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Psst. Hey, buddy, you?re in the wrong place. You wanna see a guy named Swami, or Investment Executive, or Nolan Dalla, or Nick Douglas, believe me, you don?t wanna come in here.
~~~ Ladies and gentlemen, legitimate thoughts on Super Bowl handicapping which were originally scheduled for this location have been moved in order to bring you the following . . .
Welcome! My name is Mud and I am The Worst Damn Gambler Period! Before tellin? yuz what I played in XXXVI I want I should relate to you a final anecdote. Grab the tissue ladies, thee is no happy ending anticipated.
The NFL in my opinion offers the ideal circumstance for sports handicapping. It combines the world?s best football players with a one-game-a-week schedule and total television coverage. With 31competing teams, it is possible for the player to get a good ?feel? for every team in the league if he invests enough time. That?s the beauty of it! More than any other sport (with the possible exception of horse racing) the NFL rewards hard work. And so my saga begins . . . toiling hours on end in hopes of beating the number in the NFL.
The Reader?s Digest version of my season ranges from the high of a personal best 52-28 record and the bank and accolades that it afforded me, to a low of a failed marriage and the unbridled 3-week gamblethon that it fathered. I went from one extreme to the other with such alacrity that even now I have the impression that it was all a dream. First, I lost sleep, then weight, and then I lost tracka time. Acourse, eventually I lost everything, but we?ll get to that soon enough.
When the regular season ended, I had two accounts offshore what totaled over five dimes. For the entire season, I had made three deposits. One for a nickel and two others for 3 bucks each, and one of them only lasted a coupla hours in the casino. So, in reality, I had invested 8 yards in the NFL season and turned it into 5 large. Then, thanks to Mad Jack and the fine folks at Ace?s Gold Casino and Sports book, I had another three G?s plunked down in my broke account, and brother, I was on toppa the gawdam world!
I had white horses, and ladies by the score
They were all dressed in satin, and waiting by the door
Oooooh ? whatta lucky man, I was. Oooooh ? whatta lucky man I was.
I got drunk, acourse, and lost around 450 bucks shootin? dice one night in the cyber-casino at Ace?s, but a few days later I gotta check in the mail from Jack for my airfare to Las Vegas, so I didn?t feel too bad about it. Then I went 3-1 on the Wildcard games and picked up another nickel. I was so fulla myself at that point that I thought I musta been irresistible. I went the next day and bought myself a four hundred dollar suit for the Vegas trip and then hauled my exaggerated sense of self over to The Wood for some serious arrogance and celebration. Unholycow had arrived, it seemed. I was becoming something of a local celebrity . . . IN REAL LIFE! And it was very, very cool.
Anyway, at The Wood my good friend and booze jockey Gordon Dampler asked who I was taking with me to LV. I looked over at the girls what were on stage at the time and every one of ?em smiled at me as if they were in on our convo. I gotta admit, I was seriously tempted to take Contessa up on her offer to be anything I wanted her to be for three days if I took her with me. Oh, and gave her five hundred bucks. I seriously considered it. Contessa is a twenty-two year-old KO with all the bells and whistles. The looks on them faces at the SB party when I strolled in with her on my arm woulda been worth every penny, if she could keep from talking, I mean, but . . .
I told G-Dam that I was taking Codger, my longhaired musician brother and ex-roommate of the Commish ? A.K.A. G-Dam, the bartender hisself, who, as happenstance would have it, is also a longhaired musician type. ?Excellent,? said G. ?You don?t mind if I tag along, do ya??
I scanned a quick mental Polaroid and smiled. Unholycow, a 47 year-old psuedo wiseguy in a three-piece pinstripe suit, traveling with two freakin? hippies! ?Perfect!? Exclaimed I. ?The last thing I wanna be is predictable.?
It turned out that G-Dam had been tryin? to get in this dames pants what owned a Travel Agency, so when he says to me he?ll take care of the airfare, I was there. I stuffed five C?s in G?s shirt pocket and called it a night. Things was lookin? straight up money, ya see what I?m sayin??
On the drive home I was feeling particularly virile and decided to stop and see my wife and daughter at their new apartment. Parta the reason why the broad left me was because of all the time I?d been spending on my handicapping and she hated it. Over the years, I?d learned to not tell her when I was winning, because, well, for the same reason you don?t tell your wife, okay? I guess it?s for that reason that the witch always thought I was a loser.
As I pulled up in fronta her place, I thought I was gunna share summa my newfound fortune with her and maybe even get a little candy for, you know, old-time sake, but in retrospect, I realize I just wanted to rub her face in it. The fact that I?d won, I mean. Rub her face in the fact that I?d won.
Do you believe in streaks? I guess I do. I try not to be superstitious about ?em, but ya know, why take unnecessary chances, am I right? Undoubtedly. That is why I, Unholycow, am The Worst Damn Gambler Period. Unnecessary risk.
