mean that."

And he brings the sword down.

Projected Winner: ANGEL

Cage Match: The Master vs. Spike

And here we go! We begin Bracket A's second round with an all-Whedon showdown, between the first Big Bad of Buffy the Vampire Slayer, The Master, and the bad-guy-turned-good (well, sort of) Spike. Both had pretty easy fights in round one, but now each find themselves with a pretty formidable opponent.

Spike won the coin toss, but then asked me "So what are my options here? The vamp winning the toss has been choosing home turf ... but what home turf? I'm pretty old. I've lived a lot of places."

"What about the Sunnydale Cemetery?" I asked. "You lived there for a while."

"Oh, come on ... vampires fighting in a graveyard? How cliché do you want to go here?"

"OK," I replied, "fair point. I guess we never clarified the rules. You won the toss—choose wherever you want to fight."

Spike smirked, and rubbed his hands together gleefully. "Brilliant! I want this to be a proper bloody cage match. Let's do this in the UFC Octagon. I love that stuff."

HOW I THINK THE FIGHT WILL GO:

The crowd is on its feet long before the fighters appear, cheering, waving signs. The announcer walks into the center of the Octagon, and speaks into the microphone that descends from above.

"LADIES AND GENTLEMEN! We bring you a first in the UFC ring, a fight between the undead ... to the death! Our first warrior is an ancient vampire, whose kills are numberless. Ladies and gentlemen, The Master!"

The Master enters the ring to boos from much of the crowd, clad in his usual archaic, sober suit. He seems ill at ease in the midst of the chaos, discomfited by the noise of the crowd.

"Our second warrior tonight is the Maven of Mayhem, the Bleached Berserker, the King of Chaos himself, Spike!"

The crowd explodes in cheers. Spike enters the ring to the thunderous strains of "Anarchy in the UK," clad only in a loose pair of blue boxing shorts. He waves to the audience, eliciting more cheers, and does a jaunty lap around the Octagon with his fists raised above him. He comes to a halt in front of The Master, who has watched his circuit in confusion.

"I don't understand," he says. "They love you."

"Bloody right."

"They do know you would just as soon eat them, right?"

"People love a good villain."

"Then where are my fans?"

"Well, here's the thing, mate," Spike grins, "you were the big bad of a short season. And never really a compelling one, if truth be told. I was around for six seasons of Buffy as both villain and good guy, and then a few seasons of Angel as a good guy. Sort of. And I'm pretty sure," he points out at a clump of audience wearing ornate nineteenth century military tunics, "that those are some Torchwood fans." He bounces back and forth on the balls of his feet, throwing a few jabs at the air. "Plus, you have to admit, I'm much prettier than you."

"Gentlemen," says the nervous-looking referee, "please go to your corners. Since you won't, ah, be needing me, I'll be leaving the ring. When the bell goes, come out fighting."

The Master and Spike walk away from each other, The Master with affronted stiffness and Spike still bouncing, waving his arms to gin up the crowd. The referee scrambles out of the ring with unseemly haste as the bell goes.

The crowd roars. Spike immediately sprints out of his corner, surprising The Master with the speed of his attack. He manages to land two punches before The Master lashes out with a fierce backhand. Spike ducks, but is caught with a glancing blow that staggers him back a few steps. He shakes his head to clear it and grins again.

"That the best you got, nancy?"

"You insolent pup!" The Master snarls. "You have no idea of what I can do. I will destroy you."

"I don't think so," Spike dances in again, feints with his right and then lands a vicious kick against The Master's knee. The ancient vampire's leg buckles and he sinks into a crouch. He manages to block Spike's follow-up punches, but only barely. "You're not worth the skin off my knuckles, old man. You're nothing compared to what I've seen. I've fought every demon there is, and I'm still standing."

The Master hauls himself to his feet, his eyes blazing with rage. "You're a traitor to your kind!" he shouts. "You allied yourself to the Slayer!" He lunges at Spike with blurring speed, but his opponent spins away untouched.

"Yeah, and guess what Sunny Jim?" Spike leaps into the air and lands a kick solidly on the side of The Master's neck. "She taught me a few things."

The Master staggers, enveloped in the crowd's deafening roar. For a moment it seems to him that all of his victims have returned to this arena to call for his death, so vicious are the catcalls he can hear above the din. He spins, trying to catch Spike, but his rage and confusion muddy his movements. Spike, conversely, sucks in the crowds energy as he leaps in to pummel The Master with a rain of blows that would have killed a mortal.

"You know, I can only guess that when they ranked you number one for this tournament, it was based on your entire career and not what you've done lately," Spike mocks him. "Because from where I stand, for the last century you haven't done dick."

The Master roars, blind and incoherent in his anger. Spike nods to someone outside the ring, and two long staves with sharpened ends are thrown in. He kicks one to The Master and picks up the other, spinning it around.

