The Art of the Late Night Prop Bet Sweat

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As a degenerate gambler who looks at prop bets like Augustus Gloop walking in to a pedophiles candy factory of doom, I enjoy lighting money on fire for the chance at riches and glory. Much like every day, I begin the day at work looking at the lines instead of doing cube monkey shit to make money for my overly rich boss. Seeing props with odds of +3500 only make my morning chub pull more blood from my useless brain down to my even more useless…well you get the picture.

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Anyways, I am currently on the coldest streak in the history of sports betting. Its actually harder to lose as consistently as I have since the beginning of November. Salivating over lines today made me forget the thousands of dollars lost in the last 6 weeks and gave me the most dangerous thing a gambler can have, HOPE.

Hope, is the only thing that can get you through a first half that is 3-0 with no signs of points to come. Hope, is have the Seahawks to win by 13-18 for +550 and honestly believing its a good idea. Hope, is a cruel bitch that punishes those who aren’t proactive. I’m neither a pro or active so hope has been fucking me out of money for years.  Nonetheless, hope is the key factor in a late night sweat.

You can sit and pucker your ass for 3 hours knowing that you have no shot in the world to win your bet, though in the back of your mind you genuinely think you have a shot. Every single play that hurts the cause is an emotional roller coaster. Then, just when you’ve totally lost interest and begin searching through your favorite late night website to molest yourself out of pure shame and boredom, it happens. That smelly bitch Hope smashes through the door Kool-Aid Man style. This is usually with about 3 minutes left in a game. The wrong team conveniently has the ball and the only thing protecting your hard earned dollars is a prevent defense with tired guys who could give a damn if you what the score is as long as they win.

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This is the moment of the night where you either get out the rope and swivel chair or go to sleep feeling like George Costanza after receiving news his wedding was off because his bride to be due to his own negligence. This feeling of restrained jubilation is probably the only way one could feel after hitting a bet with the odds stacked against you. If you’ve lost, then hope your handwriting is good enough to write a note for when they find you hanging like a pinata.

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After the 3 hour sweat, the ups and downs, nail biting and hair pulling, it seems like its time to stop and bet a little safer or quit all together. To that I say:


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