Posts Tagged ‘gambling’

BAYOU SAINT BASIL, Fla

It was called the greatest sporting day in decades.

Vic down by the Bayou, investigating the latest raccoon atrocity.

Vic down by the Bayou, investigating the latest raccoon atrocity.

Cocktail hour comes early on Derby Day. Across the bog that moistens my doorstep, on the opposite shore, is Odin’s Spit, a filthy stretch of black-dirt beach spilling forth from the shade of pine trees like a fold of abdominal flesh overcoming a waistband. On any common weekday, the pontoon boats and jet-skis start to lineup around 6pm as the local swamp-folk finish toiling at the outlet shopping mall kiosks and return to Bayou St Basil to unwind with a good many cocktail and country music crooning in bathing attire that hasn’t looked good on them in 27 years, nearly half of their life ago. This, however, isn’t any common weekday; this day in question is a Saturday. Derby Day, no less.

It wasn’t half passed 7am before the droning buzz of jet-skis woke me from my recuperative slumber. Fell asleep outside again, holding onto a glass formerly containing what was likely a flavorful elixir of botanicals bathed in rum or gin. Whatever may had spilled on my Van Halen reunion tour shirt would have evaporated in the night to the din of the screeching sister-fucking raccoons clawing after Manchurian flavored Styrofoam containers thieved from nearby refuse containers. By 9am, Odin’s Spit is aflame with sunburnt bog people, brunching on cheap cinnamon candied-whiskies and fellatio-by-proximity.

I wouldn’t say there is a Derby Day tradition here at St Bas Trailer Park. For a while, the ruling matriarch Queen Georgia (God rest her blaspheming soul), set a standard with flamboyant hats and mint-julip inspired cocktails, which were little more than Bacardi & Sprite with green food coloring. Nonetheless, you’d hear Queen Georgia’s smoky-throated catcalls to the pontoon boat captains, “I feel like such a slutty debutante and I am as stoned as Mary-fucking-Magdalene!” I shouldn’t speak poorly of Queen Georgia. I still feel guilty about the words overheard by her widower’d boyfriend who collected her remains while in his sandals, jean shorts and prison-tattooed sleeves… prison tattooed arms despite his never spending more than weekends in jail for illegal possession or soliciting a minor.

One of the feral kids came by with a tin can full of pennies and started speaking the clicks and hoots of the language of birds he and the other feral bastards speak to each other. I tossed a disposed corn cob at the child and despite the projectile’s lack of edible kernels, the feral bastard was content to gnaw on the rind with his eerie shark teeth and leave me to my freshly brewed coffee.

“Derby Day, Boss.” One of the Jamaicans from next door happened by. He wanted to bet on horseflesh, as did I; but I don’t piss in my backyard, as it were. He hung around to share a cigarette, which I didn’t want, and to chat. All was bombocloth and other fuckery I didn’t understand. I asked him if he ‘Rasta’ with all dem dreads and he just shine a smile, laugh and ebb like slack tide.

derby dayLONGWOOD, Fla

I took the county bus towards Casselberry – hopping on the metro three stops further east than I needed to, hopping off two stops earlier than necessary, all to disassociate myself from a regular travelling pattern – and then walked the rest of the way towards the Jai Lai arena. There’s a Cuban sandwich joint I go to when I need to spend money to get money. I used to do the majority of my gambling in the back room at The Copper Rocket, but since the Governor shut them down, I have been something of a gambling vagabond having brief, illicit, one-night affairs with various bookies of varying degrees of sketchy aftershave. Manulito is a cool fucking cat. He’s old enough to have ears like satellite dishes. They say the ears and the nose keep growing the older you get and this Manulito must have more tree rings than half the oaks in Seminole County. The white fluffy hair sprouting out of those elephantine ears is almost reminiscent of Spanish moss, completing the oak tree analogy.

Doc Kelly showed up. I had Manulito place a call and sure enough, the dude showed… the nerve. Manulito pressed a couple breakfast sandwiches as Doc and I sat down to pretend to read Spanish newspapers and sip café con leche as if we weren’t already both over-caffeinated. Doc was getting over the flu, as was I, both of us independently suffering this last week. We hadn’t seen each other in two weeks, which made me think Doc was kissing on my girl again. Not that she was my girl and maybe he even tipped her better, but nevertheless, I have been drinking more NyQuil than beer this week and I blamed Doc for these ills one way or another.

