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What a great Sunday to be a gambler.
A smorgasbord of NFL action. The boys on the PGA tour were playing off for a 10 million dollar cheque. Yankees and Red Sox. A rematch of the Stanley Cup final with the Red Wings and Penguins squaring off in preseason NHL.
And I was right in the middle of making up for lost time.
My days of closet gambling were now officially over.
I'm done with blending the sports in with the entertainment section of the newspaper like a naughty schoolboy who wraps his Playboy with the cover of a wrestling magazine.
Long gone are my days of flipping the TV channel from Sportscenter to the cooking network when a friend arrives at the door.
I'm a gambler again and proud of it. This isn't my problem anymore, it’s theirs.
The hierarchy of my personal life had suspected I was gambling again due to my overall good mood and recent happiness. When a man has a fresh bankroll he is rejuvenated. He is alive with hope. Everything is possible before the wagers are laid.
My support group didn't suspect anything - they knew I was gambling again. One missed meeting can be explained but two weeks in a row is clearly a fall from the wagon.
Although my sponsor and my bookie find themselves at opposite ends of parabolic curve they share many characteristics. Both are known simply as Johnny M and when things were going good I would walk over broken glass to see them, but when things were in the dumper I tried to avoid them like a public toilet.
A desire to stop gambling is the only condition required for membership into Gamblers Anonymous and I was now a walking contradiction of their mission statement. In fact, I may have been in violation of that statute the entire time.
The confirmation of my return to gambling was not well received. It was greeted more like a Mike Vick comeback: met with boos, protests, boycotts and obscene gestures. I don't need to be warned of the dangers associated with my decision. I'm reminded of the costs on a daily basis.
I've gone from flossing a Platinum AMX to timidly swiping a Money Mart Titanium pre-paid credit card and hoping I have deposited enough cash on it to cover the purchase.
I now lease a benign sedan instead of owning a gas guzzling luxury automobile. I pay rent every month instead of building equity on my own property. All my assets have been liquidated into liabilities.
But I don't regret laying a single wager. My only regret is not picking the right side.
My bankroll is the only evidence of any positive yardage in my current drive toward success. I want to make it grow so I can increase my wagers and make this stock split. There is no end in sight. It’s just greed masquerading as ambition.
The only real payoff is to know I beat the book for a dime on every wager instead of a nickel.
My day starts at 2 p.m. and goes late into the evening. My goal is to keep the action alive and have my business turn to pleasure.
The opening kickoff rings in the ears of gamblers like a starter’s pistol. It’s like a long distance marathon where teams try to set the pace and increase the distance between themselves and their opponents.
As the early games commence the Giants, Eagles and Ravens come out of the box like Usain Bolt.
But I'm never lucky enough to pick a thoroughbred like that. I was stuck with my investment tied up on the Patriots who couldn't convert in the red zone. The sharp guys were taking the rest of the day off by halftime in the aforementioned games and spending their winnings at the gentleman's club while I was sweating my action out till the fourth quarter.
Watching Stephen Gostkowski kick field goals instead of seeing Tom Brady throw touchdown passes forced my attention to the fairways of East Lake in Atlanta, Georgia. Taking a break from concentrating on the game you’re trying to influence is always a good way to decompress.
A watched pot never boils.
I turned my back on the football and hoped when I caught up with my action I would be on the winning side. Luckily, I had I placed a pair of small "entertainment" bets on the golf just to increase my viewing enjoyment which offered me an escape.
Steve Stricker to beat Ernie Els.
On the 16th tee Stricker was a only a few good swings away from a $10 million payday for winning the Fed Ex Cup. By the time he was standing on 18th tee they were ripping up his multi-million dollar check and I was in jeopardy of losing the C-note I invested after he made back-to-back bogeys. A par on 18 stopped the bleeding and rewarded me for the 20 minutes of stress he had just put me through.
Padraig Harrington to beat Steve "the birdie machine" Marino.
Thanks to a strong back nine from Padraig I cashed in this ticket as well. A rare come-from- behind win for me, usually when I'm down my guys never get back up.
By the time I grinded through all that action the Patriots had a commanding lead and that wager was money in the bank.
I suffered through the same auspicious start in the late game as I did earlier watching Seattle and Denver take huge leads while my investment on the Saints left me uneasy. They were on the road, in the cold and getting scored on by fake field goal attempts. Not to mention I had already gone 3-for-3 so my bubble was bound to break at any time.
A strong second half by New Orleans paid me a handsome reward.
My last wager of the dayturned out to be a true gift when a strong performance by the Colts helped me finish the day with a perfect record and a generous profit.
It’s days like these that make me feel good about being a loser.
