It is said to gamble (with life) is to dance with the devil (in death). Two at once. (And likely Lemmy is both, as they can be twins.) Even as snake eyes.
So doth two men the other night at Dick’s Bar, and forget the (ending) grill part on this fine evening that tempted fire, and not just on the proverbial grill. As a third man, me, listened. (A usual fourth with such knowledge is currently on injured reserve with a bad Achilles, so benched and not at the bar.) So two men talked, and then there were those other two of us.
Thus, here are some sports gambling guffaws gone over at length, over and under, that included Giannus and the recent T-Wolves pre-game gallantry when our that-evening bartender attended, in person in Minneapolis on the revelry of other nights. When he was there, ever present when traveling to be party hardy, they had game and they won, with great gains. When returning to the bar behind his post, they were toast, and lost. (As far as the Greek Freak, my family in full is from the Milwaukee area — minus my uncle and family from around Appleton — so I don’t dare mention the Woofies. Though they do think it cool, sorta, that I am friend-of-a-friend with AP.)
I minus my family had just gotten through watching an episode of Modern Family, although mine is a little more like a bit more mundane mashup of the Married With Children, those two of us spawn from the two of them. But those other two, that guy that night sitting next to me and the one standing across from me, were throwing around and across numbers to make the head spin. I could not decipher their meaning. But the gist of the man who was also quick with a joke, that there was one night that a role player versus the Bucks had gone eight-for-eight from behind the arc to defeat them, and there was no way he could do that again, so the bet was made. Read the shots, whether of tequila or three-pointers, and weep.
The other regular guy, and they obviously had gone through a differing version of this conversation before, took a swig of his brandy, or was it bourbon, and told of his bet(s). And his love of NASCAR racing. And his liking of a particular driver or two. The mechanic (or two) were inadvertently I assume, omitted. And forget the guy who spins the wheels, two by two.
Then, on the TV screen across the bar in the other direction, ESPN announced the news that as far as betting reinstatement, a postmortem Pete Rose was in. Now for referencing by trash talkers only, Rose was only briefly pedaled where we were sitting, then they moved on to more current sports betting.
The new bad guy …
His picture was on the wall. Of shame. Behind the bar. Set on an angle. And not just for walking out on a tab. Or maybe he did, in a way …
This evil bastard stole money at a lot of bars in Hudson, allegedly, based out of Eau Claire not having escaped from prison in Oak Park Heights, or some other Cities locale, with the use of a monster-magnitude magnet. He would attach, again allegedly, this special thingee to the machine(s), stick it on their side and twist, maybe, and it messes up the computer mechanisms so it virtually spits out money. (Lots of it and reportedly across many establishments that go all around the area, not just Hudson, although there are many victims justa there.) Sorta. Uhm, you still have to cash out.
And here is where we invoke stupid criminal tricks. He left behind his ID so he could come back the next day and claim his many hundreds or more of ill-gotten-gains. So his photo could be found, also, on the tavern taped video and blown up and printed out and disseminated.
So this anti-Christ superstar and gambling machine scammer is banned from bars all around much of the west-central Wisconsin region and nine-county metro area. I assume he has not come back here yet, so to be caught, when sticking it to another machine.