Why I Can Never Gamble on Sports

2 10 2009

I’ve grown up from fantasy sports.  (Well, I’m still playing fantasy but I’m more mature.  Stick with me).  I have entered the gateway drug to sportsbetting: a cash NFL pick ‘em league.  Leading the pack by one point heading into the third Monday Night Football game with 5 others tied for second-place kept me stressed all day.  It took a lot for me to not gather polls from work and class to gauge a consensus on what I should do, “What’s the best way to come out a winner this week?”  Answer:  the best way to limit the damage?  “Get the right pick” (yep, that helped a whole lot).  Should I pick underdog Carolina at +9?  Or is that what the rest of the guys are going to do?  Well, it’s at Cowboy Stadium…and the Cowboys got beaten in their opener against the Giants so they definitely need to be out for blood, right?  But Carolina can’t open the season at 0-3.  Or, is that what the rest of the guys are going to do?  “Dallas, be good to me.  Please!”  If I were Catholic, I’d have crossed myself then-and-there.

Hank Williams Jr. asks if we’re ready for football (YES!  For 5 years, yes!).  John Gruden claims how much Jake Delhomme shows true grit.  And how Tony Romo is a great teammate (Gruden was clearly campaigning to Jerry Jones and the owner of the Panthers – sorry, who owns the Panthers? – to be offered the head-coaching position after Wade Phillips or the coach of the Panthers – umm…who’s the head coach for the Panthers? – lost this game).  After the volley of punts were building a scoreless halftime, the two-team shutout was broken up by a gut-wrenching Jake Delhomme TD with a minute left in the 1st half and I started coming up with my runner-up speech.  You know, the thing that you say to the guys at work when the topic comes up as to why you were dumb enough to pick Dallas at minus-9 over Carolina.  Half-time was spent texting my Cowboy-fan friends (three of which were at the game) and begging them to run the field and tackle Jake Delhomme.  And reviewing the tie-breaker rules.  Surely, there’s some hope!

I was under a ridiculous amount of stress.  For a Cowboy/Panthers game.  I haven’t cared for anything as meaningless than FOX News caring about Miley Cyrus using a stripper pole as a prop during the Teen Choice Awards.  Yet, there I was in the fourth quarter and hoping for a miracle because the Cowboys were only leading by 6 points with less than 6 minutes left to play (come on, 6 points is not greater than 9 points.  Get the picture, yet?  Why, oh why did I think they’d go over the spread?).  To top it off, Wade Phillips thought it was a great idea to try and score inside the 10-yard line with two passes and a run for no-gain.  They all failed and my heart sank; it was already over.

And it happened.  No, not the miracle – Jake Delhomme.  Delhomme gave up his sixth interception in 3 games; 11 in 4 games going back to last year’s playoff game (at this rate, Jake is on pace for 2.75 interceptions per game).  He’s become such a staple of bad things happening in life (sorry, Carolina fans), when I see someone trip and fall, I immediately think, ‘That guy’s just been Delhommed!’  Spilled milk?  Don’t cry.  You’ve just been Delhommed!  Run into a parked car?  You AND that guy’s car has just been Delhommed!  I saw the play develop before it happened.  Less than 5 minutes to go in the game and Carolina has to march down the field to score.  Of course they’re going to go have to try and reach the endzone – a field goal is only worth 3 points, for those scoring at home (these were the thoughts going through my head at the time.  Carolina will have to try and get a TD and that means Jake will have to throw the ball. When that happens there’s ALWAYS the opportunity for a turnover!).

September 28 is history: Terence Newman steps in front of a botched Steve Smith in-route and strolls into the endzone (after a two-point conversion, the score is 21-7.  “Yes!”  14 points > 9 points).  Pan to camera 5:  Albie’s Living Room, and focus on the idiot standing on his couch, phone-in-hand texting ‘Yessssss!!!’ to everyone he knew.  Game ends, Carolina doesn’t score.  14 is greater than 9.  Fourteen is greater than nine.  The Cowboys covered the spread on a pick-six from Terence Newman in the final 5 minutes of the fourth quarter.  That’s what it came down to.  And that’s when I realized that I should never gamble on sports.  The fate of the day-after experience relied on an interception returned for a touchdown.  With less than five minutes in the game to go.   They had to have a pick-six.  There’s no other way.  A fumble not recovered in the end-zone meant Romo would just kneel and run the clock.  Or kick a field goal.  (9 points = 9 points.  I wouldn’t get points for that since 9 is not greater than 9 – still with me?).

Afterwards, I received my congratulations from co-workers and proceeded the consolation process of stating how worried I really was.  So aside from the fact that I don’t have the money for REAL sportsbetting ($2 per week is nothing compared to thousands) and how unhealthy it was for me until that clock reached 00:00, I can never gamble on sports.