"Let's end this," he suggests.

The Master tries to get a handle on his fury, and takes a defensive stance, the stave clumsy and unfamiliar in his hands.

"Not so used to holding a weapon, eh?" Spike sneers. He lunges in, knocking aside the point of The Master's stave, bringing the butt of his own around to connect with the side of his head. Through vision blurred by the force of the blow, The Master sees Spike smoothly sweep his weapon around and lunge forward with its wicked point.

The last thing The Master hears before exploding into dust is The Sex Pistols being played at ear-splitting decibels over the noise of the cheering crowd.

Projected Winner: SPIKE

End of round one!

With Blade's sound thumping of Max Schreck by a margin of 15-1 (the widest margin, by percentage, so far; the widest margin by numbers remains Spike's vivisection of Edward Cullen, 30-4), we bring round one of the vampire cage matches to a close. From here on in the fights get more interesting:

BRACKET A:

The Master (Buffy the Vampre Slayer) (1) vs.
Spike (Buffy, Angel) (5)

Damon Salvatore (The Vampire Diaries)
(10) vs.
Angel (Buffy, Angel) (4)

BRACKET B:

Eric Northman (True Blood) (3) vs.
Drusilla (Buffy, Angel) (9)

Selene (Underworld) (6) vs.
Blade (Blade) (2)

I'll post the first fight tomorrow. Predictions?

Cage Match: Blade vs. Max Schreck

With Selene's sound trouncing of Bill Compton 12-4, we arrive at the last of our first round fights. In this corner, the Daywalker, the ass-kicking vampire Blade from the eponymous trilogy of films; in the other corner, the original Nosferatu, Max Schreck—who, in the wonderful Shadow of the Vampire, is imagined as an actual vampire posing as a method actor. I think the odds are pretty long against him for today's fight, but he certainly would be in the top five for best film.

Schreck won the coin toss, so today's fight will take place at an old abandoned castle on the Poland-Czech border.

HOW I THINK THE FIGHT WILL GO:

When Blade sees his opponent lurking in the shadow of a crumbling wall, he feels somewhat foolish for how heavily he armed himself for this fight. Schreck emerges into the wan moonlight ghosting the old castle's courtyard, a sneer on his thin lips.

"All that, just for me?" he rasps. "How many of me did you think you were going to have to fight?"

Blade draws his handguns, and tosses them with a clatter to the broken cobbles. He retrieves an assortment of knives and edged weapons from their hiding places under his coat, and throws them down as well. Lastly, he draws his sword from over his shoulder and, after brandishing it for a moment, stabs it into a gap in the stones at his feet.

"How classic of you," Schreck mocks. "If I can draw your sword out, do I become king?"

"Laugh all you want, old man," Blade replies evenly. "But in my line of work, it's always wise to be prepared."

Schreck shrugs dismissively, and nudges one of Blade's discarded weapons, a circle of steel studded with razor points, with his foot. "So very modern of you," he says. "What became of the stake and the clove of garlic?"

"It's a new world."

"No," Schreck sighs. "It really is not." And he launches himself at Blade.

Surprised, Blade manages to evade the attack, but the gnarled old vampire is startlingly fast. He spins away, but Schreck's talon-like fingernails leave a rent down the side of his leather coat. Blade whips it off and tosses it aside, impressed in spite of himself.

"Not bad, old man. You're showing me something here."

Schreck does not reply, but holds up one hand as if in salute to the moon. His features seem to dissolve, becoming indistinct as he fades into a cloud of mist that spills across the cobbles.

Whoever did the ranking for this thing didn't do enough research, Blade thinks, annoyed. There's a neat trick, that. Tossing aside the weapons doesn't seem such a good idea, now.

He plucks the sword out of the ground and spins cautiously around, watching tendrils of mist ripple into the shadows. He stills himself, sword at the ready, standing motionless as the rivulets of fog creep past.

Blade closes his eyes and breathes deeply. He spins as he exhales, lunging forward with his sword to spear Max Schreck, who has rematerialized immediately behind him, through the chest.

"It is a new world, old man."

Blade withdraws the sword and sweeps the ancient vampire's head off.

Projected Winner: BLADE

Cage Match: Selene vs. Bill Compton

Drusilla edged out Marlow 8-6. The voting was a little tepid on that one, people! Only fourteen votes? We need to get the word out!

Today's fight is between the divine Selene from the Underworld series of films, and everyone's favourite southern gentleman, Bill Compton from True Blood. Selene won the coin toss, and so the fight will take place in the subway system of an unnamed metropolis.

HOW I THINK THE FIGHT WILL GO:

Bill is ill at ease. He has never been comfortable in larger cities, especially not those of the modern era. He paces the subway platform nervously. When he sees his opponent emerge from the darkness of the tunnel, he feels a curious mixture of dread and attraction. Selene strides toward him with purpose, her long coat billowing out behind her. She stops about twenty feet away, and crosses her arms over her chest.

