Gambling is not a common experience in my family. My mother bet on horses as often as I did, and with about as much success. I can't recall my father ever making a wager, although I believe he was capable of it. My brothers might have played cards and bet a few bucks, but they were hardly habitual gamblers and, as far as I know, lost the urge somewhere after their teen years. I can't think of a good friend or a colleague who put his or her money down on a sure thing. Given the number of gamblers in the world, and especially in sin cities such as New York, one could say my association with non-gamblers beat the odds.
My father-in-law died long before Amy took a chance on me as her husband. He was a player, according to my wife, my now-deceased mother-in-law, and anyone I've met who knew him.
He gambled enough to attract Vegas' largesse. He knew the man who invented the casino junket. He knew people who strongly resembled the Ace Rothstein character played by Robert DeNiro in Martin Scorsese's movie Casino. Like many businessmen, my father-in-law couldn't stop trying to outwit the competition. Amy's dad would have enjoyed nothing more than placing football bets with his son-in-law. In fact, he would have insisted I get into the pool and get wet.
Since my plunge into football gambling, I've become more interested in the outcomes of the games. I take note of dull teams and wonder if they'll cover the spread. I cautiously watch squads being touted as "can't miss" propositions. Above all, I try to have fun and not take it too seriously. This is a difficult stance for me, as sports betting is one area in which I have a very competitive spirit.
The cost of admission for the sinner's way to enjoy the Sabbath is a little bit more than what I pay for one month's dues for the local YMCA. My late father-in-law would have been perplexed by a Sunday afternoon spent in virtuous physical exercise, but would have understood investing a few hours in a sporting proposition.
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