Boxing Floyd Manny

A Place (To Place Bets)

There is a thing called “the Gambler’s Fallacy” which is the belief that after so many strokes of a certain type of luck, that luck must turn. For example, if you flip a coin and it lands “heads” three times in a row, you might think the next flip has to be “tails” because chance would suggest so… and that would be false. Fallacy. The flip you make is still a 50% chance of “tails” regardless of whichever shit occurred prior.

Similarly, you could keep betting that a crooked sport is eventually going to go straight-arrow and this too would be fallacy. This Manny Pacquiao versus Floyd Mayweather fight has generated such an ungodly amount of money it should be seen in the same lens as a MARVEL: AVENGERS movie. There are too many parties involved, the stakes are too high; you must make one with the promise of another, regardless of how it cheapens the event. Even if there is moral outrage in the streets of the world on Sunday over the scripted nature of this fight, it has to be fixed and those who fix it will become all the more profitable regardless of the shame cast upon them. So dig this: in December, when this ‘greatest fight of the fucking millennium’ was announced, there were 24:1 odds of a draw. Those odds are currently 10:1 for the stalemate. I don’t think Floyd or Manny will take a fall, but I do believe they will be in on the ruse and fight for a stalemate, which would insist on a sequel. For all the money they may be worth, they would be worth a lot more if they could fight this match again.

Politics, Boxing and Horseflesh will never be fair game as long as the power and control are in the hands of the financiers.

I put a few paychecks on a Pacquiao/Mayweather draw and I spilt my pizza delivery tip jar in the direction of American Pharaoh to win the Kentucky Derby. I put a Bitcoin down on the San Antonio Spurs plus 2 in Game 7, for the sake of nostalgia if nothing else. Nothing I can’t lose.

Doc Kelly asked if I could clean myself up by the afternoon. Did I have a smoking jacket and a pair of slacks? He finagled our names onto the invite list for a Derby Day/Fight-Night gala with the Lake Osceola Yacht and Leisure Club and I needed to present myself as a decent Florida gentleman. I stopped by the backdoor of the Bosniak-run dry-cleaners and bought someone’s tuxedo off the meat rack for $20 and my favorite pair of flip-flops. All I need now are the cufflinks.

The Good Money’s on Floyd/Manny Draw…. Shake it and roll! Yahtzee!

THE OUTCOME: vic breaks even

Mayweather vs Pacquiao: Vic bet on the draw and Floyd Mayweather won convincingly.

Kentucky Derby: Vic bet on American Pharaoh and American Pharaoh won!

NBA: Vic bet Spurs +2 and the Clippers won by 2 – it’s a push.

Vic and Doc at the Derby party...

Vic and Doc at the Derby party…

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Collegiate Basketball was invented almost accidentally. First there was darkness. Within the darkness, there existed a contest of athleticism between rival teams involving baskets and balls in a sport casually referred to as “basketball” because “cricket” was already taken. Then there was light… After casual passersby began their spectatorship of these contests, the bookies of gambling houses took notice and asked, “Would not these contests be more interesting if one were allowed (legality being irrelevant) to wager one’s monies on the outcome of these contests?” Yes, the mob of spectators answered almost in unison with a resounding abso-fucking-lutely affirmative. Thus sprang forth Collegiate Basketball.

Lo! the Ides of March are upon us. As our pagan ancestors realized with the dying embers of their winter fire the coming equinox required the planting of seed, so too do we contemporary pagans plant our seed with our meager wagers upon the sacrificial altar of Collegiate Basketball trademarked ever-so-alliterately as “March Madness”. Sixty-Four (give or take a few stragglers) teams enter, one team leaves. With the Ides of March we let the wagering begin, and with it, the synchronized prognostication of millions of spectators throughout the known universe (plus any under the shady bits of the unknown).

To assist my fair brothers and sisters in their endeavors with the speculative vice, I present to you:

Vic Neverman’s Thirty-Three Divination Methods for Gambling on Collegiate Basketball!