"Just for the record, I think this 'tournament' is idiotic," she announces.

Bill shrugs, and smiles with as much charm as he can muster. "We don't have to fight, I guess."

Selene's eyes narrow, and she suddenly tosses him something shiny. Bill catches it, and yells in pain. He drops the silver dollar to the group, nursing his burnt hand.

"Why?" he demands angrily.

"Just testing something out," she replies. "If you're allergic to silver, this will make things much simpler. And quicker."

From beneath her coat she draws a semiautomatic pistol and shoots Bill twice in the heart.

"Sorry about this," she says. "But I really don't have time for this shit."

Bill has just enough time to feel the burn from the silver nitrate in the bullets. And then nothing.

Projected Winner: SELENE

Cage Match: Drusilla vs. Marlow

Sorry about the delay in getting back to this. See last post for explanation.

Well, unsurprisingly David went down to Eric Northman 15-5, but the bad boy vamp lives on as a tortured anti-terrorist agent. Perhaps it will turn out that Eric is actually the mastermind behind this season's monstrous conspiracy; he'll find a more difficult opponent in Jack Bauer, and that possible plot line has the added merit of being no more ludicrous than any other we've seen over the last eight seasons of 24. Though I have been pleased to see that Katie Sackhoff's character has turned out to be a badass double agent—I was concerned she would be the whimpering, whiny character she initially was for the entire season. Somehow that just seemed beneath the dignity for the actress who portrayed Kara "Starbuck" Thrace.

But I digress. Today's fight features everybody's favourite looney-tunes vamp, Drusilla from Buffy the Vampire Slayer, and Marlow, the leader of a pack of feral vampires from 30 Days of Night. When I told them to call the coin toss, Dru started chanting nursery rhymes and Marlow tried to eat the hand holding the coin. So I made an executive decision and shipped them off to Barrow, Alaska.

HOW I THINK THE FIGHT WILL GO:

The snow crunches under Drusilla's bare feet as she stalks through the night-shrouded town. She does not feel the cold, and with her pale skin and thin white dress she might easily fade into the snowy landscape. Only her black hair and silken crimson shawl, which she lets trail from her hands, stand her out against the background in stark relief. Somewhere deep in her addled mind, beneath the polyphony of voices constantly talking to her, she knows quite shrewdly the figure she cuts. She knows that, crazy as she may be, she has style.

Not so much her opponent, one of those voices whispers to her disdainfully. He emerges from the darkness, seeming almost to shamble as he shuffles cautiously toward her. An old, stained and ragged suit, and a fierce mouth full of sharklike teeth. Some might see the feral hunger in his dead eyes and feel dread, but Drusilla has long been insulated against such trivialities as fear.

She clucks her tongue. "Ugly, ugly child," she croons, "teeth so sharp, eyes so cold, so very very ugly and old."

Marlow pauses, cocking his head in puzzlement as Drusilla talks. He spits words back at her in a guttural and raspy tongue.

"Clickety click goes the ugly child," Drusilla responds, "so hungry, so base, so wild."

Marlow, unused to prey so unafraid of him and so indifferent to his hunger, feels an odd emotion well up in him—rage. With a high-pitched screech, he launches himself at Drusilla, his clawlike hands grasping for her throat.

Drusilla whirls like a matador, her crimson wrap goading Marlow, now practically gibbering with fury. She pirouettes, evading his lunges, all balletic grace in the face of his animal strength. As he grazes past her, she leaves a lithe foot in his path, and he falls face first into the snow. All at once Drusilla is on his back. Her wrap goes floating off on the wind, and she winds the piano wire she had secreted in its seam around Marlow's neck.

So fragile is the ugly child," she sings in his ear. "So silly to lose his head, so foolish ... that now he's dead."

With a strength that belies her tiny frame, Drusilla hauls back on the wire. Marlow's head goes rolling off into the snow.

Projected Winner: DRUSILLA

Cage Match: Eric Northman vs. David

Well, that was a squeaker. I honestly had no idea which way that last match was going to break, but Damon Salvatore walked away with an 11-9 win. He's on to the quarterfinals.

And that's it for the first round of Bracket A! When we come back this way again, we will see fights between The Master and Spike, and Angel and Damon. But before that can happen, we move on to the preliminary round of Bracket B.

Our first fight here is between Eric Northman of True Blood and David (last name unknown) of everyone's favourite 80s vamp-fest The Lost Boys ... a film which featured not only a very young Kiefer Sutherland in his perennial bad-boy role (really, David is just Ace Merrill from Stand By Me with a worse haircut and fangs), but also both of the Coreys. Not having seen the movie since it was actually in the theatres, I watched about two-thirds of it online last week, and realized three things: (1) Kiefer's voice in that film is unrecognizable—it has no gravel in it whatsoever, (2) it's always a pleasant surprise to see the various parts Edward Herrmann aka Richard Gilmore shows up in, and (3) fashion in the 80s was really just embarrassing. (This last one was really less of a realization than a reaffirmation).

