Zodi’s Blog

Why I Owe Shaq More Than I’m Willing To Pay….And Why I Save Kittens.

 In 1999 I was making good money from both the turnpike job and from being a bookie. I had also been on a string of good luck for the past several months. So I started getting really reckless with my gambling.    

What could go wrong?    

The problem with gambling is that when you win it all tends to go to strippers, coke and vacations dancers, rum and cokes and vacations. But when you lose it comes out of your pocket. But since I was a bookie, I usually had a lot of leeway.      

Nothing I could possibly write here could make this any more fantastically awesome than it already is.

The roller coaster week in question I was up close to 15k, counting what I figured people were going to owe me by the end of the week. That’s when I got greedy. I put 20k on something…maybe the Toronto Baptist Bible College’s badminton team… I can’t remember. I do remember thinking to myself, “Holy shit I’m going to be rich! I am the best and smartest gambler in the history of gambling! They are going to make movies about me and everyone is going to be like, “That Scott is the best gambler ever!” at the end! I’ll bet Scorsese will make me look cool…probably get Johnny Depp to play me. No, he’d probably want me to play me! My mind sure does use a lot of exclamation points! After I win this I’ll be up 30 fucking thousand dollars and I’ll buy tons of coke rum and cokes and all the strippers will stand back in awe of my ability to ‘make it rain.’ Maybe I’ll buy a Mercedes and a helicopter (I was never good at knowing my financial boundaries). Or I’ll buy 50 thousand (horrible math again) remote control helicopters and drop money and coke rum and cokes on all the strippers in Pittsburgh! I am so fucking awesome!”          

But I lost.    

I guess the Toronto Baptist Bible College got out badmintoned that day.    

Then people who I thought were going to lose (and owe me) ended up winning. As I was now down serious money and drunk on adrenaline and vodka, mostly vodka, I made a few more bets that would have made window lickers stop licking their respective windows just long enough to comment on how stupid these bets were.    

And I ended up down over 15k.    

I thought to myself, “Fuck.”    

The inside of my brain began to feel itchy, greasy and panicky. But I knew I had a way out because I am the legendary, genius gambler who Martin Fucking Scorsese is someday going to make a movie about.  I just had to find a sure thing, double down and win my money back.    

So pushing aside any uncertainty and fear, I adeptly convinced myself that I’d found an Absolute Sure Thing akin to ‘eggs are good for you’ or ‘Jesus Christ is a staunch republican who goes to gay marriages just to spit on the cake and shake his head disapprovingly,’ and put 15K on the Lakers who were giving 4 points to Portland in the NBA playoffs. Shaq and Kobe were finally starting to gel like some coagulated love-juice of unknown origin stuck to a giant purple and yellow dildo under a bunkbed at the Los Angeles YMCA in 1972.    

Jesus says, “Take up your portfolio and follow me.”

Still, after I called it in I got itchy and sweaty again. Since I had to work that night I figured that I’d wait until the second half to check on the score. By that time I was sure that the Lakers would be up by 87 points and Kobe would have stabbed Scotty Pipen’s ego in the face with a floury of humiliating dunks.    

I was in my tollbooth patiently helping customers figure out what combination of quarters came closest to 50 cents when I finally turned on my little 7 inch plastic TV.    

And saw that the Lakers were down 18 points late in the 3rd quarter.    

I gently ripped my poor little plastic TV out of it’s cute little cubbyhole and slammed it into the ground. I began stomping it while tears of rage were streaming down my face. During the next 15 minutes I wept, cleaned up the tiny pieces of plastic from my poor little murdered TV, threw up violently in the trash can, wept, took out the pukey trash can and told my boss I had to go home.     

I then drove towards home in a semi blackout. I remember turning on my car radio to hear that the Lakers were still down 13 points and it was now the 4th quarter. I remember trying to stab my car radio to death with a Bic pen while still furiously weeping, then trying to clumsily punch the radio and making my hand bleed. I remember throwing up (mostly) out the window while driving 90 mph down the highway.    

When I got to my exit I stopped at a local bar to drink myself to death. I ordered 5 shots of vodka on ice and tried my hardest not to weep or puke anymore in public while chugging the Stoli rather stoically. I ordered another.    

I noticed that the game was on at the bar. Before I could pick up my chair to throw at the TV, I saw that the Lakers were now, magically and miraculously up 3 with only 2 or 3 seconds on left the clock and Shaq at the free throw line. Without boring those of you who don’t follow basketball, Shaq was about as good at free throwing as Israel is at hosting regattas.    

I remember making lots of promises to God in those next few moments. Promises involving doing fewer strippers and coke rum and coke related activities and doing more soup kitchen volunteering and kitten rescuing related activities.    

Please be gentle...?

I know that at that point I would have allowed Shaq to anally rape me at mid court at the Forum to a standing ovation while the loudspeakers were playing We Will Rock You by Queen, if he managed to just drop those two shots.      

I don’t know if Shaq heard my desperate thoughts and thought to himself, “I’ve never raped a small white man in the ass… that might be fun,” or if God just doesn’t want strippers to go to college but Shaq made both shots, completing the most improbable and unlikely end to a sporting event since Cindy Lauper forced Andre The Giant to perform fellatio on her at Wrestlemania in 1985.    

Best Wrestlemania ever! And the last time I watched wrestling.

Anyway, I got out of it. God only knows what kind of misfortune would have befallen me had I lost….but it probably would have involved at least some form of unpleasantness combined in some way with assholes.     

Since that day I’ve been a hell of a lot more cautious with my bets. And now I only tip strippers enough to pursue their GED. And no more coke ….or rum even.    

And I hope Shaq doesn’t read this.

June 6, 2010 Posted by | Uncategorized | , , , , , , , | 73 Comments