What a great Sunday to be a gambler.
A smorgasbord of NFL action. The boys on the PGA tour were playing off for a 10 million dollar cheque. Yankees and Red Sox. A rematch of the Stanley Cup final with the Red Wings and Penguins squaring off in preseason NHL.
And I was right in the middle of making up for lost time.
My days of closet gambling were now officially over.
I'm done with blending the sports in with the entertainment section of the newspaper like a naughty schoolboy who wraps his Playboy with the cover of a wrestling magazine.
Long gone are my days of flipping the TV channel from Sportscenter to the cooking network when a friend arrives at the door.
I'm a gambler again and proud of it. This isn't my problem anymore, it’s theirs.
The hierarchy of my personal life had suspected I was gambling again due to my overall good mood and recent happiness. When a man has a fresh bankroll he is rejuvenated. He is alive with hope. Everything is possible before the wagers are laid.
My support group didn't suspect anything - they knew I was gambling again. One missed meeting can be explained but two weeks in a row is clearly a fall from the wagon.
Although my sponsor and my bookie find themselves at opposite ends of parabolic curve they share many characteristics. Both are known simply as Johnny M and when things were going good I would walk over broken glass to see them, but when things were in the dumper I tried to avoid them like a public toilet.
A desire to stop gambling is the only condition required for membership into Gamblers Anonymous and I was now a walking contradiction of their mission statement. In fact, I may have been in violation of that statute the entire time.
The confirmation of my return to gambling was not well received. It was greeted more like a Mike Vick comeback: met with boos, protests, boycotts and obscene gestures. I don't need to be warned of the dangers associated with my decision. I'm reminded of the costs on a daily basis.
I've gone from flossing a Platinum AMX to timidly swiping a Money Mart Titanium pre-paid credit card and hoping I have deposited enough cash on it to cover the purchase.
I now lease a benign sedan instead of owning a gas guzzling luxury automobile. I pay rent every month instead of building equity on my own property. All my assets have been liquidated into liabilities.
But I don't regret laying a single wager. My only regret is not picking the right side.
My bankroll is the only evidence of any positive yardage in my current drive toward success. I want to make it grow so I can increase my wagers and make this stock split. There is no end in sight. It’s just greed masquerading as ambition.
The only real payoff is to know I beat the book for a dime on every wager instead of a nickel.
My day starts at 2 p.m. and goes late into the evening. My goal is to keep the action alive and have my business turn to pleasure.
The opening kickoff rings in the ears of gamblers like a starter’s pistol. It’s like a long distance marathon where teams try to set the pace and increase the distance between themselves and their opponents.
As the early games commence the Giants, Eagles and Ravens come out of the box like Usain Bolt.
But I'm never lucky enough to pick a thoroughbred like that. I was stuck with my investment tied up on the Patriots who couldn't convert in the red zone. The sharp guys were taking the rest of the day off by halftime in the aforementioned games and spending their winnings at the gentleman's club while I was sweating my action out till the fourth quarter.
Watching Stephen Gostkowski kick field goals instead of seeing Tom Brady throw touchdown passes forced my attention to the fairways of East Lake in Atlanta, Georgia. Taking a break from concentrating on the game you’re trying to influence is always a good way to decompress.
A watched pot never boils.
I turned my back on the football and hoped when I caught up with my action I would be on the winning side. Luckily, I had I placed a pair of small "entertainment" bets on the golf just to increase my viewing enjoyment which offered me an escape.
Steve Stricker to beat Ernie Els.
On the 16th tee Stricker was a only a few good swings away from a $10 million payday for winning the Fed Ex Cup. By the time he was standing on 18th tee they were ripping up his multi-million dollar check and I was in jeopardy of losing the C-note I invested after he made back-to-back bogeys. A par on 18 stopped the bleeding and rewarded me for the 20 minutes of stress he had just put me through.
Padraig Harrington to beat Steve "the birdie machine" Marino.
Thanks to a strong back nine from Padraig I cashed in this ticket as well. A rare come-from- behind win for me, usually when I'm down my guys never get back up.
By the time I grinded through all that action the Patriots had a commanding lead and that wager was money in the bank.
I suffered through the same auspicious start in the late game as I did earlier watching Seattle and Denver take huge leads while my investment on the Saints left me uneasy. They were on the road, in the cold and getting scored on by fake field goal attempts. Not to mention I had already gone 3-for-3 so my bubble was bound to break at any time.
A strong second half by New Orleans paid me a handsome reward.
My last wager of the dayturned out to be a true gift when a strong performance by the Colts helped me finish the day with a perfect record and a generous profit.
It’s days like these that make me feel good about being a loser.