The Daily OrangeConfessions of an addict: Don't bet against a New York sports fan
By Danny Fersh
Posted: 9/30/09, 1:10 AM EST Section: Feature
People say the first step toward solving a problem is admitting that the problem exists. I disagree.
Where I come from, the first step involves fried food, hysterical crying, public nudity, multiple felonies, and a plunger (don't ask). Then, admittance comes.
Anyway, now that I've finished Step One, it's time I shared something with you, the readers:
I, Daniel Aaron Fersh, have a gambling problem.
I know you're disappointed (Mom, please don't look at me like that. After all, you're my bookie), but don't worry. I'm not in any physical danger nor do I owe any money.
Rather, the debts I've incurred all involve me doing stupid things for the most arrogant, despicable, loathsome people on the face of the Earth: New York sports fans.
Yeah, I said it.
You people strut around like you own the place every weekend just because your precious Giants and Jets do things like "win," and then every October you get your swag on because the Yankees are "in the playoffs again." What does that even mean?
(No seriously, I'm asking. I root for the Washington Redskins and the Baltimore Orioles If you don't know what that means, check the dictionary under "pain").
So I made a couple of wagers with some loud-mouthed New Yorker friends of mine to shut them up for good, and prove for everyone that my D.C.-Maryland roots could kick their Yankee-loving butts, up and down the Capital Beltway.
As it turns out, my Washington-area a** is grass, and they are the lawn mower.
The first wager was, in hindsight, really stupid. I bet my two friends that the Yankees would miss the playoffs this year. My logic was simple: the Boston Red Sox and the Tampa Bay Rays were better teams, and the Yankees would finish in third place, just like last year. I neglected to account for the fact that during this off-season those pinstriped punks spent enough money to fix the health care system while stockpiling baseball's best talent.
Where I come from, the first step involves fried food, hysterical crying, public nudity, multiple felonies, and a plunger (don't ask). Then, admittance comes.
Anyway, now that I've finished Step One, it's time I shared something with you, the readers:
I, Daniel Aaron Fersh, have a gambling problem.
I know you're disappointed (Mom, please don't look at me like that. After all, you're my bookie), but don't worry. I'm not in any physical danger nor do I owe any money.
Rather, the debts I've incurred all involve me doing stupid things for the most arrogant, despicable, loathsome people on the face of the Earth: New York sports fans.
Yeah, I said it.
You people strut around like you own the place every weekend just because your precious Giants and Jets do things like "win," and then every October you get your swag on because the Yankees are "in the playoffs again." What does that even mean?
(No seriously, I'm asking. I root for the Washington Redskins and the Baltimore Orioles If you don't know what that means, check the dictionary under "pain").
So I made a couple of wagers with some loud-mouthed New Yorker friends of mine to shut them up for good, and prove for everyone that my D.C.-Maryland roots could kick their Yankee-loving butts, up and down the Capital Beltway.
As it turns out, my Washington-area a** is grass, and they are the lawn mower.
The first wager was, in hindsight, really stupid. I bet my two friends that the Yankees would miss the playoffs this year. My logic was simple: the Boston Red Sox and the Tampa Bay Rays were better teams, and the Yankees would finish in third place, just like last year. I neglected to account for the fact that during this off-season those pinstriped punks spent enough money to fix the health care system while stockpiling baseball's best talent.
Be the first to comment on this story