Week 7 - Masculinity and Its Discontents

MONDAY NOON


No Annie. No work til Wednesday at 6. Three days to myself.  I'm going to jog every day...start meditating again...hit one of the eight yoga bullshits within 5 blocks of me...and start my novel. Great fuckin week in store here. 


MONDAY 11PM


I'm sitting at my desk in my stretch trunks streaming horse racing from Australia. I hit a two team parlay with the Jets and the Under in the football game for a few hundred and am now trying to lose it all on these horses. At this time of the night the only horses left to bet on are these fucking Australians. The racing starts around 11pm and there are three tracks - Australia A, B, C. Now what this means I don't really know. I do know that at one of the tracks - I'm not sure which and am not even sure all three don't race on the same track somehow - the horses run counter-clockwise, which is the American way. The others race the European way - clockwise. I usually never know which way they're gonna go til they hit the gate. 


I love to bet on these races but. The fields are large - 20 or so - and they run on the grass. I love the fucking grass. They have very long stretches so it's a mob scene when they get to the top of it. If your horse is a closer, getting to the lead is like trying to get to a Lucky Dog after a Saints game. 


The saddlecothes of all the horses are the same color so it's hard to tell which horses are which during the race. I rarely know if I've won money or got crushed until the race it over.


But I love betting Australia. They use terms like Punters...Not travelling...Big drifter..Really good go...Dead 'un...and Market Mover. And they talk really fucking fast, like auctioneers, in a sophisticated,  Australian accent. 


They have bookmakers stationed in all the Enclosures around the racecourse. The main bookmaking ring is located in the Paddock. It's old school. Just some guy, usually wearing a hat, surrounded by a mob, taking bets, writing tickets, and turning the dials. If that doesn't make sense, just think Running Man. 


When I was a kid the major bookie in my town was Charlie Friss. He used to run the book out of the back of his convenient store - Charlie's Corner. You could bet horses at the OTB(Off Track Betting) or you could bet them with Charlie. He also ran numbers. You could bet numbers with the state or you could bet them with Charlie. Charlie took the number from the last four digit's of that day's total ring at the nyra track - Belmont, Aqueduct, and Saratoga. So if your number was 7212 and the track rang $117,212 that day you were a winner. Shit I'm rambling. This paragraph should be cut.


Now the way I understand it - and I'm just learning this now to write this fucking blog- is that the pools are separate. Basically the bookmakers are doing their thing and the Tote, which is the nationwide pool, is doing theirs. So the punters(players) shop around for the best odds on their wagers between the two. 


Anyway the tracks rotate so a race goes off every ten minutes or so. I try to bet all of the them. Now right as they're approaching the gate the bookie turns the dial adjusting the odds. The horse who's odds drop the most is referred to as this damn "Market Mover," which is the horse all the late money, usually from the sharps(wiseguys), comes in on. I have no racing form, no idea who any of these jockeys or trainers are, and can barely understand what the commentators are talking about half the time. So I just wait for the "Market Mover" to be announced and bet him. Then I pick out two random horses and box them in an exacta with him. The thing is I usually have better luck doing this than studying the racing form. Unless I'm betting Belmont. I fucking crush Belmont. 


Tonight I'm doing well, although I can't seem to hit anything at the counter-clockwise track. I'm up to about $600 in my account from a $100 deposit earlier in the night. The problem is we're only on race 4 which means there's 18 more races to go. I haven't bet a horse in months, and this is why. Like poker, like anything really, I can't stop. I need to come up with something here. I can't spend all night doing this bullshit and most likely drain my account. Fuck Thank Christ for In Treatment.


I've been mowing down these In Treatment episode's before I knock off for the past week. I've become more involved with these characters than I am with my girlfriend. I want to bang Embeth Davidtz and Melissa George so fucking hard. I want to bang pretty much everyone on this show... they're so vulnerable.


I pull up Miro and click play on one of these episodes and it's over. I shut down the streaming from Australia and get the hell out of there. 




TUESDAY 9AM


I passed out early, only getting through 4 episodes. I'm up at nine. Go for jog. Come back. Walk around the neighborhood and price out yoga classes. I make some breakfast, look up meditation workshops online, then sit down and get ready to get after this fucking blog. 


TUESDAY NOON


The T.V. is on and I'm waiting for the first race at Keenland to go off. I've purchased the racing form online and even got the Rogozin sheets, or The Sheets as they're called, for Keeneland and Belmont. The Sheets were created by this Len Rogozin guy.  Len came up with this way to calculate a horses speed figure based not purely on the time the horse ran, but on the effort the horse gave. Instead of just looking at the final time the horse ran - which is what other speed figures measure - he looked at every factor in the race that contributed to how the horse ran that day. Ole Len took into account the trip the horse had, the obstacles he had to overcome, and the real distance the horse had to travel in the race. Basically Len judged the horses physical performance, which reflected more accurately his condition and ability, and gave it a number. 


They're called The Sheets because every horse has a sheet with numbers and symbols all over it that represent the speed figures the horse's run in all of his races. It looks kinda like HTML. The problem is not knowing exactly how to read the sheets can be very dangerous. The Sheets have been known to produce symptoms such as paranoia, hallucinations, social-anxiety disorder, and tourette's, to name a few. If you're not careful with these fucking sheets you'll end up like that fucking guy from Pi. 


I don't know how to read The Sheets. I just buy them because all the horsemen and sharps swear by them. When I was going to Saratoga everyday a few summers ago I bought The Sheets everyday. I ran around with the Racing Form under my arm, The Sheets in one hand, and a hot dog in the other. I think I lost fifteen thousand that week. 


The only think I know for sure about these fucking sheets is that the lower the number, the better the race the horse ran. This differs from all the other speed figures out there like the Beyer Speed Figure for example. The faster Beyer ever recorded was somewhere around 125 and the lowest Rogozin figure was a -3. A negative number. The coolest.


The thing is there's all kinds of other shit on these sheets. Some numbers are in Bold, some in Italics, some large, some small. There's colon's, semi-colon's, brackets, pluses, and minuses surrounding these numbers. I don't know what any of this means. 


Anyway I spend the whole day pouring over these figures and betting every race on the board. I'm stuck inside my apartment. I can't pull myself away from the television. It's like sitting at the poker table and holding in a piss all night because you think the next hand could be pocket aces. It's awful. Just awful.


Six hours later I somehow still have $300 in my account. What a waste of a fucking day. I'd be better off if I'd just slept through it.


I make it out of the apartment and grab a couple slices for dinner. I call Leroy and give him the passcode for my Cox account. He calls up and cancels TVG for me and changes the passcode so I can't re-order it. I give him the username and password for my TVG online account and have him change up that info as well. Now I can't watch any races on T.V. or stream them online. No more fucking Australia. No more "Punters" or "Market Movers".  I'm free.


