Every time the Patriots square off against the Colts, it’s always a week full of reflection for me. This is a tragic story that I’d like to share with you right now, and I suggest grabbing a box of tissues – it’s a real tear jerker.

The year was 2007. Just like Brett Favre, I had “retired” from the game. Not because I felt that I was no longer at the peak of my performance as an NFL gambler, but I had just grown onto bigger and better things, like pushing obscene amounts of money through the pools at Belmont, Aqueduct, and Saratoga.

But like Favre, it didn’t take much to pull me out of “retirement”. All it took was a letter from my online book one day saying that they had made a deposit in my account as part of some promotion. It didn’t say how much the deposit was, just that I’d have to log in to find out.

It was $100.

As you all know, in 2007 the Patriots were poised to dominate the NFL. So my strategy was simple, just bet the Patriots every week. Granted I might have strayed with a few $5 parlays here and there, but the Pats and I were cruising, and I watch that $100 grow week after week.

Then on October 7th, the Browns came into town getting 16.5 points. Pfft, the Patsies are gonna kill’em by 40 points!

Well, the game didn’t exactly play out that way. With about 90 seconds left in the game, I left my seat at Gillette Stadium and started to leave the stadium with the Pats only up by 10 and the Browns had the ball. Then out of nowhere, the stadium erupted and I heard…

Fuckin’ pissah! I ran up the ramp to find out that Randall “I’m not” Gay had picked up a fumble and run it back for a touchdown with 52 seconds left. The Patsies covered! The Patsies covered! I shit you not, I must have chest bumped at least a dozen strangers including one elderly woman.

I had survived another week, and my bankroll continued to flourish. I was on my way to a 6 figure season – I could feel it.

The one game I had my eyes on was the Colts on November 4th. I had put together a strategy that if the Pats won this game, I was going to bet half the winnings every week (and pocket the rest) until the Pats didn’t cover. It didn’t matter if they didn’t run the table against the point spread for the rest of the year, I would still be set up for a nice pay day (given the amount of money I was betting) as long as the covered a few more games after the Colts.

The week of the Colts game I hung my balls out there to the tune of $4,525.

I’m sure some of my readers out there are degenerate gamblers, so they know what this feels like. But for those of you who don’t, let me just say that having that much money on the line is a great way to get your adrenaline going over plays as mundane as 1st and 10 on your own 35 during the first quarter. It’s also a great way to make yourself look psychotic in front of your girlfriend’s father. Scratch that, her whole family.

That was probably the biggest mistake I made. I should have been watching the game alone in a dark room, with padded walls. Or at least in a bar room or living room with other degenerate gamblers. Instead I decided to let her family into my world for the afternoon, complete with telling people that they can’t move until I say so, because it’s good luck. Then if something big happened when they were out of the room, they had to “stay in the FUCKING kitchen!”.

They loved this.

The Pats were giving 5.5 points, and it did not look good. 13-7 Colts at the half, 13-10 at the end of the 3rd. But then the Pats made their move, rallied and took a 24-20 lead in the 4th quarter.

That’s great and all if you’re on the moneyline, but I still needed 2 points to take me to promiseland.

Fortunately, there was still some time left in the game and Peyton Manning was going to have the ball in his hands. More importantly, the Patriots defense was in a perfect position to cause a turnover and run it back for a touchdown.

Then it happened. Rosevelt Colvin forced a fumble and the Patriots recovered it. One problem though, they didn’t run it back for a touchdown. That’s okay though, they couldn’t sit on it because we weren’t even at the 2 minute warning yet, and Brady hadn’t taken a knee all year long. Actually, people were complaining all year about Belichick trying to run up the score because he had his offense playing to the final whistle of every game.

Right at the two minute warning, Brady connected with Wes Welkaaaah for a first down. 32 more yards and I’m going to Vegas baby!

We came back from the commercial break and my boys were on the field, ready to make a statement by closing out the game with a 32 yard – mother fucking cock sucking finger blasting ass fisting goddamn three fucking knees to run out the clock.

No, no, no, no, you asshole! What did you do? You whale’s vagina, you never take a knee! Fumble the fucking ball, someone, anyone, help me!

Whatever, that’s just the way gambling works. You can put together a phenomenal run, but eventually the house always wins. Now excuse me while I go sit in my bedroom closet with the lights off and cry for 30 minutes.

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