It's that time of year where we only have one meaningful football game left, and the TV lineup is starting to legitimately stink. We're still months away from HBO's Murders Row of Spring Programing of Thrones/Silicon Valley/Veep/And the always forgotten yet always entertaining Last Week Tonight with John Oliver. I simply can't even remotely bring myself to care about college basketball yet, and my NBA team is in a hopeless place where it will make the playoffs, but the roster is aging and hope is fading.
February blows. It's an awful month with terrible weather, and a painful reminder that not only are you single but more importantly, you are as far away as possible on the calendar from football. Plus as the years go on and so too does my waistline, summer is becoming less enjoyable by the day.
I'm in a dark place, and when I find myself in times of trouble, mother betting speaks to me.
Seriously, I don't know why or how, but every single year about this time, the end of football sends me into an emotional panic, and I feel like I have to bet on anything and everything in sight. But, here's the worst part. I get gun shy. I find bets that I love and don't bet them, and then every bet that I do make on a Monday night basketball game, I lose. It's like clockwork. Fact, I win every bet that I never place.
Last night for instance, I loved Golden State (-5) at home against the Spurs, absolutely loved it. I actually wanted to marry it. However, that little demon in my brain told me, "You can never bet against Pop in a big game,". You can guess how it went.
I was then given a tip to lay the points with Furman last night who also covered with ease, but you know the story. I was in the middle of recording a show and didn't get the bet in in time. So is life.
Only one thing to do. Keep calm and bet on.
No comments:
Post a Comment