I hit In Treatment for a few more episodes, load, and knock out. I wake in the middle of the night with a headache and on my way to an Advil have a panic attack. I take a Xanax and pace for a bit. I don't fall back asleep til six.


WEDNESDAY


I sleep til 3 and have to immediately get ready for work.  No time to call Leroy and bust his balls for the new passwords. The panic attack actually worked in my favor.


THURSDAY


I put the $300 on Arizona in the night football game. They cruise.


FRIDAY


Annie took the afternoon off from work so she can get back from Alexandria in time for this therapy session she scheduled. We've been going to this woman, Mia, for a couple months now. I actually started seeing her on my own first, but just I was starting to make progress, Annie swept in an stole her from me. 


In my last session with Mia I talked to her about my gambling and how I know that I'm good, that I have an intuition with these games, that it's the way I'm stringing bets together which is the problem. I went on to tell her how whenever I play a parlay or a teaser it's always that one team that fucks me, that I consistently hit 4 out of 5 in 5 team parlays...consistently. And Mia comes back and tells me that maybe I should stop betting 5 team parlays. That maybe I should just bet the games straight. Genius. Mia's a genius. That's the best advice anyone's given me in years. 


Now Annie sees Mia solo and I only go with her. It's all pretty fucked up but I just roll with it.


She gets in around three and we head down to Mia's office. Annie I'm sure has a few things on her mind that she wants to bring up off the rip. I just roll in blind. The thing is if I'm not around Annie and in the middle of a disagreement of sorts, I really don't care about anything. When I leave Annie's presence, I pretty much leave the relationship.


Mia meets us in the lobby and walks us back to her office. She has a very Eastern vibe going on in there. A lot of golds, blacks, and greens. But mainly gold. A lot of fucking gold. I'm well past this crap so it makes me kinda anxious.


Now besides possessing the hottest female name in the English language our therapist is fucking hot. At least I think she is. I'd say most idiots would give her a 6. But since she's my therapist she's at least a 9. It looks like she's lost a bit of weight too. She was kind of full figured, which is fine because she's tall. Now she looks to have the perfect amount of meat on her. Thankfully her tits haven't lost any weight. They're still awesome.


So our sessions usually go something like this. She brings something up that's been concerning her and immediately starts crying. She's always fucking crying. I sit with my legs crossed and chin resting my palm, staring at Mia's tits. I can't stop. She has to be aware of this. I mean I'm locked into these things. I'm like Luke Skywalker approaching that Death Star reactor thing. I could blow up her tits.


Every now and then Mia asks me if I understand what Annie's talking about. I always come back with "which part", since I've barely been listening, to get something to play off. Apparently this is the thing...listening to each other. I looked this shit up. Some technique called, "active listening." The goal is for both parties to be aware of the others' feelings and to create a safe environment for these feelings to be expressed. I go along with it. I'll pretty much go along with whatever Mia says.

The In Treatment has changed me but. I feel a lot deeper, a lot more self-aware...well a little bit more self-aware. In this particular session I find myself thinking about the couple of Amy(Embeth Davidtz) and Jake(Josh Charles) on this fucking show. In the last episode with these two just Amy shows up and Paul breaks her down - if you don't know, Paul is the therapist played like a gangster by Gabriel Byrne. The short of it is that Amy's father died when she was 13...he was a very tender man...she feels abandoned...when Jake is tender it disgusts her...she get's angry...she can't trust tenderness...she finds it weak...she feels like Jake is going to abandon her, die, and leave her behind. 


So Paul asks her if she thinks this might be because it scares her and therefore in order to avoid the fear she provokes Jake and makes him angry. That she creates these situations that bring out the worst in him - fucking gangster! The last sentence is all I really hear. The rest of it is over my head. 


So I begin to turn into Jake. It just happens. It's like I'm channeling him. I turn everything around and pick her apart. I bring up everything she's ever done that I thought was bullshit. I accuse her of being inconsiderate and thoughtless. I accuse her of being a phony and a lier. I start sounding like Alec Baldwin leaving that message to his kid. The only difference I think was I left out the word "pig".


They're both kinda baffled by the shit that's coming out of my mouth. I finally snap out of it and apologize for getting a little off track. Annie actually stopped crying because the things I was saying were so ridiculous. Thank God we were out of time. I stood up, paid Mia, and we got the hell out of there. 


SATURDAY


I wake up early and go for a jog. In case you're wondering Annie and I didn't say one word about the session after we left. We never talk about anything that's said in there. It's strange. I don't understand it at all but I roll with it.


Shit I've gotten way off track here. That In Treatment show is fucking me up. I need to get through it and be done with it. So let's wrap this fucking thing up.


I come out guns blazing. I love Cincy, Texas A & M, and K. State. I tease and parlay them. Easy winner. I hit for $900. Now I have $1500 and change going into the 3:30 games. I love LSU, Nebraska, and Missouri. I tease and parlay them and bet LSU straight up.


Fucking Missouri. They lose by 21 as Oklahoma State runs in a meaningless touchdown on the last play of the game. This happened in my favor a couple weeks ago with Boise St. and I laughed my ass off. I'm laughing my ass off now but it's a much different form of laughter. I had them plus 18 in a teaser. I lose everything but the LSU bet. I'm back down to a G.


I roll with BAMA, Stanford, and Notre Dame. Here's the move my subconscious likes to pull on me when I'm in position to go on a nice run. Instead of teasing USC up to +20, I tease N.D. down to a pick. USC +20 is hands down the better play. But I go the other way because I hate USC and my subconscious hates me. It's like he's telling me that I'm a loser and it's time to lose. This winning bullshit is just not your thing. 


Mia. I need Mia. I need to fucking get her back. I need her to help me dig deep and get rid of this darkness...this evil...this gestapo that lurks beneath this shroud of consciousness. And maybe after this is done we can fuck. Why wouldn't she want to fuck? Outside of that room she's a six. I crush six's. I don't think I've ever met a six I couldn't fuck. When our sessions are up she always touches my arm and tells me to call her anytime if I want to come back for a solo session. That's the signal. She definitely wants to fuck. She wants to fuck.


But right now I don't have Mia. All I have is this bullshit disorder that fucking owns me. 


Time and time again I try to convince myself that I have control over this. That I'm going to do things differently next time. That this behavior I will learn to correct. And time and time again my subconscious rears it's ugly head and shows me that I'm wrong. 


I lose $600 and I'm back down below $400 heading into Sunday...I can't wait til this weekend is over.