This fight, by the way, is a total hat-tip to Mark of Polivision. His idea for how this should go was too good not to steal.

Eric won the coin toss, so this fight will take place in the Louisiana bayou ... um, pretty far away from where Lestat's and Damon's took place, I am sure.

HOW I THINK THIS FIGHT WILL GO:

Eric Northman waits for his opponent on a high bank that slopes away into the swamp's murk. He is alive to the bayou's teeming life, thousands of little thoughts and heartbeats and fears and hungers that are like a hum at the edge of his senses. He smells the cigarette David smokes long before he sees him.

David enters from the dense forest into the clearing, looking around in distaste. Eric smiles.

"You do not care for our setting?" he asks.

"I'm from California," David sneers. "Ocean, beaches, open highway. I don't know how you live here."

"No, I imagine you don't," Eric replies evenly. "You are still young. You have not learned. It is a shame I will have to put an end to you."

"You're confident for a guy with a girl's haircut."

Eric cocks his head, almost quizzically. "I believe the expression is 'glass houses,' my friend."

David is about to respond when a loud, metallic buzzing noise disturbs the heavy air. Eric frowns, patting his hands over his pockets, and retrieving a cell phone.

"I didn't realize I was carrying this," he says, perplexed. "Hello? Um ... what?" He looks across at David. "Yes ... yes, I suppose so." He holds the phone out. "I think it is for you."

David gingerly holds the phone to his ear. "What?"

"Jack, this is Chloë. Listen carefully, I don't—"

"Who the hell is Jack? My name is David, lady."

"Jack, David, whatever. It doesn't matter. I've pulled up this guy Eric's record on—"

"Lady, I don't know who the hell you are or what you want, I don't know who this Jack asshole is, and I'm about to fight someone, so if you don't mind—"

"I know you're about to fight someone, Jack—"

"David!"

"Whatever! Look, this guy Eric is pretty tough, but I've found out that his weakness is—"

Plop. Glug. Chloë's last words are lost as David pitches the phone into the swamp. Eric watches it sink, his brow furrowed.

"That was my phone!" He pauses. "I think."

"Doesn't matter. You're going to be dead in a few minutes, so don't worry." David advances on Eric.

"No. I think not."

David does not even see Eric move. He feels a massive blow to his chest, and is suddenly flat on his back. He springs up, but Eric is nowhere to be seen.

"As I said," his voice says in David's ear, "you are young."

David spins, swinging his fist into empty air. He sees a blur of motion, and is pinned to the trunk of a massive, bearded tree. Eric holds him by the neck, and the other hand plunges a sharpened stick into David's chest.

He just has time to think that perhaps he should have listened to that Chloë person after all.

Projected Winner: ERIC NORTHMAN

Cage Match: Lestat vs. Damon Salvatore

Well, Angel won that fight pretty handily by a margin of 22-5. And now to decide whom he will face in the quarterfinals, a showdown between the vampire Lestat of Interview With The Vampire, and Damon Salvatore of the new hit television series The Vampire Diaries.

Lestat won the coin toss, so today's fight will take place in a majestic but mouldering old manor house in the Louisiana bayou.

HOW I THINK THE FIGHT WILL GO:

Lestat awaits his opponent in the house's old parlour, a room that still carries the grandeur of years now long past in spite of its damp and its mouldering old furniture. In the flickering candlelight, the water stains on the walls shiver and dance. Lestat sips thoughtfully from his wineglass, eyes narrowed as the dark form of Damon Salvatore sidles into the doorway.

"Please, come in," Lestat gestures to the overstuffed armchair across from him. A second wine glass sits on the small table between them. "Have a drink."

Damon doesn't move at first, his eyes taking in the details of the room around him. "Nice house," he says.

Lestat laughs. "Yes, I have a girl come in once a century to tidy up."

Damon enters finally, and sits. "Ah. Vampire humour."

"Won't you drink?"

He looks at the glass suspiciously. "Wine?"

Lestat frowns, swirling the viscous red around his glass. "Of course not." He gestures to a dark, moaning heap in the room's corner. "A gift from a willing and generous donor." He sips.

Damon snatches the glass out of Lestat's hand. "I think I will drink. From your glass. No offense, but we are meant to fight to the death here."

Lestat shrugs, and picks the other glass off the small table. "No offense taken. I just thought it might be nice to have a chat before getting down to business. We might find we have more in common than we think."

Damon eyes him shrewdly. "What are you suggesting?"

"It has been some time since I have met a vampire of a similar mind to me. I've heard about you ... and about your brother."

Damon snorts. "Don't talk about that idiot to me."

