Sunday, February 6, 2011

Vox Lox: Super Sunday

I've been gambling one way or another since I was old enough to understand the concept of having a dollar...and then losing it. You could argue I've never really grasped the value of either condition until well into my adult years, when words like mortgage, marriage, divorce and daycare took turns vice-gripping my wallet. So, when I walk into a casino now, I'm free of the distracting delusions suffered by just-old-enough-to-cross-the-Canadian-border-and-wager nineteen year olds. I'm hyper sensitive to the odds being stacked against me. I have no fantasies about busting up a joint with a rainman-run and getting a high-roller suite comped. That dream died in August 2001 on Las Vegas Boulevard, somewhere between Harrah's and the Hard Rock. My millennium mission is to unromantically grind out a profit and then get up out this piece before temptation, and the percentages, take me down.

I don't make mistakes anymore. If I lose, it's because I am supposed to...by virtue of the house edge. I don't sway from the book at the blackjack table. I don't waste time with the skill-less slots. I don't sit down to play poker with strangers until I've scouted the game first. I'm abnormally aware of my own vulnerability, walking the gaming floor as intently as Lionel Ritchie stalked that blind co-ed in the "Hello" video. My post 9/11 discipline has carried over to my sports gambling, as I rarely abandon my core principles; First, I don't play hunches. My picks are largely scientific, even though I spare you the analysis in this column. Second, I don't let my heart rule my head. One of the easiest bets I've ever placed was the Cowboys (-5) over the Browns in week one of the '08 season. Third, and most importantly, I don't chase my money.

Today, I'm about to break all three of my rules. I'm going to get them wet, feed them after midnight, and then pray to God that, if I lose, some area theatre will be gracious enough to screen Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs. Translation: I am going to bet against Pittspuke despite knowing Mike Tomlin is the NFL's best coach and Big Ben is a creepier, modern day Clutch Cargo. I'm still shocked the Packers are favored in this game at -2.5. I set my own line at the Stillers -2. That's a 4.5 swing, the very oddsmaker error I live for. And I'm making a mockery of myself by going the other way. But the little voice inside my head whispering Green Bay has become to salient to ignore. I have a chance to narrowly beat my bookie this turbulent football season with an unceremonious, unconventional wager. Hence, the biggest release of my handicapping career:

Packers 28 Pittspuke 23 (10 dimes)

Two weeks ago: 1-1 (+3 dimes)
Season: 35-38-3 (-9 dimes)

I'm the S to the A, M, V, the O, the X
I don't write rhymes, I write m*therf*cking checks


P.S. Fergie is 10 to 1 to come out in a thong tonight. Take us home, Stacy...

and if you were suspicious
all that shit is fictitious