I liked smoked cheese because it reminds me of the smoking destruction often wrought by my favorite basketball team, the Kansas Jayhawks. Each winter, I ingest a healthy cross-section of smoked food — from Cyclone flambe to charred Sooner, from grilled and skewered Missouri Tiger on a bed of greens to tenderly fricasseed Cornhusker with a side of roasted Aggie. This spring's offerings were unusually plentiful and toothsome; during an epic late March weekend, I was treated to slow-roasted Blue Devil a mere 48 hours before feasting upon seared Arizona Wildcat. The Wildcat, I must admit, was especially delicious considering the cruel, terrible, ruthless, unforgettable surprise grilling he had administered on a legendary Jayhawk team in the round of 16 in March 1997. In comparison to these smoky delights, Spanish Idiazabal hardly merits mention. Yes, it is much nicer than many smoked Jacks and goudas that have unceremoniously paraded through my little cheese drawer, but still, compared to the deep, rich smokiness emitted by a Kansas State Wildcat torched by indiscriminate aerial assault by Kansas guards, it might as well be Cheez-Whiz.