"A tortured, brooding, self-hating vampire who refuses to drink human blood."

"That's Stefan. Your point?"

Lestat leans forward. "Sounds an awful lot like an old friend of mine. My point is that there are a distressing number of these pathetic weaklings clinging to their 'humanity,' and here we are being asked to kill one another when we are the ones who should be leading."

Damon leans forward as well, his face close to Lestat's. "I'm listening."

"Why go along with this inane idea?" Lestat whispers, his eyes sliding over the contours of Damon's face. "Why not be the ones left standing when all these others have destroyed themselves?"

Damon places his mouth next to Lestat's ear and breathes, "I like the way you think."

Lestat gives a start, and leans back in his seat, looking down at the wooden stake protruding from his chest. "Hmm. Nicely played. One problem, though ..." he jerks the stake out. "My kind of vampire can't be killed by staking. You really should do your research."

All at once, Lestat and Damon are on their feet, facing each other down. "It might have been nice to have a partner again," sighed Lestat.

Damon shrugs. "It would never last. As you say, we're too similar."

"Right. Shall we do this?"

Projected Winner: TOO CLOSE TO CALL

Cage Match: Angel vs. Santanico Pandemonium

Well, that certainly didn't go well for Edward—Spike mopped the floor with him by a margin of 30-4 (the fact that Edward got four votes would appear to be evidence that this blog gets the occasional teenage girl audience).

On to the next fight!

We have a slight schedule change. I've been watching The Vampire Diaries to get a sense of how the Damon-Lestat fight would go, and I'm almost there ... almost. I don't quite have the shape of it yet—this one might be too close for me to call. It was, I must say, serendipitous to have these two draw their fight together. Such delightful assholes, both of them. Don King would bill the fight as "The Battle of the Bastards" or "Skirmish of the Scumbags."

Anyway, while I figure out how to write that fight, I'm moving up the next showdown. This one was fun: today's match is between Angel, of Buffy the Vampire Slayer and Angel, and Santanico Pandemonium of From Dusk Till Dawn—the exotic dancer vampire who has the distinction of effectively launching Salma Hayek's career.

Santanico won the coin toss, so the fight will take place in the bar with the subtle and tactful name The Titty Twister, just over the Mexican border.

HOW I THINK THE FIGHT WILL GO:

Angel sits uncomfortably at his table near the stage, looking around the filthy bar at the bikers and banditos who comprise its clientele. Latin music throbs in the air and topless dancers in harlequin masks writhe in the many alcoves. Not really my scene, he reflects. Spike would love this. Too bad he didn't draw this fight. He notices that he is getting a lot of dark looks from the club's patrons. Angelus would have loved this place too.

He looks to his right, and realizes that most of the hostile curiosity is actually focused on Wesley, who is very conspicuously absorbed in a massive leather-bound tome.

"Fascinating!" Wesley exclaims suddenly. "This ... bar ... "

"You can't say the name, can you Wes?"

He squirms. "Of course I can. I just choose not to."

A papery voice whispers from beneath them. "Titty Twister."

Angel starts, and looks down. "What ... Fred? What are you doing under the table?"

"Hiding," she says. "A man at the bar offered me a ride on his hog. I calculated that the odds are thirty to one he wasn't being euphemistic."

"Um, OK ... fair enough. So ... what does your book say, Wes?"

"That this ... bar ... is built on an ancient Aztec temple, and is a beacon of mystic energy. Vampires are drawn here. It's sort of like a Hellmouth."

"Like a Hellmouth?"

"OK, it is a Hellmouth." Wesley runs his finger down a line of the crabbed text. "Your opponent, this Santanico Pandemonium, is a princess of sorts, revered by the vampire community here."

"Huh. So what you're saying is that if I kill her in this fight, there'll be a lot of pissed-off Aztec vampires wanting revenge?"

"In a nutshell."

"Well, good thing I brought the troops." Angel looks around. "Speaking of which, where are the troops?"

"Well, Gunn is chatting with that ... ah ... lady over there. Last I saw Lorne, he was trying to instruct the bartender on how to mix a proper Manhattan, Fred is hiding under the table, and Cordy refused to come when she heard this bar was named ... the, um, name it has."

"And Spike is in the Pacific Northwest fighting a vampire idolized not by Mexican biker undead but teenage girls. How did I pull this gig again?"

Before Wesley can answer, the lights in the bar dim and the improbably-muscled bartender climbs onto the stage.

"Ladies and gentlemen!" he bellows into his mike. "For your viewing pleasure this evening we bring you a battle to the death! In this corner, I give you the Mistress of the Macabre! The Sanguinary Seductress, the Madam of Mayhem! Bow down before the glory that is ... SANTANICO PANDEMONIUM!"

Underneath the thunderous applause, Angel hears Wesley murmur appreciatively, "Oh. My."

