Quisit 5

I sympathize with gamblers. Even degenerate gamblers, though I pity them...er...us. But this is no examination of self pity, this an opinion of the gambler's dilemma.

Which way do you fall when the beauty of the game conflicts with the health of your wager? Are you the reptilian brain at work? Does your desire for a payoff steal the magic? If it does, you...we...are degenerate gamblers. As much as it pains me to admit it, it's true...I let my allegiance to the parlay steal thunder from the game. It was a beautiful play...what a throw...from deep center...OUT at the plate. Beautiful.

And the irony is IT WAS BAD CALL...and still it was beautful. He was safe. But it was an unfortgettable throw, a great slide, and very close. He was safe, it was a bad call...HE WAS SAFE. Tainted beautiful play. The compound irony of feeling guilty about not recognizing the beauty of a tainted play, which sabotaged any gambling interest, has left me on the other side of truth.

-------


===Life successfully shut me out. I take pride in my participation in that success. Still, I'm here, somewhere on the outskirts of everything else.

-------------------------------------------------------