Look, I'm not proud of what happened. But we're at Balls Deep International, and if we can't be honest here, where can we be? So here it is: another tale from the trenches of degenerate gambling.
It started innocently enough. 'Just a small wager,' I told myself. 'I've done the research.' The research, of course, was watching one highlight clip and reading two tweets from accounts with anime profile pictures.
The first quarter went exactly as I expected. By halftime, I was checking flights to countries without extradition treaties. The third quarter was a blur. By the fourth, I had achieved a zen-like acceptance of my fate.
My wife asked why I was staring at my phone for three hours. I told her I was 'monitoring investments.' This is technically true if you define investments as 'money I will never see again.'
The lesson here? There isn't one. I'll do it again tomorrow. That's the beautiful tragedy of sports betting - hope springs eternal, even when your bankroll doesn't.
If you're reading this and nodding along, welcome to the club. We meet every day, usually around first pitch or tip-off. Bring your own copium.