The sun was high in the sky the next morning before I was able to extricate myself from the Ace?s Gold Casino. I?d spent the entire night by myself drinkin? Absolut, cussin? my wife, playin? Baccarat and throwin? dice. I told myself that I?d had a great time, and that I?d needed it, but lemme tell ya, it wasn?t no 1500 bucksa fun. And I didn?t need that freakin? hangover at all.
The following day brought the Conference Semi-Finals and I was ready. I logged on and checked an email from one of my offshore books. 13-1 for a four-team parlay, they reminded. ?That sounds damn good,? I thought. I?d done the proper handicapping of the games and I had a definite side in each contest. ?I?m gunna nail the bastid,? I whispered. And I truly thought I would.
As I was making the bet, though, I kept hearing something that my wife had said the other night when I told her I was the best handicapper of professional football on the entire gawdam internet!
?BFD,? she spat. ?It doesn?t take a genius to know that the Rams are gunna win it. Any idiot could tell ya that!?
If they gave out awards for button pushing, that dame would need an extra bedroom just to store all of her trophies. I mean, that broad can?t hardly open her mouth without pushin? one of mine.
So, I?m bettin? this four-teamer and suddenly I start thinkin?, ?Favre could have a miracle in him. He could be primed for this game! Who in the hell is the idiot what says the Rams are a cinch? I am Unholycow, dammit, and I say the Packers just might pull the upset!?
I had a buck anda half on that parlay which woulda copped me close to two dimes, and I also got me a four-team dough-line parlay for fifty cents. I was red-hot, flush with both confidence and cashola and I was near-bout positive I was gunna win.
In the early game on Saturday, the Eagles easily made the Bucs stop there. One down; no sweat required. The late game was an entirely different story. I had New England ?2? and from the out-set it was apparent that I was on the wrong side. But the Pats kept hangin? around. They got the ball back late in the game, needing a touchdown to force overtime and being down 9? points I needed overtime too, natch. Major Tom was moving ?em down the field and I was starting to get that feeling again. The feeling that I was bulletproof; that I was still somehow going to win. Then it happened. A blind-side blitz and the ball was out. Brady tried desperately with his leg to keep his attacker from recovering the ball, but there were three Raiders on it before a Patriot player could even pile on. I couldn?t believe my eyes.
Hold it! Hold the gawdam phone! The red flag?s been thrown! The play is being reviewed!
My optimism lasted about as long as chum in a shark tank as the replay showed clearly that it was indeed a fumble. I turned to Snacks and said, ?Welp, I guess that?s that.?
?Yup,? he said. ?It would take a miracle to win this game now.?
Psst. Hey, buddy, you?re in the wrong place. You wanna see a guy named Swami, or Investment Executive, or Nolan Dalla, or Nick Douglas, believe me, you don?t wanna come in here.
~~~ Ladies and gentlemen, legitimate thoughts on Super Bowl handicapping which were originally scheduled for this location have been moved in order to bring you the following . . .
Welcome! My name is Mud and I am The Worst Damn Gambler Period! Before tellin? yuz what I played in XXXVI I want I should relate to you a final anecdote. Grab the tissue ladies, thee is no happy ending anticipated.
The NFL in my opinion offers the ideal circumstance for sports handicapping. It combines the world?s best football players with a one-game-a-week schedule and total television coverage. With 31competing teams, it is possible for the player to get a good ?feel? for every team in the league if he invests enough time. That?s the beauty of it! More than any other sport (with the possible exception of horse racing) the NFL rewards hard work. And so my saga begins . . . toiling hours on end in hopes of beating the number in the NFL.
The Reader?s Digest version of my season ranges from the high of a personal best 52-28 record and the bank and accolades that it afforded me, to a low of a failed marriage and the unbridled 3-week gamblethon that it fathered. I went from one extreme to the other with such alacrity that even now I have the impression that it was all a dream. First, I lost sleep, then weight, and then I lost tracka time. Acourse, eventually I lost everything, but we?ll get to that soon enough.
When the regular season ended, I had two accounts offshore what totaled over five dimes. For the entire season, I had made three deposits. One for a nickel and two others for 3 bucks each, and one of them only lasted a coupla hours in the casino. So, in reality, I had invested 8 yards in the NFL season and turned it into 5 large. Then, thanks to Mad Jack and the fine folks at Ace?s Gold Casino and Sports book, I had another three G?s plunked down in my broke account, and brother, I was on toppa the gawdam world!
I had white horses, and ladies by the score
They were all dressed in satin, and waiting by the door
Oooooh ? whatta lucky man, I was. Oooooh ? whatta lucky man I was.
I got drunk, acourse, and lost around 450 bucks shootin? dice one night in the cyber-casino at Ace?s, but a few days later I gotta check in the mail from Jack for my airfare to Las Vegas, so I didn?t feel too bad about it. Then I went 3-1 on the Wildcard games and picked up another nickel. I was so fulla myself at that point that I thought I musta been irresistible. I went the next day and bought myself a four hundred dollar suit for the Vegas trip and then hauled my exaggerated sense of self over to The Wood for some serious arrogance and celebration. Unholycow had arrived, it seemed. I was becoming something of a local celebrity . . . IN REAL LIFE! And it was very, very cool.