SUNDAY


We go out hard on Saturday. Annie is out cold at noon, so there's no running around sneaking these bets in. I roll with Philly, Carolina, and the Falcons. Falcons are my best play. My firm belief is that the Lions are overrated. I also firmly believe that the Falcons are starting to round into shape and are severely undervalued. When these two ideas align in my brain I fire...and I fire big.


Unfortunately the Notre Dame debacle has left me with $400. So to maximize my Falcon's love I bet them first half, with the feeling that they will be undervalued again at the half. So I bet $300 on the Birds first half and parlay the rest with all three. 


The Falcons are up 11 at half. The second half line is Lions laying 6. I put everything on the Falcons. They now have to win by 5, when initially they were a 5 point dog. I've basically fucked myself out of 10 points with this bet, but these are things you have to deal with when you're shorthanded. 


The Falcons win by a touchdown, but not without raising my blood pressure. The Lions were inside the 20 going in with under a minute remaining, but my Falcons held. Carolina and Philly come through and I have a perfect beginning. I'm back up to $1500.


The late games are gifts I think. Packers and Cowboys are big favorites and I expect them to cover. I love Kansas City going against a Raiders team with no quarterback. I love the Redbirds because, well because I always love them for some reason, because again I'm ruled by forces I have no power over. 


And then it hits me. I don't need therapy with Mia. I really do need to fuck Mia. I need to fuck her. By fucking her I will fuck this evil out of me. By fucking her I will have won and once you really win, I mean really win, I mean fucking your teacher, fucking your boss's wife, fucking your fathers new wife, fucking your fucking therapist! Then you are a winner. That's it. Over. Done. A new fucking existence!


So I split. Boys and KC(The Raiders QB's combine for 6 interceptions) kill it. Packers and Redbirds let me down. I still have $1300 going into the night game.


Now this next bet is so disgusting that I will limit my memory of it  to one sentence. I bet the under in the Saints game....62 - 7.


I go to bed with $800. I will lose a little bit more than half of it tomorrow night when the Ravens inexplicably lose to the fucking Jaguars. I'll be right back where I started on Monday. Hilarious.

Annie is gone again. I can return to the people I love the most - Jack, Amy, Sophie, Alex, Gina, Laura, and Paul. I'll call Mia tomorrow and set up a solo session. I will begin the seduction. I will tell her every dark, disgusting thought that enters my being and she will become fascinated by me and her vagina will shake as I spin my tales of masochism.  Hell I don't need any of this shit. I'll fuck her without transference or countertransference(I don't know what any of this shit means). She's a 6 for christsakes.  But for now I'll watch 4 or 5 episodes of In Treatment, then load to Laura. Laura's a fucking 9 in real life. Maybe one day I'll meet her and fuck her too. I'll fuck the evil out of her. We'll fuck the evil out of each other. Because I could fuck her. I could fuck her. I could fuck anything if I put my mind to it.

Week 6 - Whores and Submarines

WEDNESDAY 9PM

This is going to be a short one. I've been on a 57 hour poker binge and I'm fucking exhausted. I woke up broke on Monday and found out I lost a job before it began. I immediately took the khakis and white button down I bought for the gig back to Steinmart and got my $80 back. I took that $80 to the poker room at Harrah's and have spent the last 57 hours either there or in my bed. The first session I ran that $80 up to 3K, but for the majority of the time I was up and down between a thousand and two thousand. I left there yesterday morning with $1800 after falling asleep at the table several times. The dealer had to wake me up pretty much every hand during the last hour to post my blinds. I was finally able to leave and came back here to get some sleep. Before knocking out I called this black chick I go to every now and then that I met at Little Darlins. Last time she came over a man waited for her in the car with a baby. She'll fuck you right off the bed but. After I nutted I slept for 7 or 8 hours and went back.  I was there up until a half hour ago. I'd say the most I had in front of me the last 24 hours was 5K. The least amount was nothing, which is what I left with. On top of it all I forgot to get my parking validated and didn't feel like going back to the casino so I had to tail a guy through the toll. Well fuck it lets go.

LAST THURSDAY

My account is cleaned out. I'm sitting around the apartment studying wines and French cuisine, bored as fuck. I absolutely must get some action on these baseball games. I call my boy Leroy, who puts shit in for me when my accounts are tapped. I'm into him for $600 at this point. It was $3000 a couple months ago but I had a nice run in the poker room and took care of most of it. You gotta pay off the people you see the most, or you feel like a complete fuck up when they're around. Every other friend I owe money to is in a different state, so they have to wait a little bit longer to get theirs. 

Leroy throws a $50 parlay in for me - Cards and Tigers. Loser.

FRIDAY

No Action.

SATURDAY

I wake up and deposit $100 that I borrowed for Annie to pay my phone bill. I pay my phone bill twice a month. She never seems to notice.

I get 100% freeplay with Islandbet.com. I'll play with them for now on because not only do they give nice bonuses, but they have mobile betting so I can place bets on my phone when Annie's around and just act like I'm on Facebook updating my status or commenting or some bullshit . She wouldn't know the difference because we're not friends on the FB. It used to be very problematic. Whenever she would go out one of her idiot friends would take pictures of the entire night and post them. That's shit I don't need to see. So Annie spent a couple nights in hotel rooms a little afraid of me. But after I de-friended her we haven't had any problems at all. 

I love Illinois today because I watched them play for five minutes last week and thought they looked great. They play Ohio State who is terrible, even though they built up a big lead on Nebraska last week before blowing it. But that's the thing. They blew it and they're playing a fired up, undefeated, Illinois team. I take the $100 freeplay and parlay them with LSU, and BAMA(the two best teams in the country that I'm going to bet every fucking game until they meet). I put the the $100 cash on Illinois. 

Bama and LSU cover easily. I go for a jog and get back midway through the first half of the Illinois game. I am immediately distressed when I notice a man standing on the Illinois sideline. How could I not remember this? I did it again. I didn't do my due diligence. Fuck me man. Fuck me. It's Ron Fucking ZOOK!!! This fucking guy. The worst coach in the history of college football. 

I turn the TV off. I'm dead. No point in watching this guy blow every game changing decision. 

I go get a burrito at Juan's with Annie. Juan's blows. I tell myself I'm never coming back every time, but here I am, holding this piece of shit burrito. Annie is eating some vegetable bullshit, oblivious to how wrong this place it. Annie's the Honey Badger of dining. She really doesn't give a shit.

When we get home Annie wants to watch this bullshit coming of age flick Submarine. I'm not down with it. As far as coming of age flicks go, if it ain't The Graduate, get it the fuck away from me. 

I procrastinate while she watches Real Housewives of somewhere. As long as she's doing that I can watch the games I wanted to bet and root for the other team. Turns out I would have been a loser again.  