  1. Astrology – Keep in mind, mutual assured destruction would have occurred between the United States and the Soviet Union in the 1980’s if not for Nancy’s Astrologist (Intern – can you get me a fact check on this?). Look at your Horoscope. Does it read “you could be setting yourself up for disappointment” as mine does? Then fill out your bracket and then fill out a second bracket with the exact opposite picks and put your money on #2. Just make sure you have Kentucky winning it all, even against the Cinderella of Wofford.
  2. Dowsing – Grab your grandfather’s old bronze rods his father used during the Dustbowl for water-witching. Now take out a map of the United States and hover the dowsing rods over the map until the rods swing inward together. Where does the “X” mark? Is it Ottawa? Well, shit, that is Canada, a country designed to resemble Wisconsin, so choose the Badgers as your Penultimate Winner (beating everyone but Kentucky in the Final Four).
  3. "rar! We are Feral!" - the Kentucky Wildcats

    “rar! we are cats incapable of domestication!”

    Astrology 2.0 – does your Horoscope instead read, “All your dreams may come true today”? Last night I dreamt of dolphins and gutter-punks (true enuff!), but no matter as this is your horoscope not mine. Did you dream of misplaced condoms and the life that has become you? Ah-ha, were they Trojan condoms? With the Trojan Horse logo on the package? The same Trojan Horse, of course, which was a faux-gift to Troy in order to hide a bunch of sneaky Spartans? Then your dream is telling you to pick Michigan State, up until they face Kentucky.

  4. Necromancy – NOTE: this does not require fornicating with corpses (at least not literally), which is the most common misunderstanding of “necromancy”. No, instead, Necromancy is divining answers from the dead. So grab the nearest OUIJA board, dig up your most recently deceased ancestor and ask them for who their boss (Devil, St. Peter, someone in the know) is picking in their brackets. Then choose their team to lose to Kentucky in the final.
  5. Astrology 3.0 – does your Horoscope read “Think twice about what you divulge to your friends today…”? Well, obviously – you are filling out your secret bracket and your friends believe you to be more of an authority on the subject matter than they. Tell them lies. Then grab their bracket and write down their champion as your pick to lose to Kentucky.
  6. Alectromancy – grab the nearest white rooster and toss it grains of varying colors. If the rooster prefers red grains, pick teams of red colors, such as Wisconsin and Arizona and Harvard and Kentucky after the downtrodden bleed upon their white knickers.
  7. Haruspicy – go down to the nearest deli and ask about for the nearest Haruspex to review the entrails of whichever animal you are sacrificing. I would go with pork, the other white meat. Perhaps your Haruspex will go woo pig sooie with the pork from Arkansas University to beat everyone but their SEC Rival Kentucky.
  8. Splanchomancy – this is a mix of Haruspicy and Necromancy crossed with virgins. If you know of any dead or dying virgins, inquire if you might inspect their entrails. Or better yet, hire the Haruspex to do so. If they find Blue Devils, voila! Duke will lose to Kentucky.
  9. Astrology 4.0 – does you Horoscope read “do not be too concerned if you are not productive today”? Then you might as well leave work early and consult the rum gods as you fill out your bracket. Suggestion: mark Kentucky’s path to the final prior to your dozenth damn dram of the Naval-strength throat-cleanser.
  10. Maybe another Crystal...

    Maybe another Crystal…

    Crystal Gazing – do you know a chick named Crystal? Gaze into her eyes. What do you see? Fire? A Blazer? As in University of Alabama-Birmingham beating Iowa State? Maybe she isn’t the right Crystal. Pick ISU… and Kentucky.

  11. Hydromancy – try divining images through water. Do you have a virginal pig handy you can’t bring yourself to sacrifice before digging into Wilbur’s entrails? Then have him urinate into a puddle. What images does the splatter create? Does it resemble Utah? Go, then, with the Utes to lose to Kentucky.
  12. Baconmancy – back to the sacrificial pig option, if you are good with sacrificing the virginal pig, but lack the stomach (ahem) or Haruspex to investigate its entrails, then just sacrifice and fry up the virginal pig’s bacon. Eat it all and pick Virginia to win until they lose to Kentucky.
  13. Astrology 5.0 – does your Horoscope say “your intuition will not fail you now”? Then hire a yoga instructor (preferably a virgin) to bring you to a calm enough state to fill out your bracket. Don’t be too calm to not choose Kentucky.
  14. Coin Flip – why the hell not? As long as: Kentucky.
  15. Craps – use dice outcomes to represent the competitors. Summon up your dead great-aunt and tell her which team represents the even-numbered sides of the die and which is odds. Cast away. What do the dice say? Kentucky, ultimately.
  16. Bacanje Graha – are you a Bosniak fortune-teller with 41 beans handy? Or do you know one? Toss the beans and use whichever Balkan folklore rules to determine the outcome of who shall lose to Kentucky.
  17. Favomancy – another bean tossing tradition similar to the Bosniaks is one involving 53 beans by those Persians of Iran. Toss the 53 beans and see if 47 Republican Senators tell you not to trust the result. Regardless of their constituency, go with Kentucky.
  18. Coffee Divining – in Turkey, I once had an old woman pour me a cup of coffee and use the remnants (half of any true Turkish cup of coffee is inedible muck) after I drank the liquid portion to divine patterns in the sludge. She said something about the Wild Cats, so pick Arizona to lose to Kentucky.
  19. My Coffee (and yonder, my beer) and yet... this is the Eye of Isis.

