I’m afraid that I am about to pay dearly for a stupid bet that I made a few months ago.
I’m not a terribly competitive person, readers. I’m not. When I engage in competition, I’m not a cutthroat, do-anything-to-win type. I don’t get frustrated if things don’t go my way.
That said, I do take competition seriously. I like games. I like challenges. And I like to try to prove myself with them.
During this particular incident in question, however, I may have bit off a little more than I could chew, if you will. And I’m sure you will.
It started simply enough. With a quarter and an empty glass. Amongst the conversation at Maury’s during my birthday weekend, I started trying to bounce the quarter into the glass. Just a personal challenge. No game. No contest. Just bouncing quarters.
But that night I was doing pretty well at this simple, little task. I graduated from the glass and focused instead on the napkin container next to it. A taller foe, and one with a difficult landing platform. All things considered, my batting average for landing it on top of the napkin holder was pretty good. I’ve never been superb at quarters, but my bounce technique that night was good enough to where a wager was placed.
Now, perhaps it was the taste of landing a few quarters effortlessly on top a few times in a row, the over-confident-but-just-to-get-a-rise nature that I exhibit during such feats, added good spirits with my younger brother in town, or all of the above, but I was ready to take any wager.
It was less a Marty McFly, won’t-back-down-from-being-called-a-“chicken” (or “yellow” if we’re taking Back to the Future Part III), but more of a yeah, what the heck, why turn down a challenge type moment.
Considering what was on the line, I should have thought it through.
The bet laid out for me was that I couldn’t land the quarter on top of the napkin container three times out of ten. Having landed a couple in a row on a couple of different occasions, I thought, yeah, I can do that. It didn’t matter what was at stake, but, like I said, it should have.
If I couldn’t land three-out-of-ten on top of the napkin holder, I would have to wear a Yankees jersey (of two Yankees fans’ choosing) for a full day (on the day of their choosing).
Readers, I may not need to tell you this, but I hate the Yankees. I’ve been a die-hard Red Sox fan my entire life, and with that territory comes despising the Yankees. (Exhibit A: I had no problem wearing that Duck Dive outfit, but wearing anything Yankees is completely out of the question.)
In a moment of weakness, however, I took the bet, with the condition that if I made three, my Yankees fan instigator would need to don a Red Sox shirt, in similar fashion.
Readers.. I did not land three. I lost the bet and now am required to pay the price. Conniving as they are, I have yet to be given the traitorous shirt to wear, and with only two games remaining in the regular season, time is running short.
The worst part? That the Sox have fallen apart so badly that their seemingly insurmountable wild card lead is now no more and they are tied for the last playoff spot with just those two games to play. I have faith readers. I have faith that the Sox will get their act together and sneak into the October season. But if.. IF they fail to make the playoffs, completing one of the worst collapses in sports history, while the Yankees win the division, and I have to don that horrible, putrid, lousy, cringe-inducing Yankees shirt the day after this happens... something inside me may break, irreparably.
The only good NEws that can possibly come from this is that the Red Sox finish strong, secure the wild card, and, by wearing the enemy’s uniform, I can jinx them, and watch as the Red Sox turn around their fortune and trounce everyone in their playoff path.
Fingers, toes, legs crossed.
Thanks for reading.