She falls asleep before the we can get Submarine in the DVD player. My only winner of the day.

SUNDAY

Leroy puts in a $50 parlay for me - Bills, Philly, San Fran, and the Cowgirls. I can stay home and watch the games because the only early game worth a shit is my Bills v Giants. San Fran and Philly I can stream on my Mac.

While I act like an 8 year old, Annie loads up her car with some things she picked up to take back to Alexandria with her(I forgot to mention what a beautiful week I had without her being around.) 

I'm sure she wants to get in some intimacy and bang before she pushes off, but I'm just not feelin it. She forgot to take her birth control the other night, which I've been using as a "get out of bangin" card all weekend. But this morning she said something like, "It should be OK." Well it's not OK with me. Sometimes you just don't feel like fucking your girlfriend.

The Bills break my heart, but get me a push. The Niners and Philly cover handily. Annie starts a bullshit fight with me and ends up storming out of the apartment in tears. Winners across the board.

I really don't know what to say about the fight. I was right and she's fucking crazy is about all I can ever come up with.

The Cowgirls lock me up. I finally hit a nice parlay. I break Leroy off with $150, taking us back down to $500, and put the rest on the Vikings catching 3. I love the fucking Vikings tonight.

The Vikings get absolutely destroyed. Halfway through the second quarter I turn the game off and throw in Submarine. 

Not a bad flick. 

Week 5 - Red River Prostate

Stoicism (Greek Στοά) is a school of Hellenistic philosophy founded in Athens by Zeno of Citium in the early 3rd century BC. The Stoics believed that destructive emotions resulted from errors in judgment, and that a sage, or person of "moral and intellectual perfection," would not suffer such emotions.


Tired and pissed. I write this in recovery from what was once again a disgusting display of foolishness. But by tomorrow, tuesday morning, the dust will have settled and it will be time to do this fucking shit all over again. For now I'm forced to write this fucking thing so here it is.


TUESDAY


I deposit $300 into SHARPGUY via Western Union.  This nets me $450 with the bonus. I check fifteen minutes before the Diamondbacks game and see the money in my account. The thing is I haven't actually deposited yet. I'm broke.


I gave them a MTCN # of an old transaction. I'm a VIP so every now and then they credit my account with the funds before they're picked up. If I throw the whole thing on the Diamondbacks and they win, I just deposit the funds the next day and make up some bullshit story about mixing up slips. If I lose I deposit the $300 elsewhere for the weekend. Fuck em.


So I put the whole thing on the D-Backs and go blow up Tower Pizza with my boy. Italian salad, spaghetti and meatballs, and a Large Pepperoni Pie.


FRIDAY


I finally scrounge up the $300 to deposit to get the account opened(They closed it on Wednesday when they discovered I gave them a MTCN# from six months ago. I told them I must have mixed up slips and that I have hundreds laying around in my car. I said I tore up the one for this transaction as soon as the funds hit my account. I told them that I made the transaction while visiting my girlfriend who lives three hours away and that I'd have to go back to the exact location to retrieve the funds and resend them. I told them I'd be back there on Friday....they bought it.


I go deposit the $300 and they open my account. I've got just short of $900. Tonight we've got game 4 Phillies and Cards. A classic matchup. Halladay vs. Carpenter. Halladay always seems to fuck me, and I have that gut feeling that Carpenters going to pitch lights out. So I go Cards and the under everywhere. 1st 5 innings and game. Carpenter goes on to pitch one of the true gems in the history of playoff baseball. A three hit, complete game shutout. I love it when my gut hits. I clean up.


We have Boise St. going in the footies. I've never once in my entire lifetime bet against Boise St. If they were the only team I bet on in my lifetime I would be in Brazil right now, dancing like Tom Brady with Mila Kunis. I ride Boise and the over 1st half and game. All straight bets. Boise is up 37-0 at half. What a joke. Just to get some action I tickle Boise 2nd half small. Instead of taking a knee with 10 seconds left, Boise inexplicably decides to run it and this kid scampers 24 yards for a TD covering my second half bet. God I love this fucking team. Winners across the board. I now have a beautiful bankroll going into the weekend. $2178.


SATURDAY


I wake up at 9:30. Another beautiful, fall Saturday in the Big Easy. I am full of anticipation this morning for two main reasons. First, it's the day of the Red River Rivalry, which for some reason, buried deep inside this truly disgusting subconscious, is my favorite regular season college football game of the year. This year it's especially exciting because I absolutely love Texas catchin 11.


Secondly, Annie leaves for Alexandria today. She's taken a job there and will be spending the next year of my life there, coming back here only on weekends. Not only do I have the weekdays to myself for the next twelve months, which is beautiful, I have this whole weekend to myself to bet these fucking games. No excuses. With her gone I'll be able to run this 2k up to 20k. I already have 1k on Texas, which starts in an hour and a half.  It's on. I'd like to be able to enjoy myself a little bit while I watch it, so the task at the moment is to get Annie the fuck out of here before this game starts.


She's sound asleep. She sleeps like a rock, just like every broad I've ever known. I toss and turn all night, and when I do fall asleep I end up waking up to piss. All night long with this bullshit. I try not to drink water after nine and still the hard-ons and the pissing. I finally broke and went to the Doc for some sleeping pills, and a bunch of other shit. I still get woken up by the wood a couple times a night, but barely remember the trips to the bathroom the next morning. To get rid of the cloudiness I just pop a Provigal, or an Adderall, whichever one I'm feeling, drink a pot of coffee, go for a jog, and I'm good.


So I figure I need to get back from my Jog by 10:40 to place my bets and help her toss whatever else she needs in her car. Before I embark I need to get her ass out of bed. So I go back to the bedroom and start making all kinds of noise. I start looking for my jogging shoes, which I always keep on the front porch, under the bed. "Hey baby have you seen my shoes?" She rolls over, giggles, and says "stop".


I turn all the lights on and cough a bit. Still she lays there unconscious. She said the night before she wanted to get out of here by noon. So I set the alarm clock for 10am and get out of there.


I get back and walk in the apartment. I hear the shower running. Music to my ears. I grab my phone and go outside to place my bets. Earlier in the week I'd written out a betting system for College and the NFL. My bets are broken down in units incorporating straight bets, parlays, and teasers, structuring these bets in relation to the game times. In college you have noon, 3:30, and night games. In NFL you have noon and 4:00. So this is what it looks like.