    My Coffee (and yonder, my beer) and yet… this is the Eye of Isis. (just above the reflective light…)

    Javamancy – this is an old Neverman tradition going back to our Turkish roots. We Nevermen were never admittedly Turks, but we were wayward Phoenicians wandering lands raped, pillaged and conquered by the Ottomans, so there is bound to be some Turk blood within. What we do for Javamancy is pour a black cup of American drip coffee and then 7 drops of cream, which we then delicately blow across the surface of the coffee to see which images appear. This is similar to hydromancy. If you see the Eye of Isis, then pick Wichita State to beat Kansas.

  20. Astrology 6.0 – does your Horoscope ask “do you feel you are growing closer to someone or does the relationship seem like a figment of your imagination”? Then ask your someone their advice and if they do not pick Kentucky overall, then they are just shit.
  21. Opon Ifá – does your dentist double as a Babalawo? If so, look no further! As your dentist to toss their palm nuts on the floor and do his arithmetic to see which fortune is yours. I bet it is via Kentucky.
  22. Merindinlogun – do you have 16 cowrie-shells handy and a Brazilian Candomblé priest available? Follow their lead to see who will lose to Kentucky.
  23. Dilogunwho are you kidding? Puerto Rico isn’t quite Brazil, but it will do in a pinch as long as you have the necessary cowrie-shells.
  24. Astrology 7.0 – FACT CHECK: Nancy Reagan’s Astrologer who saved the world from Mutually Assured Mass Destruction was Joan Quigley.
  25. kim-kardashian-paper-cover-full-billboard-650 (1)Rumpology – speaking of Nancy Reagan of Puerto Rico, Rumpology is exactly how it sounds. Divining the future by examining the curvatures and crevices of a person’s buttocks is a thing (thanks Babylon!). Do you have a quarter? Can you bounce it off of someone’s ass? You’re a rumpologist. I don’t know how you can use ass to predict the outcome of games, but perhaps it is like the coin-flip option once the quarter is bounced. If it lands in the crevice… find a new quarter or just say “to hell with it” and select Kentucky.
  26. Physiognomy – on a related note, there is palm-reading. If one of your Aunt Kathys read your palm 18 years ago and mentioned your money-line was disappointing, then you probably were not meant to win this basketball pool anyway.
  27. Physiognomy 2.0 – on the other hand (ahem), I haven’t had any Aunt Kathys since the divorce, yet I did have a recovering-Hooters Girl of Roma origins who read my palm when I was in college and she was flabbergasted by the strangeness of the Neverman faded palm lines. How could Vic even be alive, she wondered. This is a true story, though she refused to pose within a Hooters shirt I had at the ready.
  28. Solistry – is Physiognomy of the feet. But I am ticklish.
  29. Pareidolia – do you see the image of Coach K in your toast? Then choose Duke to lose to Kentucky.
  30. Belomancy – fancy bows & arrows, do you? Grab three and within the feathers label the first after a competitor, the second after the opposition and the third “push” and then shoot the arrows into the distance. The furthest will likely say Kentucky. Credit, again, the Babylonians.

For the king of Babylon stands at the parting of the way, at the head of the two ways, to use divination; he shakes the arrows, he consults the household idols, he looks at the liver.

– Ezekiel 21:21

  1. Taghairm – Prefer the Scottish means of summoning answers of the dead and/or devils by roasting cats alive or water-boarding sensitives? Taghairm is for you! If the dead and/or devils tell you anything other than “don’t eat the haggis”, get out while you can and bet blue.
  2. Technomancy – Ask Siri.
  3. Srirachomancy – Using Sriracha sauce patterns to conjure images of the divine. Splatter some Sriracha onto your breakfast sandwich and press the muffin top down. Now remove. Do you see an outline of the state of Kentucky? Good! It worked.
Srirachomancy: it looks like Jesus, or wait, maybe its just John Belushi...

