Luck Be a Lady
So Cole mentioned last night that some football team had won some game. I gathered from the way he said it, that I was supposed to recognize some degree of significance. Well, folks, sports are at least one area in which I am completely stereotypically girly. I know nada. I finally determined (okay, he was quickly kind enough to flat-out tell me) that this past weekend held the AFC and NFC championships, and therefore we now know who will be in the Superbowl. Okay, I must have SOME sports knowledge, since he didn't actually say "AFC" and "NFC," I knew that much on my own. Anywho. So I asked who we were rooting for, since for things about which I have absolutely no clue, I tend to go with the opinion of someone more knowledgable than myself, especially someone whose opinion I actually give a rat's butt about. Basically it's six of one, half a dozen of the other, but then again, Seattle is a prettier place. Okay. I'll go for Seattle.
Now, there was a time that I did give a rat's butt about certain sports, football even being one of them. That was back in my high school days, when... well, I guess the statute of limitations has run out by now, so I'll go ahead and confess. See, up until I moved into Oilers-then-Texans territory, I used to just root for whichever team was my home team. Growing up in the SF Bay Area, that was the 49ers for football, and the Oakland A's for baseball. Both teams were in their collective heyday in the late 80s. And I managed to make a fair chunk of change betting on the Superbowl and the World Series. Okay, it was only $20-$50 a pop, and I didn't have a bookie or anything - my friend who gave me a ride to school was not likely to break my legs if I didn't pay up. As it happened, though, I never needed to.
The baseball story is okay, but I'll save it for another day, I have somewhere I need to be. But the Superbowl... ah, yes, the Superbowl... that would have been in, oh, January of 1990, if I remember right, so let's Google it and see...
Okay, there we go. Yes, Superbowl XXIV, 1990. The Niners were my team, and a friend was rooting for the Broncos. He was sure his team was going to win, and we had $50 on the line. He was so sure, in fact, that he was going to let me set the point spread. Boldly, I declared "10!" Three times, he asked me if I was sure, and three times I assured him I was. "Okay, it's your funeral," he smirked. I went home that afternoon.
"Daddy... what's a point spread?"
Daddy explained it to me and thankfully didn't ask me why I wanted to know, or why my face turned even paler than it normally is after he explained. I had just dug my own grave, for surely a Superbowl would be way too close, and no team, no matter how good, could beat a 10 point spread on the Big Game.
Final Score: San Francisco, 55, Denver, 10. More importantly, Final Score: Sara, pulled a miracle out of her ass, Barry, jaw hit the floor.
Somehow I don't think I'll ever get that lucky again. And maybe that's why that was the last sports bet I ever made.
Now, there was a time that I did give a rat's butt about certain sports, football even being one of them. That was back in my high school days, when... well, I guess the statute of limitations has run out by now, so I'll go ahead and confess. See, up until I moved into Oilers-then-Texans territory, I used to just root for whichever team was my home team. Growing up in the SF Bay Area, that was the 49ers for football, and the Oakland A's for baseball. Both teams were in their collective heyday in the late 80s. And I managed to make a fair chunk of change betting on the Superbowl and the World Series. Okay, it was only $20-$50 a pop, and I didn't have a bookie or anything - my friend who gave me a ride to school was not likely to break my legs if I didn't pay up. As it happened, though, I never needed to.
The baseball story is okay, but I'll save it for another day, I have somewhere I need to be. But the Superbowl... ah, yes, the Superbowl... that would have been in, oh, January of 1990, if I remember right, so let's Google it and see...
Okay, there we go. Yes, Superbowl XXIV, 1990. The Niners were my team, and a friend was rooting for the Broncos. He was sure his team was going to win, and we had $50 on the line. He was so sure, in fact, that he was going to let me set the point spread. Boldly, I declared "10!" Three times, he asked me if I was sure, and three times I assured him I was. "Okay, it's your funeral," he smirked. I went home that afternoon.
"Daddy... what's a point spread?"
Daddy explained it to me and thankfully didn't ask me why I wanted to know, or why my face turned even paler than it normally is after he explained. I had just dug my own grave, for surely a Superbowl would be way too close, and no team, no matter how good, could beat a 10 point spread on the Big Game.
Final Score: San Francisco, 55, Denver, 10. More importantly, Final Score: Sara, pulled a miracle out of her ass, Barry, jaw hit the floor.
Somehow I don't think I'll ever get that lucky again. And maybe that's why that was the last sports bet I ever made.
posted by SaraSmile | 6:33 PM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home