Maybe you spent the first weekend of your spring break basking on the beaches of some tropical paradise, trying to find the type of people featured in MTV's Undercover specials.

Me, I went to Indianapolis to spend a weekend watching chicks — make that women. Because I don't want to find out what would happen if I called the women playing on the Big Ten basketball rosters chicks.

In the course of the four days of the women's Big Ten basketball tournament, there were action packed games but there were also a couple of clunkers, like say Michigan's Feb. 28 lopsided 84-63 trouncing of Illinois. Not to mention the half-hour between games when the media room isn't serving anything good to eat. And what better to do with that downtime than take in one's surroundings.

By that I mean the auxiliary entertainment: the pep bands and the cheerleaders.

Now I've always had a deep respect for the pep bands. They play, they yell, they jump, keep the crowd going during media timeouts. But my four-day immersion in sweaterclad musicians convinced me of one thing: The Penn State pep bad is in need of some serious revamping.

It's not the musicians, they were as good as any group out there (although a few more bass drums would have been nice. Think of the reverberation during the third verse of "Let's Go State" at Beaver Stadium).

They just need to work on song selection. The 1812 Overture just doesn't get the crowd up. Same for the Empirical March. The only thing passing for rousing is when the ensemble belts out is The Who's "Pinball Wizard."

This never bothered me before, largely because I was blissfully ignorant of what other schools were trotting out. Aside from the traditional fight songs and "Hey Baby," there were adventuresome alternatives.

I heard Green Day, P. Diddy and the Family, and Queen. Indiana even played Phish's "Chalk dust Torture". Although this was negated by the egregious sin of converting, the music from my supposedly angst-filled youth, Nirvana's "Smell's Like Teen Spirit" and Pearl Jam's "Evenflow" to the pep band format. Still, a little variety would be nice.

Having seen the light, it makes perfect sense why, in late game situations, The Bryce Jordan Center PA system blares out "Cotton Eye Joe" instead of letting anyone touch a horn.

I'd go so far as to say the only bands that gave more lackluster performances were Minnesota, comprised of eight old people who couldn't hold notes, and Northwestern, which used its instruments like Bono uses his guitar — mostly for decoration.

Don't get me wrong, there are some things the pep band does very well. The dance the first row does to distract opposing foul-shooters is a nice touch. And yelling "who cares" during opponents introduction — simply classic.

But really, it's all about the music. So for next season, I'm not bold enough to ask for reform by Friday's first round of the NCAA women's basketball tournament, all I desire from those who get those under the basket seats is something written recently, say in the last 20 years.

Now there's some guy reading this who's thinking, "I thought he said something about cheerleaders." Well here goes.

First, it's scary how accurate Saturday Night Live's cheerleader segment can be at times (Wisconsin, I'm talking to you).

Second, receive gloves on the male cheerleaders, a la Purdue, look stupid. There's no wind and no defenders are trying to bat the girls out of your hands, no one will call interference if you screw up and you definitely don't look tough.

Finally, if the crowd is clearly favoring the opponent, leading cheers to "Rock and Roll, Part II" is a bad idea (something to be coordinated with your pep band, which should have known better).

The problem is everyone uses it, so Indiana's "Go Big Red" becomes Purdue's "Hey Go Boilers" before your squad has even set up its mount. But Purdue fans are another matter all together. They filled Conseco Fieldhouse for both the Boilermakers games, half the men looking like Yosemite Sam clones. Then they yell for fouls on every Purdue possession. And pretty soon, you find yourself dreaming about watching MTV's Spring Break special back at your Indianapolis hotel.