“I was kind of like an animal at the zoo for them to come watch get hammered all day and lose money.”
A little background. I was a little older than most of my teammates in college, due to injury I took two years off back at home. I learned about the thrill of a sportsbook through a few of my degenerate friends from a men’s team I played on that had an annual tournament in Vegas. I was immediately hooked after losing my first bet, a four-team college football parlay, that of course hit on the first three games then had USC bend me over and lose for the fourth.
Fast forward, I decided to go back to school and finish my eligibility and on Sundays we had a tradition. None of my other teammates really gambled because they were, plain and simple, smarter than me. So, every Sunday we would wake up still drunk from Saturdays festivities, I would make a huge screw driver to avoid my hangover till Monday, and place bets on games all day while they came in and out of my apartment to watch me flip out and yell at the TV all day. (They even made me an Instagram account to post videos for those who couldn’t make it over that day.) I was kind of like an animal at the zoo for them to come watch get hammered all day and lose money.
The Patriots vs Eagles Super Bowl comes around and I am excited to be drunk all day and place some money on the game. So, I start early, get hammered, and decide I was going to place $50 on the Patriots to cover and $50 on the under. The only reason I remember this is cause there’s a video of me slurring “I thought this was gonna be a low scoring game” while slouched on the couch. I was so drunk though I couldn’t figure out how to place my bets on this stupid new app I decided to use. I went back in and tried placed the bets again. At this point I don’t know what happened, but I thought both the times I tried to place the bets, they ended up going through so I had $200 riding on this game. This was a lot for me at the time, being a broke college student. As we all know both of those did not hit so throughout the game I continued to drink away my sorrows while my friends laughed at my suffering. I didn’t want to believe it was true. I didn’t check my account all week till finally I had to. And by some brilliant miracle I stared in amazement at the balance. My drunk ass wasn’t capable of figuring out how to use that app and none of my bets actually got placed. A wave a happiness came upon me and no, I did not learn a thing from this. I still do the same thing every Sunday, post grad, and have my own Instagram account so that all my teammates across the country can still sit and watch my ups and downs through videos my roommates take and Instagram lives for witching hour on Sundays.
Stories of the Whispering Jew 