That guy called Limpy Sunday

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I love gambling stories. They often have an insider's perspective that only other veteran gamblers can fully appreciate. They can be disastrous and funny at the same time, concerning everything from bad beats to near misses to insights into human nature. If you gamble long enough, you'll surely collect stories of your own.

There was a fellow called Limpy who used to hang out at the Stardust sportbook on Sundays to watch NFL football. Each and every Sunday, Limpy would risk precisely $20 on a 10-team NFL parlay card. (A 10-team parlay card at that time paid 850-for-one, making Limpy a $17,000 winner if he won.)

Trouble was, Limpy never began the day with a clue as to which ten teams he liked. To decide which teams to choose, he developed a regular group of professional-level handicappers from whom he'd prompt advice. Limpy valued these handicappers' opinions, and he'd finally form his own opinions from what they had to say.

I was one of those honored advisors. In those days, the Stardust was one of my favorite sportbooks, and I could easily be found at my favorite station, watching for line moves. Every Sunday, sooner or later, here would come Limpy, and he'd ask me which teams I thought he should put on his ten-banger. I always took the time to do my best for Limpy, even though I discouraged his ten-teamers. The payoff actually wasn't all that bad, but the wins figured to be too far apart. At 850-to-1, you can expect your wife to divorce you and your dog to die before you hit a winner.

As luck would have it, I got on a pretty good streak for several weeks - (or, at least, Limpy perceived me to be on a good roll) - and finally one Sunday Limpy decided I should have the honor of picking all ten of his bets. So I did.
Whaddayouknow, the first six games were early games and all six were winners. Then, in the four late games, three were early blowouts in Limpy's favor.
Wow. Limpy was coming unglued. He was giggly and excited, talky and nervous. His hands were trembling and he was sweating and he paced back and forth, chain smoking and shouting orders at the various television screens. He'd sit, he'd stand, he'd pace, he'd sit, he'd recheck the total amount he planned to win, he'd order another Mountain Dew from the cocktail waitress and pace some more...

Sure enough, the three blowouts went on to win, making nine of the ten games winners. My picks were 9-0, leaving one game still in the air, the Chargers -3 at home against the Raiders.The Raiders finally beat us, 12 - 7.

Limpy was crushed. Another losing Sunday. Another $20 lost and gone. Another $17,000winning ticket down the drain. He sat slumped in his chair with his head bowed,sullen and withdrawn.
I approached him with a sympathetic hand on his shoulder. He angrily swatted me away, outraged, and shouted, "The Chargers?!...How the hell could you pick the Chargers?!"