Srirachomancy: it looks like Jesus, or wait, maybe its just John Belushi…

A resident of Bayou Saint Basil

A resident of Bayou Saint Basil

Leading up to game time, the placing of wagers – or what we sporting fellows like to call “the action” – was heating up. Outside, in the few hours before the grand event, the bayou seemed as benignly still as any other Sunday – the feral children were chasing raccoons out of the scrub with hatchets they’d fashioned out of rocks and broken coke bottles, strange herbal scents emanated from half of the trailers in the park, a spy-blimp nosing its way onto the horizon could just be seen through the spanish mosses overhead and my eyes were watering from the heretical alchemy Erasmus was boiling up (some sort of red curry chili with buffalo meat and oysters, must do wonders for the old  libido).

Welcome to my backyard, the post-apocalypse.

In order to keep my bets straight, I have compiled a list of the spit-shake wagers I have made with the local beasties in these here parts.

  • 4 different $5 bets on the Broncos minus 2.5 points
  • $50 on the Seahawks plus 2.5
  • I bet the Earl 4 cans of domestic swill Justin Bieber will be arrested again before halftime
  • I bet 5 year-old Little D Tuscan a Barbie that her dad will be passed-out drunk and spread-eagle naked on the dock by the fourth quarter
  • Abe the Sheik bet me one of his Arab falcons Marshawn Lynch will score at least twice (conversions inclusive). If the Sheik wins, I have to shave his back.
  • The mute guy who never told me his name from lot 4F bet his John McEnroe autographed poster that the Fox Sports Robot will become sentient and will smack Joe Buck.
Cleatus will steal the halftime show by becoming sentient

Cleatus will steal the halftime show by becoming sentient

Newsflash: there has been a Cyrus Lee Hancock sighting! He will not be at the Bayou for the game; instead he will be out in Oviedo spending time with the members of OASIS who survived the 2012 Maya Apocalypse.

  • Cyrus Lee is betting he can eat a pound of bacon in one sitting in less than 30 minutes. If he cannot, he is going to give me the picture of his wife from his wallet. If he can eat the bacon, I have to pay him $5 for the picture of his wife in his wallet.
  • During halftime, I will have the bathtub full of bog-water for Jim Tuscan and me to have an upside-down breath-holding competition. The true aquanaut victor will win a $10 Outback gift card.
  • Ethel bet me a jar of her homebrew cider that drinking her cider will not kill me with heartburn. I entertained this bet, but ultimately turned it down.
  • Doc Kelly bet me his first born that doing shots of fish oil & tequila will keep my triglycerides in check today. If my cholesterol does go off the chart and he loses, he said he’ll still let me have his first-born. Not sure what I would do with an infant, there are enough feral children up-turning my garbage at the trailer park as it is.
  • I bet Rufus a cartoon of eggs Pussy Riot will be the surprise halftime guest and will belt out some punk-anthem against Vlad Putin ahead of the Sochi Olympics.
  • Erasmus is betting me $50 we will hear Rufus use Aristolian Virtue Ethics to rationalize some of his inane behaviors at least thrice today.
  • Yorick bet 0.00125 BitCoins that the final score will be under 47 points.
  • My Puerto Rican Psychic Sidekick from Milwaukee offered several bets; I refused her because Psychic.
  • The NeverSister bet me $250 she would not win the $250 office betting pool. She placed another wager that Eli will be caught on camera smiling during a successful Seahawk conversion.

Color Commentary from the scene of the crime:

Rabbi Yizhak picked the bucking Bronco

Rabbi Yizhak picked the bucking Bronco

1:33 pm – Vic has breakfast. The feral children have returned from their errand of procuring a package of rare craft ale. They are rewarded with a sniff of 2nd rate lunatic soap the Canadians blend and call whiskey which is kept on-hand for such occasions.

Pre-Game Festivities and a cigar of most excellent fancy

Pre-Game Festivities and a cigar of most excellent fancy

2:20 pm – Vic has 2nd cup of coffee, this mug laced with Irish Whiskey and 300 milligrams of crushed Zantac. He considers putting on Fox Pre-Game. Considers against it.