NFL



5u Best Games(all day)
5u 3 teamer teaser best 3 of Day
3u Early teaser(3 teams)
3u Late teaser(3 teams)
2u Parlay Day
1u Parlay Early
1u Parlay Late
1u Ridiculous parlay




COLLEGE



5u Best Games(all day)
5u Teaser(noon & 330)
5u Teaser(Night)
3u Entire Card parlay
1u Afternoon parlay
1u Evening parlay
1u Ridiculous parlay

I loosely adhere to this. Just doesn't seem practical based on the funds I have available and the amount of units I want to bet. So I begin meditating on what to do while jogging. Here it is. I already have 1k on Texas, so I bet a $250 10 point sweetheart teaser with my three top plays...Texas(+21), Kansas St.(+14), and Bama(-19). If this loses there's no point to this profession. I parlay the same three for $100. I bet another noon sweetheart teaser for $150...Horns(+21), Florida St.(+1), and South Carolina(-11), and parlay the same three for $100. After vigs I've got $500 left. I'll save that for the 3:30 games in case I get crushed and need to make a comeback.


Annie walks out of the bathroom in her robe, drying her hair. "Hey" she says, smiling. "I'm leaving today, are you sad?" "Yeah I'm sad baby." "No you're not." "You're right. Today's the best day of my life." "Shut up. It probably is." She walks back into the bedroom. Holy Shit! No morning bitch. No mention of the alarm. What the hell just happened? I didn't even have to make anything up. I look to my left toward the T.V. College Gameday is on. Corso puts on an OU hat. Herbstreet like the sooners. 71% of America likes the sooners. God I love Texas. I run outside and put another $250 on Texas +7 first half. I start calculating my head. I should have at least $3500 in the account by 3:30.


So I'm down to $240 dollars when 3:30 rolls around. The good thing is Annie's gone. I got her out of here by kickoff. I'm really pissed and disgusted with myself. It's in these moments, if she's around that I start acting like a real asshole. I'll often pick a fight till she tells me to get out of her life and I can go to a sports bar and figure out how I'm going to win my money back. Now I don't have to do that. I crack a beer, pop an Nuvigil and call up SHARPGUY.


I bet Kansas St. for $100 and parlay K. State(+4) and Oklahoma St.(-30? 40?) for $100. My initial plan was to put 1k on Oklahoma St. and 1k on the Over. This was my favorite play. Unfortunately, Texas was a close second. K. State wins outright and Oklahoma St. puts up 35 in the first quarter and 56 by the half. They win 70-28. This is one of those games that can change your life. How is Ok. State not going to score 70 against Kansas? And I win 270 bucks? I almost wanted to lose this bet. I really did.


Oh and I threw $50 on a 5 team parlay. Four of them hit and the fifth, Air Force, I only threw in  because some asshole on Covers.com loved them. I'm never looking at that site again.  It's approaching 6 o' clock and I have $570 to play these night games. I need at least a G going into tomorrow. I'm six Peroni's in and I have to make the right moves here. I think about going to a bar to clear my head. I've been in this apartment for 7 hours now screaming at the fucking television. I'm really surprised I've never had the cops called on me. I even leave the door open and people are staring in at me all day long. A thirty seven year old man with a Peroni in his hand, tossing a football against the wall, and yelling at 20 year old kids on the television. What am I doing? Honestly.


No time for fucking self-awareness. What the hell else is there to do anyway? I love Bama. I love Stanford. I love the over in the Texas Tech game. I parlay the three for $100 and put the rest on Bama. When you really need a winner I say bet the best team on the board. The best team in the country is the Alabama Crimson Tide.


After a slow start Bama rolls. The other two games are jokes as well. Stanford wins by 40 and Tech and A & M put up 85 points. I have $1500 going into Sunday. I'm disgusted. If only Annie was around. At least then I'd have someone to blame. Now I'm stuck with this hatred. If I only lay of Texas I have 10k in the account. Why would you bet a thousand against the #3 ranked team in the country? Then it hits me. How could I have forgotten? I remember that a wise friend of mine once told me, who is a Texas Longhorn fan mind you, to never bet the Red River Rivalry. "It's a fucked up game man. You should never bet it. One team always gets blown out and it usually makes no sense. Stay away from it." That was seven years ago. From what I remember I bet Texas on that day and they got crushed. If only I remembered this before the game. Fucking Annie.


SUNDAY


I get a great nights sleep with no broad taking up half the bed and giggling all night. I switch up my routine a bit. I hit the jog hard. Five fucking miles. Then the Provigal and coffee.


Today is very simple. I love three games early, two late, and the fucking Falcons in the night game. I tease and parlay the Redbirds, Raiders, and Seahawks. $500 tease and $100 parlay. I've been talking up the Seahawks all week. They're the biggest dog on the board catching 10 against the G-men, but I think they win outright. I need to bet one game out of the three big. I really love the Seahawks. But hell they could get blown out. I think they'll win outright. Shit they can get blown out.


I go to covers.com to see what the hell's going on. After reading a few posts I realize what the hell I'm doing and get out of there. I pull up espn.com and a video starts with Hank the Hammer, the closest thing we have to Jimmy the Greek these days. The Hammer is a loser. I used to fade him consistently. I remember walking behind him at Belmont Park a few years ago when I went to the Belmont Stakes and lost two thousand. He's a sweating, wheezing, 300 pound man. People like that should not be alive. But there he is. On my computer screen. Telling me that the Seahawks are going to get blown out.


I check out the Redbirds schedule. They've been in every game and haven't lost by more that 4 points. I love Kevin Kolb. They're coming off a tough loss. They need this game. They're playing against one of the worst teams in the league in the Minnesota Vikings and against the worst quarterback in the league in Donavan Mcnabb. They're catchin 3 points here. This is the game. $700 on the Redbirds.


I bike to Cooters and get there midway through the first quarter. Everything seems normal. It's early and both the Raiders and Seahawks have put up points. Seattle is actually up 7-0 which is a good sign. I was worried they could be flat. Then I walk to the back where the Redbirds game is on. I spot a dude with a Redbird Jersey. He has his head in his hands. I look up at the screen. 21-0 Vikings with 5 minutes left in the first quarter. What the Fuck!


28-3 at half. I'm dead again. I make a save with a 100 parlay saints over bills over first half. This is my throw away bet this year. I'll make it every week. Now I have $400 going into the half. The $1400 is gone. The Redbirds are not coming back.


From what I've observed the Chiefs, who are down 10 at half, are going to come back and beat the Colts. The Bengals, who are tied with the Jags at half, are going to win that fucking game. The Raiders, who are down 2 at half, are going to win that game. I bet $200 on the Bengals and parlay the Raiders, Chiefs, and fucking........the Saints over for $200, so as not to put all my eggs in one basket if the Bengals lose. Now everytime I'm locked in on two teams and do the "and fuckin......" and throw in a third team, It means I've most likely done something really unintelligent. But here I am again. Fucking myself.


