Wanna Bet?

In a word, "No." In a few words, "No, thank you." I have spent most of my life trying to wash away the experiences of my youth, the ones that involved me having to give up my allowance or lunch money for some wager that was immediately rocked back in my face as I failed to grasp a simple lesson: Do not put your own money on the line when you cannot control the outcome. A great deal of change and a little bit of folding money passed between my older brother and I as we challenged one another in matters of trivia. That was a friendly way to find out just exactly what I knew, or didn't.
But that wasn't the scariest part. If I gave up a dollar or two to my brother based on my inaccurate recall of the cast of "Escape From The Planet Of The Apes," so be it. I could absorb that kind of loss. What really freaked me out was watching the kid down the street systematically fleece every other child his age or younger in the neighborhood. He worked for days perfecting a basketball shot from his front steps to the hoop over his garage, then ask anyone wandering past if they wanted to bet against him making it again. On the rare occasion that he would miss, he would immediately offer to go "double or nothin'." In any game or contest, if he lost the first one, things escalated immediately to the best two out of three, three out of five, five of seven, until you were worn down by the math.
It did not take any creative math to lose your money at "Little Vegas." This was the casino he set up in his parents' garage when he was twelve, complete with loaded dice and a trick roulette wheel. The neighborhood kids emptied out their piggy banks for a chance to throw down on these games of "chance." Fast forward many years in the future, when I was in Las Vegas working as an office furniture installer. As the rest of my co-workers busied themselves in the hours after we had finished building dozens of cubicles for an Air Force base off the strip visiting the local gambling establishments, I went for a walk. As I strolled down the avenue in the late afternoon sun, I noticed the lights on the marquee were on. In fact, every light on every sign, street and venue were blazing away, had been and would be until the building that they adorned was imploded. This was not a city that lost money. They had money to burn. Literally.
And so I continue to shy away from those opportunities that seem too good to be true, since they most certainly are not. I allowed myself to be goaded into betting on the last playoff game that the Denver Broncos played. They lost. I lost. No joy. No cash. It was a lose/lose proposition. That's why I took such satisfaction in winning the fantasy football championship. It was all in good fun, but there was a ten dollar entrance fee. For seventeen weeks, I managed and manipulated my lineup. I dropped players. I added players. I made decisions that helped me guide my team to first place and, in the end, emerge triumphant. The guy who runs our league scoffed briefly at my success, dismissing me as "lucky." After a moment, he gave me the respect I was due. It may have had something to do with luck, but I had my hands all over that luck. It occurred to me only briefly to ask if he wanted to go double or nothin'.