Santanico sways forward into the spotlight, wearing a traditional Aztec headdress and not much else.

"Uh ..." Angel leans over to Wesley. "I don't know how good I'm going to be fighting a woman in a bikini, Wes."

"A little after midnight," Wesley responds distractedly, his eyes not leaving the stage.

"AND IN THIS CORNER ... the Brooding Byronic Bachelor of the City of Angels! Helper of the Helpless, the Vampire With a Soul, I give you—" the bartender does a double take at the note in his hand, and leans over to exchange some words with someone near the stage. "Seriously? That's his name? Seriously. Well, OK ... Ladies and Gentlemen, I give you ... 'Angel'," he finishes, his voice dripping scorn and sarcasm.

Raucous laughter and wolf-whistles accompany Angel as he vaults onto the stage. Santanico stands hipshot, her eyes raking over him. "Well," she purrs, "you're an awful lot prettier than most of the men I see in here. It will be a shame to ruin those babylike looks."

Annoyed, Angel puts on his game face, feeling his brows contract and teeth jut into his vampiric rictus. "I'm not that pretty."

Santanico laughs derisively, and her face similarly transforms into a grotesque, snakelike mask.

"Huh," says Angel. "How about that." He glances down at Wesley. "Looks like that bikini thing isn't going to be an issue after all."

Hissing, Santanico launches herself at Angel, her hands outstretched. She's fast, Angel has time to think before instinct kicks in and he catches her by the wrists, wrenching her arms apart. She uses the movement to force her head forward, her teeth bared and aiming for his neck. Angel falls backward, putting a foot on her midriff, launching her over top of him to fall on a group of tables clustered together. The bikers sitting there scatter as she crashes into their midst.

Angel pauses for just an instant as Santanico crashes down, his fingers at his throat. Weird ... why would she ...? And then Santanico is on her feet again, and Angel leaps from the stage. She comes at him, hands again outstretched. He knocks her arms apart and kicks straight out. The blow catches her by surprise, but she recovers quickly. Now she is warier, circling Angel with her hands raised as claws. The bar has gone quiet. All eyes watch the two combatants. They are shocked, Angel suddenly realizes. They did not expect anyone to give their princess a run for her money. He lunges forward, landing two, three blows on Santanico's snakelike head while she vainly tries to block his attack. His last punch sends her flying backward. Again, she is on her feet quickly, but her face is back to normal, her expression baffled and hurt.

"How ...?" she asks.

Angel passes a pool table as he strides toward her, snatching up a cue and spinning it about theatrically in his hands.

"You don't know how to fight vampires," he tells her. He looks around at the bar, his words taking all of them in. "None of you do. You have lived here so long, preying on the humans that cross your path, taking the easy pickings that wander into your bar for liquor and sex. But fighting vamps? It's pretty much what I do for a living."

He crosses the short distance to Santanico, lunging with the pool cue as if it was a fencing foil. She stands, shocked, as fire spreads from the wound and she disappears into flame and ash. Angel stands still for a moment as silence reigns in the bar.

"Uh .... Angel?"

He straightens, and turns to see that Gunn, Lorne, Fred and Wesley have all clustered near him, weapons in hand. All around them, the faces of the bar patrons have transformed into fierce vampire masks. Angel nods.

"All right, then. Now the fun part."

Projected Winner: ANGEL

Cage match: Spike vs. Edward Cullen

Well, Miriam put up a pretty good fight, but in the end succumbed to The Master by a margin of 17-10. The Master moves on to the quarterfinals.

And now, a fight I'm sure many are anticipating, between Spike, the peroxided king of mayhem from Buffy the Vampire Slayer and Angel, and Edward Cullen, the brooding sparkly guy from the Twilight series.

Edward won the coin toss, so the fight will take place in an old-growth forest in the Pacific Northwest.

HOW I THINK THE FIGHT WILL GO:

It is late afternoon, the dusk light fading into ... well, twilight. Spike lounges against one of the massive redwoods, smoking a cigarette and peering up into the gloom. Constantly overcast, he thinks. No direct sunlight during the day. Bloke could get used to this. He wipes moisture off his face with the sleeve of his leather coat. Except for the bloody wet.

He looks down from the leaden sky to see his appointed adversary enter the clearing, a mousy brown-haired girl trailing apprehensively behind him. Spike looks his opponent over with mounting disgust. "'Kin' hell," he mutters, pitching away his fag-end. "Brooding pretty boy who went tragic with the hair gel. What, do these twats follow me?" Peering more closely, he exclaims to himself, "Is he sparkling?" He raises his voice. "Hey, nancy. Who's the bird?" When Edward looks skyward in confusion, Spike clarifies, "The girl, nimrod. Who is she, and what's she doing here?"

"She is my great love," Edward intones sententiously, and Bella favours him with a look so slavish Spike feels the whiskey he downed an hour ago fighting to come up.

