The First Ever BWB NFL Bets, Part I

At last!

Yes, an actual blog post.  Guess what folks, I made the first ever BWB NFL Picks, and not a moment too soon.

Friday Afternoon

I arrive at the Club Cal-Neva Sports book and am completely overwhelmed.  I have been in the cavernous top floor many times, but never to bet.  Where once I saw desperate men chatting, pouring over games of no real meaning save for their spot on the big board.  The men drank too much scotch, smoked the good kind of cigars and, frankly, frightened me.  The locals played here; the casino was the trashy one on the strip, and the tourists knew it.

It was the day I ceased being a tourist, and became a Reno-ite.

…at least, that was the plan.

Instead of hobnobbing with the locals, attempting to pick up any sure bets, bad beats, or crooked lines, I realized I hadn’t budgeted enough time to place my bets and make it to work on time.  So, in a frazzled dash from the parking garage through the skyway, past the oddly-placed restaurant, and into said Sports Book, I hastily grabbed four parlay cards and vowed to fill them in before kickoff Sunday.

Friday Evening—Work

Insanely busy night at work with a great co-worker who has the ability to be fantastic, though seemed a little to overwhelmed behind the bar.  Insane money was made, football never factored in.  But, she’s a Dolphins fan.

Friday Night—After Work

I have my sister’s car.  True fans of BWB will know this is a (largely) a bipedal and bus institution run on trail mix and peppermint mochas.  BWB continues to save money by not paying for gasoline, car insurance, general upkeep and loan payments and simply paying bus fare.

I walk out of Tha Lobsta with C; I like her.  She has the best cynical sense of humor.  It fits her sometimes; sometimes it seems too contrived, like she’s desperately cynical and it’s not an acts.  I like her a lot.

I pay attention to nothing but her as I open the trunk, place my apron and assorted work-related tools in their carrying case, toss it gently back into the trunk and slam the trunk shut, along with my keys.  C drives away and smiles, at least I think she does.  She looks like a Raiders fan.

With the help of two other coworkers, one of which I may or may not have felt up while attempting to find a cigar cutter, I was able to use a metal pipe through the passenger’s window to unlock the door and enter the cabin, where I was able to retrieve the keys.  She’s a Steelers fan, and he is a Dolphins fan too.  Damn, these Dolphins must be desperate.

Saturday Morning—Spanish Springs

I return my sister’s car, and am promptly served with karma.  I knock on the door and am met quickly by Jules’ dogs.  In attempt to protect my sister, their queen, Champ and Boo-Boo attack.  Boo-Boo bit me twice, once in the ankle, one just above the knee.  I got the message.  I’m taking Chicago in London.  

My sister is a Jets fan, mostly because I’m a Jets fan.  Meh, good enough for me.  

Saturday Evening—The Couch

I drift in and out of consciousness during World Series Game Three.  The game is good enough, and it was amazing to see Albert Pujols hit those three home runs.  Though I might have been asleep for the first one.  If you watched it, you just knew he was going to hit that last one in the ninth.  Not only was he locked in, he was smiling between pitches, knowing the sacrificial lamb was coming.  All of Arlington knew it, it was fated.  Cardinals in 6.  But, there’s no chance the Bradford-less Rams can outscore the Cardinals, let alone the Cowboys.  Plus, one of my best friends is a Cowboys fan, and I can’t go against my bro.
And his fiancé is a Packers fan, and they are absolutely the best team on the planet.  Aaron Rodgers is less leading a team than the Conductor of the Boston Pops, leading a masterpiece in motion where no fluid motion is unaccounted for.  They are the perfect team.

Sunday Morning—Placing the Bets

I hastily threw my seven teamer together: Bears, Jets, Dolphins, Raiders, Steelers, Cowboys, Packers.  Five dollar bet would win $520.  Damn it, why did I have to bet on the Jets?

I picked the other six games too, putting them on a separate ticket of their own: Panthers, Browns, Titans, Lions, Colts (taking the points) Sunday Night and the Ravens on Monday.  My strategy: pick all home teams unless someone is getting over two touchdowns.  I know the Colts suck without Peyton Manning and the Saints are supposedly still superior, but I have to gamble a little, right?  That’s a six-teamer that could win me $260.

I consider myself lucky I only spent ten dollars in the casino, and resolve to leave, but as it stands, I left for the casino early and now have more than forty minutes to kill before my bus departs.  While I’m here, I think about other parlays.  I ball up my ten biggest sure-fire wins: Bears, Jets, Dolphins, Raiders, Steelers, Cowboys, Packers, Lions, Ravens, and Saints (I think this is considered hedging my bets, and though this was the way the stock market crashed in 2008, I do it anyway and hope nobody sees me.)

I  throw a fit with myself about my complete lack of faith in Curtis Painter, Dallas Clark, and the legally blind and disabled Kerry Collins and their winless bunch of Ponies.  They do seem to be very, very good at sucking for a sure-fire number one pick, however and I furiously fight against every instinct in my furthest reaches to rip up my six-teamer.  Figuring, rightly, that even Jim Caldwell has a mother, I resolve to give them one more chance and quickly produce another ten teamer of teams I originally picked against: Bucs, Redskins, Chargers, Seahawks, Texans, Broncos, Falcons, Chiefs, Cardinals, and the Colts.

I left after that, fortunately for me.  Stay tuned for the results Monday and Tuesday!