Week 3
(2-2 10u)
(2-1 5u)
-1.8u overall
Three of my six top plays this last week losing on hooks reminds me that a gambler’s existence is a pugilistic life born and battered in the marginalia of risk, deciphering numbers set by myopic visionless men in musty smoke-filled backrooms then capriciously moved about by those same failed gamblers I once laughed at now grown fat and satiated sucking on the book’s stable and all too yielding tit of employment. The challenge is what I seek--freedom from the structure of this lie-of-a-world (the only truth I have found in it), and to slake the anger that has me back on my feet. This life be what it may, I tell myself, as I hear the crowd chant in unison behind to call me foolish.
So, again, I gird my loins and step between these ropes and wade my wobbly legs to center of that familiar patch of canvass under those same searing lights and wait for the ding, all in order to do battle with my invisible but constant foe: he calls himself, Chance. I tell him for the countless time, “I don’t believe in luck.” And as we touch gloves he says, “What does that have to do with me? What you believe.” And we begin our dance. As always, I’m simply looking to make the first blow, buoying the heart in remembrance of victory and steeling the mind in order to sweep away the doubt that stalks in the shadows with that well-polished sickle.
15u MsST 11`
(1st of season)
10u WASH 4`
5u FL +4`
5u MICH 23`
2u o47` MICH/ARK ST
2u TLSA +20`
2u ARZ +7`
2u CSU +7`
(2-2 10u)
(2-1 5u)
-1.8u overall
Three of my six top plays this last week losing on hooks reminds me that a gambler’s existence is a pugilistic life born and battered in the marginalia of risk, deciphering numbers set by myopic visionless men in musty smoke-filled backrooms then capriciously moved about by those same failed gamblers I once laughed at now grown fat and satiated sucking on the book’s stable and all too yielding tit of employment. The challenge is what I seek--freedom from the structure of this lie-of-a-world (the only truth I have found in it), and to slake the anger that has me back on my feet. This life be what it may, I tell myself, as I hear the crowd chant in unison behind to call me foolish.
So, again, I gird my loins and step between these ropes and wade my wobbly legs to center of that familiar patch of canvass under those same searing lights and wait for the ding, all in order to do battle with my invisible but constant foe: he calls himself, Chance. I tell him for the countless time, “I don’t believe in luck.” And as we touch gloves he says, “What does that have to do with me? What you believe.” And we begin our dance. As always, I’m simply looking to make the first blow, buoying the heart in remembrance of victory and steeling the mind in order to sweep away the doubt that stalks in the shadows with that well-polished sickle.
15u MsST 11`
(1st of season)
10u WASH 4`
5u FL +4`
5u MICH 23`
2u o47` MICH/ARK ST
2u TLSA +20`
2u ARZ +7`
2u CSU +7`
