"I'm Not Betting This Weekend."
A Sunday Scaries reader submission by @ShmoreyShmallen, recounting a degenerate gambler's typical NFL Sunday through the eyes of November 9th where the Steelers got pounded and Vegas sailed into the sunset yet again.
It's an NFL Sunday. You wake up at 7:30 AM, most likely hungover and afraid to check your bank after you remembering buying a round of shots after ordering pitchers. You stroll to the bathroom to relieve your bladder, quickly followed by a brisk walk to the kitchen to inhale your Brita filter, before filling up the Brita and heading back to bed for another 2.5 hours of sleep before actually have to start your day.
The good news is, you told yourself you won't be betting this weekend after getting a tad aggressive with a 4-team teaser the previous Sunday, and promptly chasing (and losing) on the Monday night game. This weekend will be different. You won't be relying on players like Blake Bortles (or coaches like Mike Smith) to show up and be confident. This Sunday you'll watch your team, check your fantasy stats, and drink a few beers.
Now it's 10:15 AM. It's time to get the day started. You answer a few "bro we were so fucked up last night" texts and start to rally the troops. You get your breakfast sandwich of choice and down a 32 oz Frost Gatorade. But remember, it's going to be a good day because you're not betting today. Buttttt, you might as well log into your overseas account and at least check the spreads, right? You just wanna see how much Denver is favored by, and who has the courtesy of being a double-digit favorite over Oakland.
You can pretty much call it a day from there, right? I mean, you really really don't want to be a degenerate this Sunday.
But then, you see the board and you have clarity. You think to yourself, "man I wish I was betting today, Steelers -4 at the Jets is free money. Whatever, let's just hope there's a line like that next week."
Now, the problem is you've seen the spreads, you know which ones you like, and they now own real estate in your brain. This charade of "I really only want to watch my team and drink some beers" will continue for a few hours, but the devil on your shoulder is telling you there's money to be made. And, because you're a little bitch with no will power, you're going to give in.
It's now 12:52 pm. You're flying high. The first pitcher and dozen wings have gone down smoothly and you're ready for a Sunday of football. But that Pittsburgh spread in the back of your mind. And Arizona only favored by a touchdown at home against Austin Davis? Come on.
You knew it would come to this. This is where having a smart phone makes enabling your choices a real problem. You turn to a friend looking for a moral compass and his swift response is something to the affect of, "You haven't fired in yet? What the hell are you doing with your life? Stop being a pussy and grow up," which sets you over the edge.
You log in, make your picks, select how much you're going to wager (which is a little more than normal thanks to the fact you're already a pitcher deep), and you're locked in. Another Sunday, another 2-team tease with a few bets on the totals of the 4 o'clock games. And another night where you will be sweating out the fact that you're relying on a second string quarterback in crunch time.
The one lesson you learn from this: you're definitely not betting next Sunday.