The Bengals cover, miraculously returning a fumble as time expires, after the Jaguars were doing the Stanford drill. The Saints, my second favorite team and my favorite team when the Bills suck, betray me again. I'm stuck with this same $400.


At four I bet $200 on the Jets for the game and parlay the Jets and the Chargers over for the first half for $200. The Jets pick Brady off in the endzone to end the half and I hit the parlay. Brady's first interception in the redzone at home in his entire career. His entire fucking career. What a crazy stat.  Truly an honor to be on the winning end of that one.


Now I'm pumped about my Jets. This is the game. They're winning this game. The Pats defense is soft. The Jets are in Brady's head. I go outside. At this poing I'm at a friends crawfish boil/partial colon removal party where there's an idiot wearing a Bills shirt that I'm forced to bond with when all I really want to do is fuck his hipster girlfriend from Austin and then move to Austin and fuck other hipster broads just like her. I put everything, save $200, on the Jets 2nd half.  Now I have $700 total on the Jets plus 7.


They're down nine with 1:00 left and trying to get into field goal range to kick the field goal, then attempt to execute an onside kick. It's a hopeless predicament that football teams find themsleves in where they're forced to carry out this attack, even though there's a  .01% of success. But all I need is a field goal, which at this point I'd say is 60/40 in my favor. There's twenty seconds left and they need fifteen yards to be in range. Sanchez drops back and fires a dart to Plaxico Burress, who is standing on the 28 yard line, which would be well inside Folk's range. The fucking guy drops it. I'm nauseaus. After something like this happens there's a 90% chance the QB gets sacked on the next play and the game ends. And so it goes.....Fucking Plaxico. I wish you were still in jail you motherfucker....I really do.


Another Sunday night. The void. I bike back to the apartment. I get caught up in the evening mist which feels dreamlike, timeless. The day escapes me in these moments. Home now. It's good to be here. It's good to be in New Orleans. I walk in the door, park my bike against the wall, take my phone out of my back pocket, and call in the Falcons and the over first half. When this hits I put the whole thing on the Falcons second half. They're winning this game. Fuck it's the Packers. Aaron Rodgers is the best quarterback in the history of the NFL. They'll probably go undefeated. They're the play. Fuck the Falcons don't lose at home. Unless it's the Saints. The Saints beat this team at home. And.....Fuck. Thankfully, I don't have to worry about it.


I almost miss Annie. Maybe I'll video chat with her and get a load out. Yeah that's what I'll do. Need to get a load out.

Week 4- Tony Romo and Me

NEW ORLEANS... October 1, 2011

SATURDAY

I have $47 left in my online sportsbook account—betsharp.com. Last night, at approximately 1:15am, I had $547. That was a few minutes before I came home juiced and decided to put $500 on black in the online casino. I’m up at 9am on beautiful Saturday morning and going for a jog. Then I hit the gym for some weight and fuckin bag work. I quit my bartending job last week to focus on gambling. You see last football season I woke up every Saturday and Sunday morning and bet the games hungover, if not half drunk, and fucked up my entire life. This year I'm going to be sharp, fuckin focused.  I am going to be professional. This will be my job.

I sit down at 10:45 and look over the games I picked out loaded last night before I passed out in my Herman Miller Embody chair. I hit a 5 team parlay in baseball a couple months ago and spent it all on this fuckin Embody chair. $1400. It's the best chair on the planet. I fall asleep in it often. I like where my head was at and I take my three best plays and bet a three team parlay—Wisconsin laying 10, Notre Dame laying 12, and Bama laying 4—with this 47 nauseating dollars. I have $120 left on my debit card and $20 in my pocket and I'm really loving Whisky. I can either deposit another few dollars with an online book that accepts credit cards—which is difficult to find after the FBI cracked down on these bastards and even the processors that were deceiving the banks—I'll get into this shit later I'm sure—and bet these bastards and live like a loser for a couple days til I can cashout, or just wait this 3 team parlay out and win or lose hold on to a little cash so I can have a few beers and eat breakfast in the morning.

So I fire $100 in my bigbets.com account. I bet $50 on Wisky 1st half laying the 7 and bet a 3 team parlay for the other $50—all first halves. Wisky -7, ND -7, Bama - 3. Bama and Wisky fall behind early while ND—the only game I truly love—is up 14 in the first 5 minutes. Wisky and Bama both come back and I'm feeling good. Then at the end of the first quarter Wisky misses a fuckin extra point. I'm convinced this will come back to kill me. Meanwhile Bama begins to roll. They drive the ball down the field looking like an NFL team running the ball right up Florida's ass. This game is fucking over. Now what's ND doing? Crushing it. They're up 21-3 on a pathetic Purdue team. But—as is always the case, there's that one fucking team that hates me.

Wisky takes a 6 point lead midway through the second quarter. I need a stop bad. Whisky steps up and forces a punt. Then they drive down the field and line up for a field goal attempt to end the half. Idiot kickers. He fuckin shanks it. I want to smash my head in some glass but can't because Annie—my broad—is less than twelve feet away getting dolled up in the bathroom. Annie and I are heading out to meet a friend at a bar. I've already called this bar to make sure they had all the games on. When Annie comes into play the whole scenario changes. Annie thinks I've stopped gambling. See she was going to leave me a few months ago after she discovered that I was gambling again, so I had to tell her I'd quit. I lied, so now I have to hold in my emotions and act like I'm just a detached, curious observer who is genuinely interested in every sporting event on television. I'm very good at this most of the time.

So Nebraska—the team that at the moment is trying to fuck me—has got the ball back with two minutes and change left. I need an interception. By the grace of jesus with 1:30 left on the clock we pick of Martinez. I'm back in the game. Now I need six. I don't want to fuck with this field goal kicker. With 20 seconds left on the clock my prayers are answered. Russel "Heisman" Wilson scrambles to his right and hits Toon in the back of the endzone for the touchdown. Winners across the board baby. I'm feeling good at the moment and the win should help with the shame, when in five minutes I tell Annie that I forgot my wallet, and she has to buy me drinks. It usually does.

SUNDAY

I wake up with $1100 in my Betsharp account—I snuck out of bed to play blackjack after Annie fell asleep. When Annie sleeps, she fuckin sleeps. I could be working out with kettlebells on the side of the bed and she'd stay under. A fuckin bear that Annie.  

Now I have $1100 to work with. I'm dangerous. Today I'll run that $1100 into $11,000. I love two games today—the Texans and the Lions. I especially luuuuuuv the fucking Lions.

