I recall that my first experience with gambling occurred in the 5th grade at Fulton Elementary School. It happened during the marble craze that swept the nation in the ’50s and ’60s. At recess and lunch each day, the boys would gather on the dirt field and shoot marbles, attempting to best their opponent and maybe win a treasured Cat’s Eye, Aggie or the coveted Purie. My skills proved abysmal in the art of shooting marbles, losing most of my tiny glass spheres by weeks end. One day I came up with the brilliant idea of putting the odds in my favor. I placed a coffee can on the ground and marked a line about ten feet in front of it. I then challenged kids to toss the marble in the can. If they put it in the coffee can, I would give them three marbles. However, if they missed, I kept their marble. Word spread quickly and by the second day the line was ten deep, with eager beavers waiting to take a chance on winning three marbles. Within a week I had more marbles than any other 5th grader. I had struck gold! Unfortunately the school principal, Mr. Lampela, got wind of my scheme and summoned me to his office. He informed me that what I was doing was considered gambling and against school rules. I respectively protested, countering with “but they do it at the school carnival every year with balls tossed into a big milk can.” Unconvinced, he shot back, “I’m calling your mother Peter!” It proved too late, I was hooked on gambling!
By the 6th grade I had graduated to playing poker with my friends for Good & Plenty and M&M’S candies. It didn’t take long for me to recognize that I possessed a keen “card sense” and an acute memory for which cards had been played. As the years passed I learned other card games such as Hearts and Spades that could be played for money. My skill and appetite for playing cards for cash flourished in the Army and became a minor source of income during my three years of service.
Today my gambling consists of two to three trips to Vegas each year and wagering a few rubles on football each week during the season. I LOVE football and betting on the games, and frankly it does make them more exciting. However, there was a day long ago when I actually believed that by studying the team stats, and with my canny understanding of professional football, I could consistently pick winners and make a boat load of greenbacks in the process. I was wrong! Fortunately I had an epiphany on a dreary Sunday in the early 80’s that made me realize gambling more than I could afford to lose would send me down a dark, miserable road to nowhere.
One Sunday morning after a disastrous day of betting college football games on Saturday, I decided I needed to recoup my losses from the day before. What better way than doubling up my wagers for the Sunday pro football games.
Consequently I bet seven early games that day and lost six. I was now down just over $500, an amount way beyond my ability to pay without help. Mired in a deep state of panic, I made the rash, disparate and idiotic decision to bet $250 each on the two televised afternoon games. I will always remember the teams I bet on—the New Orleans Saints and the San Diego Chargers. When the games began I experienced a mild anxiety attack to go with my knotted stomach. I didn’t even want to consider just what I would do if I lost both games. I also wondered if things went badly could I get a good job in Tijuana. For the next three hours I obsessively switched from game to game seeking a happy place. Unbelievably, both games remained close until the final minutes, as if a higher power was trying to drive me completely insane. As the Saints prepared for a long, game winning field goal, I popped another Coors. I prayed aloud as the ball sailed through the goal post–WINNER. I quickly switched to the Charger game. Oh, no, tie game; they would be going to overtime. The first team to score would win. San Diego won the coin toss and got the ball first. They methodically drove down the field to within field goal range and prepared for a game winning (and lifesaving) kick. I stood, nervously biting on my Chicago Bears towel, praying for a second miracle. I watched as the football again softly floated through the goalposts–WINNER! I flopped in my chair releasing a blood-curdling scream I’m sure my neighbors heard. I was even for the week! After my adrenalin rush subsided, I curiously realized that I felt worse than before the games had ended. After a bit of introspection, I realized why I felt so badly—because I was such a monumental IDIOT! What I had done was simply stupid. I had gotten lucky, however it was something I could (or would) never repeat.
Since that day, although I still bet on football games, I have greatly reduced the amount and number of games I wager on. It’s just like any other aspect of one’s life; whether it’s drinking, eating, video games, watching television or gambling—moderation in everything. As Kenny Rodgers warned us back in 1978—“you gotta know when to hold ‘em, know when to fold ‘em, know when to walk away, know when to run!”