2:37 pm – Vic pours a sip of highly regarded Venezuelan rum onto the earth in remembrance of the late great Phillip Seymour Hoffman.

2:54 pm – Jim Tuscan calls Vic an “Asshole” for introducing his daughter to gambling. One of Rufus Holdsworth’s bastard-spawns is playing with his imaginary friend over a Ouija Board under a deranged oak tree. Terry Bradshaw’s disembodied voice can be heard in the distance.

Some time later, with another beer as dark as sin

Some time later, with another beer as dark as sin

3:15 pm – Vic approaches a teenage feral kid with green eyes, freckles and a cigarette. Vic tears a $5 bill in half and hands one piece to the kid with the promise of the 2nd piece as long as no trailers are burned down or ransacked. Vic then sets out on foot to leave the trailer park for a pre-game destination.

3:41 pm – Vince Wilfork was just spotted devouring a roasted chicken whole, bones and all.

5:45 pm – Tuscan brings cheesy bread. Rain falls, predicting sorrow and despair. Vic’s abode becomes full of fanatic.

6:15 pm – Kurt Russell sighting. “When the Levee Breaks” plays with Bronco introduction. A telling sign.

Surveying Tuscan's beer supply

Surveying Tuscan’s beer supply

6:20 pm – A girl Vic knows arrives with a dude Vic does not know. The dude Vic does not know arrives with a mustache we assume is meant to be ironic.

6:27 pm – How many minks did Joe Namath strangle for that coat?

6:34 pm – quick two points for Seattle

6:40 pm – a pair of feral children just ran off with a fifth of whiskey.

Erasmus with a peaty Irish Whiskey and Jim Tuscan with his 5 lb jug of honey.

Erasmus with a peaty Irish Whiskey and Jim Tuscan with his 5 lb jug of honey.

7:12 pm – first turnover of the night wins Vic a week’s worth of Viagra. Erasmus, “you know now is the time for Dumervil to make a big defensive play, but… Oh that’s right, they couldn’t figure out how to resign his ass!”

7:39 pm – it appears Denver may be overmatched. Tuscan punches the sheriff in the gut for grabbing the last Shocktop.

7:59 pm – Erasmus declared we are all just dreaming. Erin Andrews performs a flash-dance under a splash of raining water and Vic asks Erasmus to shut the hell up.

8:15 pm – Red Hot Chili Peppers are without shirts for 3.5 minutes and then they run back underground to their parkas. Well played Baby Boomer Generation.

8:25 pm – Erasmus’s chili curry is apparently ready. Seattle scored again.

8:35 pm – Cyrus Lee Hancock’s wife berates Vic for only paying $5 for her picture. Broncos continue to be in a world of trouble.

8:48 pm – an argument ensues over who is responsible for Michael Douglas’ throat cancer.

9:00 pm – Tuscan, “this might be the worst super bowl ever. Nothin’ personal to you blokes.” Erin Andrews appears in a hologram and agrees with Jim.

9:03 pm – Tuscan, “I haven’t seen a beat down like this since the Jacksonville Jaguars beat Dan Marino in his last game.”
Vic Neverman then stood up, “Alright, we are going to have to take this downstairs. I am not saying I am going to beat you in a fight, I am just saying we are going to fight.” Jim Tuscan retracted his statement. Seattle scored again.

9:10 pm – Tuscan punched the guy with the ironic mustache in the windpipe. Erasmus took the ironic mustached guy’s glass of whiskey and poured what remained into his own glass. Seattle scored again.

9:30 pm – Tuscan recognizes the T-Mobile commercial whistle as coming from Fr Tuck in Disney’s Robin Hood. Some band of feral children stole away the last roasted guinea pig on a stick cooked by Rufus’s Peruana wife. Seattle scored again.

9:41 pm – Rufus decorated the local shrubbery with what he decided was not necessary to hold on to (pizza, curry chili, irish whiskey, innumerable beers, etc, etc, et al). Seattle scored again.

9:57 pm – Vic insulted a dude for having faith in Tim Tebow and his girlfriend punched Vic in the nose. Tears follow. Seattle scored again.

10:13 pm – the game is long over, Erasmus finally accepts the fact that they are not going to re-review the first down call from the first quarter. Defeat is accepted. Seattle scored again.

10:23 pm – Vic is watching New Girl and is surprised Seattle has scored again.