Among my previous acts of degeneracy and depravity, the 11 hours I spent on the couch watching football yesterday has to rank right near the top.
I was totally ready for some football.
Did you know that if you make a straight wager for $30, your winning payout at at least one web site is $27.27. True. And yes, I’m a high bleeping roller.
I barely moved except to make water and get a carnitas burrito from the local taco stand. You could have set plants on me. I don’t get much chance to watch a lot of NFL due to other committments (parenting, playing soccer, porn), so I seized my chance yesterday. I’m not sure I could do it regularly, though, for the first time, I’ve purchased NFL Sunday Ticket, mainly because I have high hopes for my Niners this year and want to be able to see all their games.
I thought about adding poker to the mix, but that seemed like sensory overload. There was much flipping between games to keep abreast of various wagers. I was scouring the poker machine for last-minute news. Recording live updates of my fantasy endeavors. And chatting on the girlie box, where The Bracelet and I commiserated about our karmic lot in betting life (though, in something of a “reverse jinx,” we ended up winning) and devised plans for a no-holds-barred commentary channel that would be unfit for anyone with even one “uptight” gene (example: Lots of jokes about Jeff Garcia getting “creamed”).
I’ve never been a strong football bettor. I go with the gut more than the numbers, which as poker players know, can be a road to ruin. Sometimes the gut is right, though, and I booked a positive session, enough for a couple rounds at the bar. Though, at one point, holding a ticket with three favorites on it, my teams had combined for zero points near the end of the first half of all their games.
I don’t even know what to do with tonight’s games. The gut isn’t speaking. Probably waylayed by the burrito.