Last month, I spent a week in Las Vegas to visit my daughter. On Saturday, I found my way to the sports book in the Luxor and bet on two baseball games. I won both. On Sunday, I bet another and won that, too.
Each bet was $20, a modest sum to pay for the thrill of waiting for the games to come in. This is easy, I thought. I could do this for a living. Then I came to my senses and remembered that I had sworn off sports betting more than 30 years earlier.
It’s easy, all right. Easy to be sucked back in, to feel you’re the smartest guy in the room. I gambled every day for two years in my late 20s and eventually realized it wasn’t about the games or the money, but the rush of the “action.” When I called in a bet, it was like sti…
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