"Oh, lovely. Let me guess: you're a hundred-and-something year old vampire with a tortured soul and a thing for jailbait. And it's all very agonizing and poetic and chaste because you're afraid if you actually go in for the rumpy-pumpy you'll go all savage and bestial on her?"

Startled, Edward nods. "Yes. How did you know?"

"Old story, mate. Chap I know had the same problem. Except, his girl at least had some spunk." He winks. "I know. Did her myself."

Edward steps in closer. "Well ... she's kind of got a thing for werewolves," he says conspiratorially.

Spike laughs. "Oh, you don't want a piece of that, mate. Last bird I knew dallied with a werewolf, totally lost the taste for the meat-and-veg. If you follow me."

Edward furrows his sparkly brow. "I don't, actually."

"Colour me shocked," Spike sighs. "All right. Shall we do this?"

Without hesitation, Edward launches himself backward, kicking himself off a redwood and flying over Spike's head to land immediately behind him. Almost casually, Spike turns, driving the stake he had under his coat into Edward's chest.

"Sorry, mate," Spike says conversationally. "Trick a friend taught me. This is Mr. Pointy."

Edward explodes into a cloud of sparkly dust.

Projected Winner: SPIKE

Cage Match: The Master vs. Miriam Blaylock

So here with are with Fighte the Firste, between the first boss of Buffy the Vampire Slayer, the ancient vampire known only as The Master; and Miriam Blaylock, the über-fashionable and sexy immortal from The Hunger who inspired at least two generations of vampire-obsessed Goths.

And thanks to everyone who made their predictions in the comments section yesterday, but the first fight takes place in the poll button immediately to your right.

These fights, just as a side note, will not actually take place in a cage, but on one of the two vampires' home turfs. Miriam won this coin toss, and waits in her lavish New York townhouse for her opponent.

HOW I THINK THE FIGHT WILL GO:

As the light fades, Miriam walks through her sumptuous rooms lighting candles to set the mood. She knows little of her assigned opponent, only that he goes by the name "The Master." Men, she thinks, so hubristic ... such febrile egos to grant themselves such titles. And gauche at that, she reflects—could he not have had at least a touch of subtlety in selecting his moniker? I shall use that. She reclines on her divan, artfully allowing the shadows to fall across her face.

She does not wait long. The door opens, and a figure steps into the parlour. She cannot see his face in the shadows, but he is dressed simply, in what looks like a plain black suit.

"Miriam Blaylock?" the voice is a file drawn across a rusty chain.

"Indeed." She uncrosses and crosses her legs. "And you are 'The Master'?"

He makes a sound that may be a laugh, may be a snort of derision. "Yes. You would do well not to put my name in scare quotes, madam."

He steps forward, and the light of a cluster of candles illuminates his face. In their flickering light, the deep ridges of his cheeks and brow stand out in stark relief like canyons. His eyes burn red. He smiles, bearing his teeth, as he hears Miriam's sharp intake of breath.

This is all wrong, she thinks. He isn't ... human. The immortals with whom she has crossed paths over her long life have been elegant, sometimes somewhat wasted and gaunt, but always with the insouciance that came with lives spent preying on willing, even slavish men and women. This one ... He radiates menace and cruelty, she thinks, her mind working fast.

Miriam forces herself to stand, to step forward and reach out a graceful manicured hand to touch The Master's cheek. The other fingers the ankh around her neck, ready to draw the hidden knife when she sees her moment.

"My dear," she purrs, "I see now that I am truly matched against a master. Perhaps this is wrong—let us not fight. Let me help you, and together we can do undreamt-of things."

She does not see his hand move. Suddenly he has her wrist in his crushing grip, and his other hand is around her throat,

"No," he says in an oddly resigned tone. "I no longer employ minions. They only disappoint. I work alone now."

Desperately, she draws the tiny blade from the ankh and plunges it unto his chest.

"Oh my dear, no. No, no, no." He chuckles, shaking his head. "You see, there are a lot of people in this tournament, worthy opponents, that I look forward to facing. And scores to settle, I might add. You're in my way. I'd say I was sorry I had to do this, but ... well, I'm really not."

And with that, he squeezes. Hard.

Projected Winner: THE MASTER

Vampire cage matches — round one

So after careful consideration, consultation with experts and a little bit of guesswork, I have arrived at a final list of competitors and ranked them (I hope) appropriately.

Here's how things will go: matches will occur every three or four days, depending on how the voting goes. So, please vote! And please tell your friends to vote! I don't want these bouts decided 5-3 or anything pathetic like that. So if you've got a blog, post a link; tell your friends on Facebook to check it out; email those not on Facebook; and if you're really desperate, talk to people in person and tell them to come and weigh in. (I realize this last suggestion is a bit radical, but we want a good turnout).

