Every gambler has war stories about their bad beats. There are literally millions of them. They are both glorious and tedious, depending on your mood or perspective. So here's mine from tonight.
I've got the Seahawks minus 6.5 against the Eagles on Monday Night Football. There's about 18 seconds to go in the game and the Eagles have the ball on the Seahawk 40, down by 14. I can see it coming, but I convince myself that my second sight is mere paranoia. Carson Wentz drops back to pass and chucks a Hail Mary into the end zone. The Seahawk defender knocks it down, but into the waiting hands - single hand, actually - of a Eagle receiver. I don't even remember who it was. There are 11 seconds left. My heart drops, but I remind myself that the Eagles can still win this thing, they can still tie the game in regulation by kicking the extra point, successfully performing an onside kick and somehow completing one more Hail Mary to end the game. So of course they won't go for two. That wouldn't make any sense whatsoever. If there was no time on the clock, okay: maybe they would do that. But not with a legitimate, if remote, chance to square the game up. I breath a little easier.
Of course, for whatever inexplicable reason which I will never in my entire life comprehend, the Eagles go for two. They run it in successfully with literally no resistance from the Seattle defense. The Seahawks end up winning the game by 6 points, and I lose my bet by the hook. I was betting fairly small, but that's just not the point.
There is no glory without defeat, no pleasure without pain or love sans hate. That's the lesson from tonight folks. I'm going to sleep easier knowing that my suffering is both profound and utterly banal.