Why I Knock on Wood

3 04 2009

No amount of Friday-the-13ths or full-moon Halloween nights can get me nervous about superstitions as much as the baseball season. I’ll admit it, I’m superstitious. Especially when it comes to baseball’s bizarre eccentricity. As hard as I try to detach myself from the slippery slope to crazyville by deciding to not knock on wood at the slightest possible jinx or to consciously decide to not wear the lucky t-shirt with a massive hole down the left side of my armpit underneath my work clothes on a clinching game of an important series, I can’t seem to shake the self-destructive addiction that is baseball fandom. Is there a 12-step program out there so I don’t have to stop cold turkey?

Last post-season’s ALCS had probably solidified my fate even more than Harrison Ford in Empire Strikes Back (yup, Star Wars). While in Fayetteville with the Sox down 3 to 1 against the Rays preparing to head to Philadelphia for my sister’s wedding without giving any thought to baseball, I was to land in Philadelphia during Game 5 and would fortunately miss the Rays pop champagne in Boston’s visiting locker rooms and prepare for the World Series. Yet, that was not to be. The effects of air-travel/sickness that night and with the game on mute because my parents were sleeping in the other bed (I honestly didn’t plan on revealing I shared a hotel room with my parents in the same paragraph as a Star Wars reference) became way too much, I managed to stay awake until the top of the 7th inning but then decided to call it a night. Blame me? (Well, you will). Sox hadn’t scored a run yet and showed no signs of life in the post-season whatsoever. At least my sister’s wedding would be a nice distraction. Hey, the Phillies clinched the NLCS so there would be no chance Manny, D-Lowe, and Nomah would be able to play the Red Sox for a shot at redemption no matter what happens. Maybe I can just immerse myself into the local talk of Philadelphia and be exposed to the Phillies hype.

Dozing in-and-out of consciousness I had to ignore the constant vibrations of my cell phone as to not wake the aforementioned parents in the room. Surely it was from all my friends consoling me. But more probable, all my friends sending me their virtual jeers. After the 5th buzz stirred me awake I finally opened my eyes to see a text I never prepared to receive, “OMG! JD DREW!” And wouldn’t ya know it? Sox won and I missed it. It was happening. I was having the Jimmy Fallon complex in Fever Pitch when the Red Sox came from behind to beat the Yankees but Jimmy and Drew Barrymore were at a Great Gatsby birthday party. Then Jimmy finally said what I’d been wanting to say to someone for a long time, “Clearly it’s not JUST a game!” At least he was saying it to his future ex-girlfriend [spoiler alert!]. The only person I’d get to say it to would have to be my sister, ’cause it was her fault I missed it, right? Had I not had to drive two hours to get to Tulsa airport, fly 6 hours all the way to Philadelphia and then stuff myself with food because I hadn’t eaten all day I probably would have watched it in the comfort of my own 3 year old futon. She was the reason I was in Philly. Maybe. Just maybe, Fayetteville was just bad-luck.

Wedding Day was Saturday, also known as Game 6. Sox still in it. Beckett slated for the start. During the reception I have my iPhone turned to ESPN’s Gamecast while trying to continually give the perception I was mingling. Through all the festivities I kept a rather good track on the situation. Close game and Beckett’s still on the mound through 5 innings. Tie-game no less. Holy crap. (I hope Karen isn’t reading this, but during the first dance – I glanced at the box score. Continually.) But yup, the good ‘ol boys win and I’m on the dance floor doing the Worm. Then run to watch the highlights from the hotel room. It was as if moving to the East Coast was my calling. Being there, closer to my team I was giving them support to win, support they didn’t have before. I felt narcissistically controlling and magically I was the key to success. Well, as much as controlling I could be without going “Celtic Pride” and kidnapping David Price or Evan Longoria.

Fayetteville’s charm that has deprived the Razorbacks with years of average mediocracy has been transferred to the Red Sox. My hometown was punishing me for spending time elsewhere, wishing I lived there instead of here. Arrived Sunday night just in time for deciding Game 7. Loss. Pack it up fellas! What would have I given to jump on a Concorde to get back in Philly post-seventh inning stretch? I still kick myself because I should have just left Fayetteville; drove to Missouri or Oklahoma. Hell, it’s only an hour away and surely there’s a sports bar somewhere and since I’ve already angered Fayette-nam’s wrath, that’s where you can find me in October 2009.

Knock-on-wood.





Why I’m on the Edge of Giving Up Sports All Together

4 08 2008

This one is stemming from a recent football game session I had with my friend Austin while wasting time at Best Buy in which I lost to him in our second overtime because (and I’m going to fight this to the very end) my receiver, which has been catching passes all game mind you (I was Boston College), dropped a pass in the endzone and his Safety (of the Razorbacks) came over and caught it for an interception (OK, granted I could have stopped him on defense but again, I was Boston College).

I didn’t stop him; he strolled into the endzone on a running play as his running back shook off a tackle like my linebacker was David trying to tackle Goliath (I’m sure they wrestled each other before David took a rock off the ground and Dennis the Menaced it at Goliath, just makes sense) and I had to endure the silent pity I was receiving from him and our witness Anthony, and I kept telling myself that there was nothing I could do about it as I cursed the sports gods as they laughed at me for the bowel movement I just took a nose dive in.