Here are the scheduled matches:

BRACKET A

The Master (Buffy) (1) vs.
Miriam Blaylock (The Hunger) (16)

Spike (Buffy, Angel) (5) vs.
Edward Cullen (Twilight) (12)

Lestat (Interview with the Vampire) (7) vs.
Damon Salvatore (The Vampire Diaries) (10)

Angel (Buffy, Angel) (4) vs.
Santanico Pandemonium (From Dusk Till Dawn) (13)

BRACKET B

Eric Northman (True Blood) (3) vs.
David (The Lost Boys) (14)

Marlow (Thirty Days of Night) (8) vs.
Drusilla (Buffy, Angel) (9)

Selene (Underworld) (6) vs.
Bill Compton (True Blood) (11)

Blade (Blade) (2) vs.
Max Schreck (Shadow of the Vampire) (15)

The fights will unfold in exactly this order, and I will post the first tomorrow.

ALSO: Anyone wishing to be a guest commentator/fight predictor is more than welcome. If there is a particular fight listed here you would like to write the blurb for, please let me know. I've already got the first two written, but everything else is open season. You can email me here.

Vampire cage matches

I have a hefty stack of exams to grade sitting on my dining room table downstairs, so naturally I am playing with Blogger and investigating all the fun little gadgets and template upgrades I have been blissfully ignorant of until now. I have discovered that I can add a poll application, which will allow you, my lovely readers, to vote on whatever question I choose to put to you.

No voting today—just an idea. I follow the blog of George R. R. Martin, partly to look for indications that his next Ice & Fire novel will be finished soon, but also because he's a funny and engaging blogger in his own right. In the last few weeks, the SF/Fantasy news blog Suvudu has done a March Madness series of fantasy cage matches, in which they have pitted characters from fantasy novels (including Gandalf, Aragorn, Dumbledore, Roland from Stephen King's Dark Tower series, Drizzt Do'Urden from R.A. Salvatore's the Forgotten Realms series, H.P. Lovecraft's Cthulu, Aslan, Eragon, and Jaime Lannister from Ice & Fire—hence Martin's interest) against each other in fights to the death. The blog writers provided little sketches of how they imagined the fights would go, and suggested a projected winner, but the results were ultimately left up to fan voting—often with surprising results. You can review the results in the left masthead of the Suvudu site—I won't spoil the fun by offering spoilers.

It was, to borrow a recently coined term, enough to give one a geekgasm.

After my first exam yesterday, I took my students down to the Duke of Duckworth for a drink, and at one point the conversation drifted into an extended riff on the general crappiness of Stephanie Meyer's Twilight series. I of course brought up the brilliant t-shirt, modeled beautifully by Nikki Stafford here, that says "... and then Buffy staked Edward. The End." And as will often happen in such conversations, there was much speculation on just how badly Edward Cullen would get his ass handed to him if he were to encounter Buffy, or Angel, or Blade, or Spike, or really any other vampire / vampire killer out there.

Which brings me to my funky blogger polling app. I propose a series of vampire cage matches, modeled on (or stolen from, if you prefer) the Suvudu model. I will take sixteen vamps (the full thirty-two would just be unwieldy), arrive at a ranking, and pair them off appropriately. I will write a blurb suggesting how the fight will go, project a winner, and open the match up to voting. Sound good?

I've arrived at a first draft list of vamps, but would like reader input. If you think I've missed someone important or included someone who shouldn't be there, let me know. I will take all suggestions under consideration. Here are the rules:

1. This is exclusively a film and television tournament. The vampires must have a specific incarnation on the big or small screen, and in the event that a character appears in different forms (e.g. Lestat in Interview vs. Queen of the Damned), one must be specified.
   
2. NO DRACULAS. Two reasons: first, it hardly seems fair to the others. Second, there are so damn many versions out there, we could have a tournament simply among his various film incarnations. An idea for the future perhaps, but let's leave the daddy of all vamps on the sidelines for this one, OK?
   

Um, OK. That's it. Just those two rules.

Here's my draft list, which is totally open to suggestions for change. And if it seems heavy on the Buffy/Angel characters, that's only because Joss Whedon is a god. Not THE god. But certainly A god.

Selene (Underworld)
Angel (Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Angel)
Lestat (Interview with the Vampire)
Miriam Blaylock (The Hunger)
Blade (Blade)
Darla (Buffy, Angel)
David (The Lost Boys—you know, the Jack Bauer vamp)
Akasha (Queen of the Damned)
Bill Compton (True Blood)
Edward Cullen (Twilight)
Spike (Buffy, Angel)
Marlow (Thirty Days of Night)
Charles Bromley (Daybreakers)
Max Schreck (Shadow of the Vampire)
The Master (Buffy)
Santanico Pandemonium (From Dusk Till Dawn)

OK, let's hear everyone's thoughts—and the way they should be ranked, too.

Sigh. And now, back to grading exams ...