I'm up at 10am to really dig into this card; Leave no stone unturned. I analyze every game like they're serial killers. I look at the past performances of every team on ESPN.com, read the previews, listen to all the assholes on TV, then the kiss of death—I go through covers.com and see who all the losers are playing. I tell myself after every losing bet I make because I listened to one of these clowns, that I'm never gonna look at this fuckin site again. But here I am, at covers.com, looking at pucku's "monster plays of the day," and—in spite of the fact that I believe him to be working for the sportbooks and giving out sucker plays—I'm ready to use this fucking guy's picks in my plays. I close my browser and try to forget everything I just saw on that site. I turn the TV off and try to forget Mike Ditka is still alive. I lace up my Chuck Taylors—I need to get a nice pair of running shoes with this $11,000—and go for a fuckin run. I like to go running before I place my bets on Saturday and Sunday mornings. It helps clear my head so I can map things out. You've got to be a fuckin cartographer to make money gambling. Believe you me.

I bang out a couple miles and I'm back at home11:40. I've got twenty minutes to get these bets in. Annie is up, and getting ready to go watch the Saints game—which could be a problem. Annie has to watch every Saints game with me. This is not good for my profession; she crowds me. I roll up behind her in the bathroom, smack her in the ass and tell her I want to get my weekly Sunday call to my parents out of the way while the endorphins are in play . I go outside and start walking away from the apartment, toward Whole Foods. I always get as far away from the apartment while I'm on the phone placing bets. Not only does Annie sleep like a bear, she hears like a fucking Owl; and I'm a paranoid motherfucker, so I just keep on walking. 

Now it's time, the moment of truth. I call SB (be prepared for abbreviations) with my bets ready to fire. "SB343"... guy11", I say. SB343 is my account number and guy11 is my password. This is how these bastards know who you are. "$1100 to play with" says the idiot. OK. Let's do this!

So after all my careful study, after all my sifting through the information I accumulated this morning and relating that information to all of my past experiences with the betting, after all my attempts to uncover patterns in the vast data sets coagulated from this information (that probably makes no sense but it's not supposed to), what do I do? I'll tell you what I fuckin do. I bet a 3 team 10 point teaser Lions(+12.5), Texans(+6.5), and................ the Buffalo Bills (+7). You see the Buffalo Bills are my favorite team and as every professional gambler knows you never bet on your favorite team—which I tell myself every time after the Buffalo Bills lose me money and I fuckin hate them and vow not only not to bet them ever again but to hate them for the rest of my existence here on planet earth. I really don't know what happens to me in these moments. I've been trying to figure it out all my life really. My shrink tells me over and over again that I just want to lose, and that there's really nothing she—or I—can really do about it. But I just refuse to believe this and fuck her—she's hot and I really like her and when she says mean things to me like that I just want her more—and fuck me—I'm a good looking guy and have no reason to be a loser like this and every time I look in the mirror after acting like a loser I have just barely enough self-love left (I'm an addict in deep into denial) to convince myself that I will never do this again!  

Well Fuck it the Bills are covering this 7 point spread. It's all randomness anyway. In fact I love the fuckin Bills today. I like them better than the Lions I think. I'm gonna key them in all my bets. They're not only covering the 7 in the teaser but they're gonna cover straight up. So I bet another 3 team 10 point teaser Niners (+19), the Saints over (36), Bills over (35.5). I bet a 3 team parlay Lions (+3), Texans (-3), and Bills (-3).

I get back to the house. Annie's is getting impatient, but thankfully she's high maintenance so she's doing her hair again to go watch a football game in a sports bar. I walk up behind her, smack her in the ass, and grab her neck and shake her a bit. I always do this shit for some reason after I make the bets. My shrink's theory is that I do it because I think she somehow knows (which of course she does) so I think I have to remind her who's boss (which of course she is). I just think it's because I'm all juiced up and want to fuck. 

Oh and real quick before I got off the phone with SB I made a couple other absolutely outrageous bets that I had no intention on betting upon returning from my run. I bet a 2 team parlay—Bears (-7) and Eagles (-10). I then bet the Lions (+1.5), Bears (-4), and Eagles (-7) first half. Keep in mind the only two games I really liked were the Texans and the Lions.

Annie's ready and we hop into her and head over to Tracy's. Tracy's is a divey sports bar down in the Garden District. It has eleven TV's and when the Saints play they only take up five or six of them—most other bars put the Saints on every TV and I often end up getting into it with whoever's got the fuckin remote. I called them right after I got off the phone with SB so I know the Bills, Texans, and Lions will be on. There's one other sports bar uptown—Cooter Browns. Cooter's has the feel of being in a dungeon. It has low ceilings and no windows. It feels more like a Vegas sports book than a bar. Tracy's has tall ceilings and windows that open up into the patio. It's nice and airy there. I prefer it. Besides Cooters is a fantasy hub and I hate fantasy football players. You do not own these players! Get a fuckin life and just bet the damn games! Fuck Cooters.

Halfway to Tracy's Annie gets a text from a friend who's at Bayou Beer Garden in Mid-City. He tells her all her people are there and that it's a great place to watch the games. Now I'm fucked and Annie starts to try to sell me on the beer garden. We're three minutes from Tracy's and she wants to drive out to Mid-City. I'm gonna miss the first quarter! I ask her if she's been there. She says no but "everyone says". These "everyone says's" have gotten me into some shit meals and bars and have made me very upset and resentful. I'm over them. I google them quickly and it says they have twelve plasma's—so they should have the games. We get there. No fucking games. I walk through the bar and out to the patio. All twelve of the TV's have the Saints game on them—and they're not even on HD. Idiots! I walk back through the bar, right past Annie and her friends, and walk out the door. Annie comes out and gets a little chippy with me, but eventually gets in the fucking car.

Finally I'm at Cooter Browns (yup, it was closer and I had enough of the fuckin car) and all the games are on. I station myself in the middle of the bar looking out into the room.  I have five tv's to my left, three on my right, and one with the Red Zone on behind the bar. I find a seat for Annie right in front of me and tell her I must stand up. I look around. Detroit is down 14. The Bills are tied. The Texans are up 7. Behind me on the Red Zone the Bears and Panthers are exchanging touchdowns and Philly looks like they've showed up to play this week. The problem at this point is Detroit. What the fuck Detroit? This Cowboy team has no receivers and is banged up in the secondary. Why are you not winning this game? The good news is my Billies are up 17-3 an the Texans are up 10-0. These three games are my main concern. Behind me Philly is up big at half. I just need them to win my more the 10 and less than 19. The fucking bears are up 4 and I get push on my first half bet after Carolina bangs a field goal on the last play of the half. These are the toughest losses, but are also the sweetest wins. Once, when I has really balling, I had this genius on the Vikings return a missed field goal 107 yards to end the half—a $4000 swing for me (we'll get into this later). One of the best moments of my life.

