In the world of degenerate gamblers, there’s never just “one sport” to bet on. We’ll throw a semester’s college tuition on Russian table tennis if someone says that it’s a lock. But gambling is a lot like viewership of x-rated internet videos: you love them all, but you have a category that’s by far your favorite. With that killer analogy out of the way, let’s take a look at what the sport you bet on says about you.
You figure that if you’re going to spend seven hours watching football every Sunday, you might as well lose every dollar in your bank account while you’re at it. You know you should stick to the sure bets, but those ten-team parlays are more attractive to you than women with not-yet-roofied drinks are to Bill Cosby.
Your so-called “in depth knowledge of the game” is more useless to your bets than a safe word in a deaf orgy. The game itself is completely unpredictable, but your constant betting of NRFI’s allows you to keep chasing a win on your drunk-Irishman-with-a-back-talking-wife parlays: hit after hit after hit.
You refuse to go by your gut feeling on any given game because you’ve developed a system that will work about as well as a college virgin’s wallet condom. Despite consistently being in the red, you’re convinced that the excel sheet filled with “Basketball-Reference” data that you created after taking Financial Modeling is eventually going to become a sports betting gold mine.
You discovered the 60-minute-line accidentally, and now you think that because you’re getting slightly better odds than picking a straight-up money-line, you’ve somehow cracked a code. You, like many of the players out on the ice, aren’t too bright.
When the guy you were certain (based on your diligent watching all year) would take home the win at Augusta four puts to lose it on eighteen, you launch into a string of expletives that, when taken together, would be a fantastic list of “words you really can’t say anymore.”
Anytime someone asks you about your strategy for betting on horse racing, you launch into a long and detailed explanation of how you make your picks that’s more confusing than the location of the clitoris. Then you get angry when someone disregards your advice and wins $10K on a horse they picked because “it had a silly name.”
Your gambling life is filled only with you anxiously contemplating whether to take the over or under on an unchanging line of 1.5 goals scored. You then spend ninety minutes screaming “offsides,” “advantage,” and other soccer terms you don’t fully understand at the television.