Am I A Bad Man For Wanting To Have Peyton's Baby?

Saturday, I called a friend of mine who also happens to be a sporting probability broker. It was well before the kickoff of the Ravens game, so I was still able to place a wager. I don't gamble on sports much anymore - this was the first game I bet on this season. To my defense, I did compare the teams' stats during lunch on Friday and suspected that Baltimore's offense would probably flounder under the pressure. Also, Baltimore played a cake schedule this season, while Indy did not. Regardless, I hadn't actually planned to do anything about my hunch, but, apparently, I was well overdue for some filthy, fiscal stupidity.

So, is this me? Except for the beads and bad haircut, it fortunately is not.


My broker is an enormous Russian guy that we'll call Enormous Russian Guy or ERG for brevity. He doesn't actually need to be enormous for his brokerage duties, it's only a part-time job and he only takes bets from people he knows, so everyone pays. Half of the fun of being around ERG is the fact that despite his 20 years in this country, he still can barely speak English. Last night, I went to the Russian Place and have the following conversation in pseudoEnglish:

Me: Hello, ERG
ERG (refusing to shake my hand): You are traitor. You go against your city.
Me: Fuck my city in the ear.
ERG: No, no. You cannot. You are shit-man.
Me: I know. I even have the cape. Where's my money?
ERG: There can be no money for traitors.
Me: I'm going to have you deported to Dundalk, again. Where's your green card?
ERG: It is on your ass. (sometimes on = up)
Me: Don't you mean that it's over my ass?
ERG: Yes, it will be over your ass, too.

This went on for awhile, to my amusement and that of his friends who actually speak English. Then he went somewhere and retrieved an envelope. Here's me:


So, in conclusion, I am a traitor to the city of Baltimore for taking Indy and +4. I didn't actually see the game, which is good, since I can't stand to watch games that I've bet on because I am transformed into a raving idiot. But if I had, I would have most likely been howling for the Colts. I am well aware that I should be bound and gagged atop Federal Hill while being flogged by Capt. Chesapeake and then forced to play "Maryland, My Maryland" via a non-traditionally located kazoo. Nevertheless, I'm up $500 and that's not too shabby, particularly for an established shit-man.