Speaking of the Vikings, they're in a close, low scoring game with the Chiefs. The Vikings suck and I ask myself why didn't I bet this game? Both teams suck that's why. But now I think the Chiefs win this game. Mcnabb is a washed up bum. The problem is I can't get reception in this dungeon and I can't think of any excuse for Annie to get me outside to place the bet. Then a fuckin miracle. Out of the clouds she decides she wants a chicken sandwich. I tell her I'm not hungry and she goes to the counter to order. Once she's out of site I barrel my way through the crowd and make it out. I have $250 and change that I left in the account to bet the 2nd halves. I ask for the Chiefs line. Off the board—fuck... fuck... fuck. Then again the disorder kicks in. "What's fucking Buffalo," I say?  Now this is when things go bad. I not only miss the only halftime play I like, but to make up for what I'm convinced I would have won I bet my fuckin Billies again. I need a winner here so I'm not angry when the games end. Now I must root against the Chiefs—the rub in these situations is that you're a loser even if you're a winner... kapish? Well fuck I'm confident and convinced the Bills are going to open up in this game. I tell the Costa Rican girl with shit English taking my bet to empty my account on the Bills at a pick em', then run back inside. I get back to my spot in the middle of the bar before Annie gets back. If the Bills lose and the Chiefs win I will blame her for being here with me and resent her until next week.

Here we go. I look to my left and the Chiefs go in for a TD. Fuck. The Texans look great. I have no worries there. It's these fucking Lions. They go down 27-3. They may not cover the 12 1/2 and bust my tease. Unreal. But I'm dead yet. They pick of Romo and take it to the house. 27-10. The Boys kick a field goad. Three and out for the Lions. Fuck. Then Romo blesses me with another pick six. 30-17. Still a half point behind the tease—which I have to have or I'm dead.

Fifteen minutes later and it's 30-24 as the Lions are beginning to look unstoppable and the Boys worn out. I love my chances at the tease and now I'm thinking I can hit this fucking parlay! I look a couple TV's over. Fuck! The Bills get stopped on a 3rd and 1 and Chan Gailey punts—he's easily the biggest pussy coach on this soil. Bellicheck would never punt there. If it was 4th and 11 he's go for it. Fuckin genius that guy. Anyway now the Cincy offense is rolling and the Bills D is gassed. A first down right there would have essentially won it for me. I'm now starting to come to the realization that once again my Billies are fraud. They will blow this game for me.

Sure enough ten minutes later Cincy scores to tie the game, just as Calvin Johnson catches the go ahead TD for the Lions. The Texans win by 7 (the hook baby). Now there's only one way I can lose this parlay. My Billies. A few minutes later Cincy kicks the game winning field goal as time expires. Hysterical. At least I hit the teaser so I didn't get that crushed. My other plays were losers. Again my team. My beloved Saints. They're up big and running out the clock with under a minute to go when Sean Payton inexplicably decides to throw the ball on 3rd down from the 15 yard line. Brees is sacked for a loss of 20 yards and on the next play they miss a field goal. Idiot kickers. Oh well. Sometimes that Payton makes no sense at all. I'm convinced he has money in a book that accepts live betting and somehow he's calling that shit in through that headset. That turns out to be $330 swing as the Bills over has hit and The Niners cover the 19. My two team parlay with Philly and the Bears is a loser. I've got $600 in the account when I should have $3000. Disgusting.

OK time to recharge. It's 3:12 and I got shut out of any teaser or parlay I wanted to bet as most of them started. The only game left is the Patriots—who I love. I have three minutes to bet em. I have to get Annie the fuck away from me. I grab her by the shoulder. "I'll be back around 7." "You're leaving right?" "Yeah I'm going to go, she says." "See Ya babe." And there she goes. Thank fucking God. I wait 30 seconds then run outside. It's 3:14. Come on. The Patriots first half are a lock. I'm dropping a nickel on them. Hello. SB3433. Password guy11. Yeah put a nickel on the Patriot's first half. "It's gone?" "It's fucking gone." What the fuck! "Fuck You guy," I say and hang up the phone. Yeah sometimes I lose my cool with these people. I do a lot a fuckin apologizing to these Costa Ricans motherfuckers.

Alright Annie's cost me $500 so far. This will be another dime. I hate her. Fuck you Annie I hate you. I want you out of my life (well just on Sundays really). Again the rub—let's go Raiders! I go back inside and order a Stella. The games are going. I was gonn tease and parlay the Pats, Pack, Falcons, and Cards in some ridiculous combination. Now I have to root against all of them. These are some of the most submissive moments of my existence. I have to root against my own acumen. You're actually pulling for an outcome that would validate your inability to succeed in this world. It's just really depressing I mean it really it. 

Well fuck it it's all randomness anyway and anyone who thinks he can predict the outcomes of fuckin football games is a fuckin idiot. At least I know that it's all luck —as much as I don't want to believe it. I'm the enlightened one here and I'll have no problem with myself if the Patriots lose this first half. 

The Patriots cover the first half and I want to kill myself. Fuckin Jason Cambell throws one of those interceptions where you're convinced the guy has money on the other team. I mean I wouldn't have thrown that ball at 10 years old playing in a pop warner game. I was a genius kid but still the guy's got to have money on the Pats. To my left the Packers are rolling as Orton (bum QB for the Broncos) is just being the useless, bum QB he is. On my right the Falcons are rolling. Great it's looking like all winners and thousands of other dollars Annie's gonna cost me. My only saving grace are the Cards. The Cards must lose or I'm really gonna feel terrible.

I have time now to get a second half bet in. I've watched the Pats and Pack closely. I love both the 2nd half overs. The Pack should score at will. The Pats and Raiders are both moving the ball with ease. I'm putting a nickel on one of these overs.

I throw down on the Pats. My reasoning is that both teams will score as opposed to the other game—where I think the Pack could shut Denver down and just run the ball the entire second half. This turns out to be a bad decision. Jason Cambell is awful in the 2nd half. The Patriots play conservative. There's never any doubt it's a loser. I'm left with $250 after my time and energy with these bullshit games. I feel slightly less suicidal because the Redbirds and Falcons fail to cover, but I figure Annie has still cost me about 3k on the day.

I'll wrap this up. It's been a long day. There's one Sunday night game left. I bet everything on a first half parlay—Jets and the under. First play from scrimmage Sanchez is sacked by Ed Reed and the Ravens take it to the house. By halftime the TV is off. I get online and check the line for tomorrow night. Bucs are laying 7. I think about how I'm going to get money in that account to bet the game. What cash advance joints around have I yet to hit up. I'll figure something out. I always do.