Anyway, at The Wood my good friend and booze jockey Gordon Dampler asked who I was taking with me to LV. I looked over at the girls what were on stage at the time and every one of ?em smiled at me as if they were in on our convo. I gotta admit, I was seriously tempted to take Contessa up on her offer to be anything I wanted her to be for three days if I took her with me. Oh, and gave her five hundred bucks. I seriously considered it. Contessa is a twenty-two year-old KO with all the bells and whistles. The looks on them faces at the SB party when I strolled in with her on my arm woulda been worth every penny, if she could keep from talking, I mean, but . . .
I told G-Dam that I was taking Codger, my longhaired musician brother and ex-roommate of the Commish ? A.K.A. G-Dam, the bartender hisself, who, as happenstance would have it, is also a longhaired musician type. ?Excellent,? said G. ?You don?t mind if I tag along, do ya??
I scanned a quick mental Polaroid and smiled. Unholycow, a 47 year-old psuedo wiseguy in a three-piece pinstripe suit, traveling with two freakin? hippies! ?Perfect!? Exclaimed I. ?The last thing I wanna be is predictable.?
It turned out that G-Dam had been tryin? to get in this dames pants what owned a Travel Agency, so when he says to me he?ll take care of the airfare, I was there. I stuffed five C?s in G?s shirt pocket and called it a night. Things was lookin? straight up money, ya see what I?m sayin??
On the drive home I was feeling particularly virile and decided to stop and see my wife and daughter at their new apartment. Parta the reason why the broad left me was because of all the time I?d been spending on my handicapping and she hated it. Over the years, I?d learned to not tell her when I was winning, because, well, for the same reason you don?t tell your wife, okay? I guess it?s for that reason that the witch always thought I was a loser.
As I pulled up in fronta her place, I thought I was gunna share summa my newfound fortune with her and maybe even get a little candy for, you know, old-time sake, but in retrospect, I realize I just wanted to rub her face in it. The fact that I?d won, I mean. Rub her face in the fact that I?d won.
Do you believe in streaks? I guess I do. I try not to be superstitious about ?em, but ya know, why take unnecessary chances, am I right? Undoubtedly. That is why I, Unholycow, am The Worst Damn Gambler Period. Unnecessary risk.
The sun was high in the sky the next morning before I was able to extricate myself from the Ace?s Gold Casino. I?d spent the entire night by myself drinkin? Absolut, cussin? my wife, playin? Baccarat and throwin? dice. I told myself that I?d had a great time, and that I?d needed it, but lemme tell ya, it wasn?t no 1500 bucksa fun. And I didn?t need that freakin? hangover at all.
The following day brought the Conference Semi-Finals and I was ready. I logged on and checked an email from one of my offshore books. 13-1 for a four-team parlay, they reminded. ?That sounds damn good,? I thought. I?d done the proper handicapping of the games and I had a definite side in each contest. ?I?m gunna nail the bastid,? I whispered. And I truly thought I would.
As I was making the bet, though, I kept hearing something that my wife had said the other night when I told her I was the best handicapper of professional football on the entire gawdam internet!
?BFD,? she spat. ?It doesn?t take a genius to know that the Rams are gunna win it. Any idiot could tell ya that!?
If they gave out awards for button pushing, that dame would need an extra bedroom just to store all of her trophies. I mean, that broad can?t hardly open her mouth without pushin? one of mine.
So, I?m bettin? this four-teamer and suddenly I start thinkin?, ?Favre could have a miracle in him. He could be primed for this game! Who in the hell is the idiot what says the Rams are a cinch? I am Unholycow, dammit, and I say the Packers just might pull the upset!?
I had a buck anda half on that parlay which woulda copped me close to two dimes, and I also got me a four-team dough-line parlay for fifty cents. I was red-hot, flush with both confidence and cashola and I was near-bout positive I was gunna win.
In the early game on Saturday, the Eagles easily made the Bucs stop there. One down; no sweat required. The late game was an entirely different story. I had New England ?2? and from the out-set it was apparent that I was on the wrong side. But the Pats kept hangin? around. They got the ball back late in the game, needing a touchdown to force overtime and being down 9? points I needed overtime too, natch. Major Tom was moving ?em down the field and I was starting to get that feeling again. The feeling that I was bulletproof; that I was still somehow going to win. Then it happened. A blind-side blitz and the ball was out. Brady tried desperately with his leg to keep his attacker from recovering the ball, but there were three Raiders on it before a Patriot player could even pile on. I couldn?t believe my eyes.
Hold it! Hold the gawdam phone! The red flag?s been thrown! The play is being reviewed!
My optimism lasted about as long as chum in a shark tank as the replay showed clearly that it was indeed a fumble. I turned to Snacks and said, ?Welp, I guess that?s that.?
?Yup,? he said. ?It would take a miracle to win this game now.?
- and when u returned I could see why.
