Having a gambler for a roommate Today, a day of injuries and upsets, a day when the Bills beat the Patriots, the Giants won at Philly and the Oakland Raiders were emerging as the Pick-of-the-Day against the two time AFC conference contending New York Jets, created a maniacal ambiance within my apartment and existence. I rode shotgun with Keitel in Bad Lieutenant. I did not want to be Keitel's car stereo in Bad Lieutenant.
I watch the gamblers gamble like a game sprinkled on a game. It is so sweet and dangerous, a distraction from the meaninglessness of watching sports, an investment in their own fandom, a possible eviction, a possible conviction, a possible steak, tonight! Gambling on football is a hot shower on a cold day with your girlfriend ... when she is mad at you. You might get a hand job and work things out, but you probably wont. I still want to get in that shower. I'm single, man.
It is a wonder these players don't get hurt more, speaking of gambling. These players put money down on their bodies and talents and let it ride. Seeing Mike Vick there on the sidelines two weeks in a row during contentious 4th Quarters, when his team needs him most, when he wants to be out there most, is painful as a fan. It must be more painful for the gambling fan and most painful for Vick. Maybe the off-season of CT scan debates prepared me to look for the injury instead of away, or maybe as I get older and they get younger, I empathize more honestly with the pain.
Maybe that is part of the draw to gambling. Maybe putting their own health and security on the line, with the guys they bet on, implicates them in a way that satisfies their desires to be players themselves. When Vick got hurt and the Eagles lost today, my roommate got hurt and lost today. I think I like that to a degree, yet I don't gamble. Sports writers I admire and friends I respect, they gamble. Hemingway gambled. Men gamble. Mike Vick should be my guy. I trust he will come back next week with a broken right hand and give it to the Niners like they are some Brits. We could both come back from damaging defeats to claim victory and eat steak next week. We could and we should! I should gamble, but I won't. Because Mike Vick has a $100 million contract and I'm not a terrible fucking idiot.
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