As I went through the 5 steps of losing: Anger, The Did-That-Just-Happen? Feeling, Denial, Depression, and Acceptance, I told myself it would never happen again or in real life. But wait a minute, it did! Super Bowl! Yeah it wasn’t a deflection but it was a once in a lifetime catch made by a player who has no receiving hands (David Tyree used his helmet). So then it just made me even more depressed that this has happened to me more than once and lead me to question if it’s a sign that I’ve angered the sports gods at sometime in my life. I think it’s because I’m a Razorback fan (the Red Sox can’t be used as an excuse anymore, “bye bye bamino!”).

How much more disappointment can I take as a sports fan? No one likes to lose but I LOVE to win. When a whole outcome is decided by one play that seams so surreal and makes you make the Did-That-Just-Happen Face, it’s really hard to find the silver lining. Red Sox fans knew my pain for 86 years and Cubs fans are silently nodding their heads along. How do you get through the feeling that your stomach has just dropped three feet and you’re currently stepping on it as you walk? How do you not look up at the sky and say, “Really? That bored, huh?”

It didn’t take very long for me to find my answer after I stopped wallowing in self pity.

The answer is that it’s the absolute reason why people LOVE sports! If there were no moments in history that made you jump off your seat and look at everyone in the room and shout, “Holy Shit! Did you just see that?!” sports would be pretty damn boring. Kind of like watching cars go around in circles 200 times or a ball getting kicked back and forth about 400 times. Some of the best moments in history are moments that movie writers can’t possibly script — okay a 12 year old kid will never, EVER pitch for the Cubs because he fell and caused his arm to throw 100 mph pitches. Without randomness we’d never have “The Immaculate Reception” or Jose Canseco’s home run assist. We wouldn’t have Janet’s wardrobe malfunction (yes, its sports related, that’s why Paul McCartney and Prince do the Half-Time Shows at the Super Bowl now).

The best thing about sports is its unpredictability. It’s randomness allows David to stand up against Goliath and win. Looking back, the game played out what actually happened in real-life. Arkansas vs. LSU last year. Multiple Overtimes. Interception in the endzone. Go figure.

Okay, NOW I’ve reached Acceptance.

photo





Why I Will Be Boycotting the NFL this Season

29 06 2008

Who can forget the ’07 Super Bowl, New England vs. New York (the good New York football team…wait a minute), and who can forget the miraculous helmet catch that had all Giant and Patriot fans shift gears about the way they thought the game was going to end? I sure didn’t.  I STILL turn the channel at the blink of an eye whenever I see video of the Giants celebrating and the Patriots sulking, and I didn’t watch ANY ESPN for a whole two weeks after the Super Bowl (so what’d I watch you ask?  A lot of Scrubs).

Any football fan-addict knows that the Super Bowl Loser for the past 6 years chokes the following season like Phil Mickelson in every tournament with Tiger in it.  He’d probably choke if Tiger challenged him to write a children’s book, left handed.  For instance: Rams lose to Patriots in ’01.  Miss playoffs in ’02.  Raiders lose to the Buccanneers in ’02.  Miss playoffs in ’03.  Panthers lose to Patriots in ’03.  Miss playoffs in ’04.  Eagles lose to Patriots in ’05 (best high school career ever), following season – missed playoffs. Seahawks actually made the playoffs after they lose to the Steelers but we can just forget about that.  Last one — Bears lost to the Colts and then MISSED THE DAMN PLAYOFFS!

I followed all the rules I established from being a Razorback football fan and a pre-2004 Boston Red Sox fan to never, EVER get ahead of myself.  I kept my mouth shut throughout the Super Bowl, only commented on the commercials (which were disappointing) and watched on as the clock ever so slowly ticked down to zero, which it didn’t fast enough.  Game over and no ring for Brushci to put on his pinkey.

I’ve put it passed me – sort of.  Sh*t happens and it’s sports but with all the turmoil and stress the Patriots put them and myself through last year by flirting with an undefeated season, how can I put myself through even worse conditions as they are destined to probably be swept by the Dolphins AND the Jets (God forbid).

All I can do instead is watch MLS futbol (and not shoot myself) and DVR college football games to watch them on Sundays so I can get my sports fix.  Now I’ll say goodbye to the NFL for the time being and goodbye to all the bandwagon fans that jumped on the Brady/Moss Express only to fall off the tracks due to old supports that were too heavily relied upon, about an average of 33 years too old.

Hey guys, 2009 is looking good though right?  I just hope my Brady jersey can keep its white shining until then.

Oh and let’s not forget that if the Patriots had won the Super Bowl, 2007′s major sports champions would have been:  Patriots, Red Sox, and Celtics — all from which city?  *sigh*








Follow

Get every new post delivered to your Inbox.