Rest and Recovery

Typed while refreshing Bovada every 4 minutes in anxious anticipation of jumping on the 'Cats with both feet +6 tonight in Gainesville...

Smooth Dave here, just back from The Vatican, after collecting scads of winning bets from mortgaging 4 chicken farms to bet UNDER 4 1/2 years on the length of Benedict XVI's papacy. The major domos all forbade me from ever returning, and since Smooth Dave hates pasta and prefers French wine and women and living, it was a request easily granted.

February may be the doldrums of the sporting calendar, with only hoops junkies truly satiated in their desires for sporting pleasure, while the rest of the earth scours Google for tales out of Spring Training and combs the earth for all the suckers who didn't pay up on their Super Bowl prop bets. Smooth Dave learned a long time ago to never bet against God and/or puppies following the debacle that was Super Bowl XLV, Kurt Warner's Last Cover, and thus had the Ravens +4. Which was good, because it was followed up by a horrific 3-11 week wagering on college hoops, losing on the likes of Directional State and Monkey Wrench Polytechnic, and forcing Smooth Dave to go all-in on Argo for Best Picture at the SAG Awards to save the ship.

This caused a period of existential angst, exacerbated by the news to the Maker's Mark Ambassador's club that Smooth Dave's go-to sippin' (slammin', shootin', mixin', chuggin', sharin', partyin', and relaxin') whisky would soon be reduced to 84 proof from 90 in order to ensure Loretto, KY doesn't dry up like rural Nevada after the Silver Rush ended. After buying an embarrassing number of handles from the local CVS, I settled back in for a winning weekend, padding the bankroll by consistently backing home underdogs, going 10-5-1, and cashing in a handful of online poker tournaments, reaching one final table in a $20+2 that netted solid profit.

Plenty of home dogs out there this week, too, kiddos: bet 'em all, win 2 outta 3, punish the house, and thank Smooth Dave later.