Get in here and shut the door behind you. Hurry up, dammit!

OK, have a seat — I’ve got something I need to disclose.

Dear reader, I am in unprecedented territory during this year’s March Madness. Every year, I fill out a stupid bracket in the hopes that I will be the last man standing when all is said and done. And every damn year, my stupid bracket falls apart in what seems like a matter of minutes.

You don’t want to be around during those few minutes, trust me.

Not this time, folks. This year is different.

I’m currently sitting in first place in my bracket pool heading into this weekend’s Final Four where South Carolina, on a remarkable tournament run, will take on Gonzaga. Meanwhile, North Carolina will take on Oregon in the other semifinal game Saturday night, and the championship game will be played on Monday.

Now, I usually don’t need an extra reason to get pumped up for the grand finale of March Madness, but with bragging rights and cold-hard cash on the line, I’ve gone from casual fan to full-blown degenerate gambler. I can smell the cash, and I can feel its presence as it tempts and seduces me like a lady of the night whose services you pay for “companionship.”

And believe me, this is life-changing money we’re talking about here.

This $50 could be the big score I finally need, allowing me to make a clean break from this dull existence I currently occupy. The possibilities of what I may do with this major lump sum of money are endless, but here’s a few things I won’t do with it:

Donate it to charity? I’m an unpaid intern; I am the charity!

Donate it to The Kent Stater in the hopes they name a section of the newsroom after me? Look, we all know this place is going under once I leave, so that seems like a waste of money at this point.

Buy new socks? I’m proud of my hobo toes that protrude from the ends of my foot condoms.

You know that episode of “South Park” where Cartman gets all of Kyle’s money and he rolls around in it everywhere he goes? Yeah, I’m thinking of doing that as well.

Here’s what I need to happen to ensure that I become the proper heir to this jackpot — it’s pretty complicated, so please try your best to follow along:

If South Carolina beats Gonzaga to advance to the championship game, I win. The other losers trailing my plump behind have Gonzaga playing North Carolina in the championship. And, although I have North Carolina winning it all like many of them, I don’t have Gonzaga in the championship game because I picked Arizona like an idiot.

Damn you and your unreliable coaching, Sean Miller.

I haven’t even entertained the fact that Oregon could beat North Carolina and blow this whole operation to smithereens, and I’m going to refrain from believing that can happen. Besides, my massive pulsating brain can’t fathom such an instance transpiring (slowly pets white cat sitting on lap like a Bond villain).

I said some pretty bad things about South Carolina during their tournament run, mainly that they needed to lose already so the big boys can sort this thing out. But now, I’m ready to issue my first apology since George H.W. Bush was in office, and I had that Vanilla Ice haircut.

South Carolina: I’m sorry for what I said about you. Oftentimes, we say the most hurtful things to the ones we love most. Your land of overpriced fried seafood and drunken beaches serve as a treasure trove to my nefarious lifestyle. It’s time we do right by one another.

Finally, I need something from you, dear reader: Send all the positive vibes you have my way during this game to ensure we have some good juju going. I already know your bracket was busted many moons ago. Some of us still have a fighting chance to make it off this island alive, and I’m going to need your decaying corpses as part of the raft I’m constructing.

OK, sorry for that visual.

Anyway, if you have any ideas as to what I should do with my winnings, please email me at [email protected] and tell how I should spend this immeasurable amount of coin. If I don’t hear from you, I’m likely going to spend it on Bulliet Bourbon and Taco Bell, which I presume will warrant no complaints from this audience.

Clearly, this power hasn’t gone to my head, and I hope to keep it that way because that would be against my usual character and humble nature.  

We’re all Gamecock fans this weekend, don’t forget that. This can’t possibly go wrong in any fashion or come back to bite me in the ass, right?

Matt Poe is a columnist, contact him at [email protected].