Joel's resignations always shocked me, and took some time to recover from, but just when my ego wounds started healing I would inevitably get a perky email from him out of nowhere. Joel was sending me his latest batch of predictions! His prose was joyful and sparkling and his cover notes to me never mentioned his earlier, righteous meltdowns. He was suddenly all excited about the derby again, the great movies in it and how the race might play out. Our giddy email exchanges that followed had the spirit of teen girls gushing about the fate of our high-school football team.

Up until, that is, two or three years ago. Joel and I arrived at a crowded film screening at the same time and plopped down in the front row side by side. He looked at me with alarm, then disgust, then a sly smile crossed his lips and he scowled: "Oh, no! It must be THAT time of year again!"

"That does it!" I exclaimed. "What the hell is your problem with me, Joel? Out with it! Don't even try to be diplomatic."

He didn't try at all.

"Do you know what you represent to me, Tom?" he started. "You represent all of the worst things about the Oscars. You're a professional awards pundit. Why, there never used to be such a thing! We used to have film critics arguing that this movie should win because it's better than that movie. Then YOU come along saying that Hollywood is voting for this movie or that star because they like British accents. Or they're voting for this actress because she's a babe. WHATEVER HAPPENED TO THE GLORIOUS DISCUSSION OF FILM GREATNESS, HUH? People like you have turned it into a vulgar contest, with flashy ads. Disgusting. Stop all this stuff about the campaign and the derby and …"

His tirade was cut short — hallelujah — when the movie started. I don't even remember what movie it was! That's how traumatized I was by his outburst.

Joel remained in an agitated state while the film unspooled, too, bouncing in his seat. When it finished, he continued his harangue.

I fought back. Then he counter-fought as we made our way to the elevator and then down to the busy, now dark, Manhattan street. I remember Dave Karger of Entertainment Weekly regarding us with spooked eyes as he passed, resisting the urge to shriek, "What the HELL are you guys ranting about?!"

Finally, I couldn't take it from Joel one more minute.

"You are a hypocrite!" I yelled.

"Oh, really?" he said. "That's ridiculous!"

"Yeah!" I said. "Why is it perfectly OK for YOU to do your own private Oscar whoring every year -- your own TV special -- 'Joel Siegel Goes to the Academy Awards' -- or whatever it's called -- that gets syndicated to hundreds of TV stations. All that plus the Oscar pontificating you do all year 'round. Hell, every movie ad in every newspaper has a quote from Joel Siegel proclaiming, 'Billy Bozo gives an Oscar-worthy performance in 'Police Academy 12.' Why is that OK for YOU, but when I do it, it's the work of Satan?"

He was dumbstruck. I got him and he knew it. I waited for him to say something, but he was speechless.

"Let me tell you why you're REALLY so upset about Oscar punditry," I told him, wagging a finger in his face. "Your predictions are usually wrong because you're forced to make them too early. Your syndicated TV show has to be edited weeks before the Oscars, so you're forced to make predictions before the guild awards, which tell us who's really ahead. When the guilds contradict you, you feel like you have to stick with your early, dumb predictions because otherwise it might confuse people. So you dread the Oscars every year because you have to defend lousy prediction and then you have to suffer the humiliation of Oscar night. THAT'S WHY YOU HATE THE OSCARS, JOEL, AND THAT'S WHY YOU HATE A PROFESSIONAL OSCAR PUNDIT LIKE ME! BECAUSE I'M ALLOWED TO CHANGE MY MIND UP TILL THE LAST MINUTE AND YOU'RE STUCK WITH BUM PREDICTIONS AND IT DRIVES YOU NUTS!!"

Joel was quiet for a sec, then, suddenly, he burst out laughing.

"You're right!" he screamed. "Oh, my God, that's brilliant! You're absolutely right! I never thought of that! Come here!"

He grabbed my arm and yanked me across the plaza in front of the Fox building on Sixth Avenue. He was late for something and had to catch a cab, but he didn't want us to separate while our little drama played out.

Joel continued laughing, roaring and even clapped a little in between thrusting a hand out over Sixth Avenue, then turned to me one last time as a taxi pulled up to the curb.

"I don't hate you, Tom," he said. "Are you kidding? I love you more than ever, kiddo, for what you just said. So true! So true! That's the funniest thing I've ever heard and only another Oscar pundit would know my dirty little secret! Haaaa! You've outted me, Tom! I can't believe it!"

He shook my hand cheerfully, said goodbye, still laughing. He disappeared into the back of that cab and vanished into the Manhattan night, waving at me like a departing soldier off to war in some bad Oscar best-picture champ.

I saw Joel one more time after that — on the red carpet out in front of the Kodak Theater a year ago last March. It was early morning — still dark out. We were shooting segments live for "GMA's" Sunday show.

"Watch out for 'Crash'!" he thundered at America, leaning forward to drive the warning home to the camera. "It could beat 'Brokeback Mountain'!"

"It's not too late to change your prediction," I told him.

Joel laughed.

"You're giving me official permission?" he asked.

"Yes!" I said. "This time — Screw the early syndicated special. Abandon all early predix and tell us what's really going to win best picture!"

"OK!" he said, accepting the challenge. "'Brokeback Mountain!'"

He was wrong again.

But then so were the rest of us that year. Oscar punditry is a humbling profession and my pundit pal Joel knew that more than anyone. In fact, he was haunted by it.

But in the end, by Joel's early encouragement of me and support of GoldDerby, he helped to create this website devoted to it. We all owe him a huge debt of thanks, dear Derbyites and Envelopers!

Huzzah, Joel! Sleep well, our friend.