Before the 2018 Major League Baseball season even started, yours truly had occasion to bump into what one might call a die-hard Detroit fan. At a "watering hole", no less. Conversation ensued on several topics and finally the the baseball team came up.
He thought they wouldn't be as bad as most pundits projected them to be after shedding whatever marketable talent they had and going into full-blown rebuild mode. I thought otherwise.
If I remember correctly, my exact comment was -- the Tigers will finish the regular season no better than a full 20 games under .500.
The math isn't that difficult. Basically, I was saying they'd be no better than 71-91.
Once upon a time I used to be quite the betting man, especially when it came to sporting contests. Yet even though I did my proverbial "homework" regarding same, I certainly lost a lot of those wagers.
As they say -- ya win some -- ya lose some. But you shouldn't be playing the game if you can't afford it. Not sure I could back then, but somehow I managed to scrape by otherwise. And yeah, I came out on top a few times as well. A euphoric feeling.
At any rate, the guy occupying the stool next to me was semi-outraged.
"No way are the Tigers going to be that bad", he thundered.
"I think they will", I responded.
"Yeah, well I've got a C-note that says you're wrong".
OK, temptation was rearing it's ugly head again. I shouldn't have bit, but I did.
"If you really mean that, let's make it two".
And then the wheels came off. It went back and forth to three, four, and finally five.
All merely bar talk so far, but the dude turned out to be serious. He WANTED that bet. Even called the bartender over to witness it, all official like and stuff.
Well dang. What to do. Fold my tent and get laughed at, or stand my ground and jump into a sort of wager I'd pretty much sworn off in years past.
I knew I'd never hear the end of it if I bailed -- after all, I was definitely complicit in what had happened, so I said "Fine. You have yourself a bet". We shook hands and the barkeep took due notice. It was on.
As late as June 17, the Tigers had a 36-37 record. Not quite .500, but far better (for them -- worse for me) than I had figured regarding the wager. With just short of half the regular season having been played, I appeared to be in deep doo-doo. Uh-oh, ramen noodles, here I come again. This isn't working out well.
It should be noted that yours truly hardly follows the Tigers every day. I have much better things to do. I think. Nonetheless, I do check up on them once in a while, to keep tabs on the bet.
Since mid-June, things have gone more my way. The Tigers have have plummeted from merely one game under .500, to a whopping 18 games under. What's that? The LA Angels just knocked them off? Make that 19 games under, with merely 50 to go. I'm liking that bet a whole lot more these days.
All they have to do is be no better than 24-26 over the remainder of the season, and I win. As bad as they are, it should be a lock -- right?
But maybe not. A look at the remaining schedule tells me the Motown Puddy Tats have ten games with the Chisox, who are even worse than they are. Six with KC, same. And thirteen with the Minn Twins, who are a tad better, but not much. That's 29 games out of 50 against not so good competition.
Dang. They might still screw me on this bet yet.
Ah well, we shall see when the whole sorry mess comes to an end on the final day of September.
Yes, I can tolerate the ramen noodles and cutting back elsewhere if I get dinged for the full five Benjamins.
But I'm gonna hate eating the super-sized portion of humble pie that dude on the stool next to me back in the winter will surely serve up.
I really need to quit doing stupid stuff like this.
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