“CM Punk isn’t the name of a rock band, Sarah.”
It’s always a challenge for me to participate in conversations when I hang out with the boys, especially when they expect me to be “one of the guys” since I bet on sports.
People tend to forget that I spend my spare time getting pampered at the local spa. I watch TV shows like The Jersey Shore
, movies like The Notebook
, and listen to Lady Gaga’s music. In the big scheme of things, I’m a girlie girl. I haven’t found many sports bettors with similar interests.
Since I assume no one wants to read about how I get manicures and pedicures while checking up on my bets, I decided to step into the world of the male sports bettor, through the recommendations of a friend of mine, in order to connect better with readers.
It all began when I was befuddled during a conversation about Faye Reagan while watching the homerun derby. When I hear the name “Faye,” I think of an old woman. When I hear the name “Reagan,” I think of the former U.S. President. So, trying to decipher the code without asking, I assumed my friends were talking about an old, female politician? Hardly.
I Googled Faye Reagan and, to my surprise (but then again, to no surprise at all), she’s a pornstar. I can handle most male-dominated hobbies, but the whole constant watching of porn routine won’t be added to my daily checklist any time soon. I indulged in the behavior for the sake of the experiment, but after a few minutes of terrible acting, I turned away. I had to bail on it faster than major leaguers from the Midsummer Classic.
According to my friend, when he places wagers online, he also watches porn. This is a very twisted example of Pavlov's theory on behavior. He claims, “Whenever I get on the computer to place my bets, I may as well watch a little girl-on-girl. I’m superstitious like that.” I seriously have to question whether he knows what a superstition is.
The homerun derby continued and my long-shot pick, Matt Kemp, burned my ticket in Round 1. I would usually reach for something sweet in this situation and ease my pain with a little Rocky Road. Not today though, that’s too girlie.
My friend lined up his pain relievers, Patron shots, and I drank away the misery. At this point, my betting ticket was a long lost memory and my liver would be too if I continued down this path. I will admit, alcohol washes away the pain faster than an ice cream binge. I’ll have to keep that in mind for those really horrific come-from-behind losses.
I’d normally choose a reality TV episode, like The Bachelorette
, to end a poor night of betting. However, WWE Monday Night Raw
was on tap tonight as part of my entrance into male degeneracy. After two hours of steroids and fake boobs, I tapped out. I needed some feminine activities as an antidote to all the masculinity of my day.
I grabbed some nail polish from my bedroom drawer. The pink touched my fingernails and I exhaled. I felt right at home again.
Reflecting on my day, I have a greater understanding that sports betting doesn’t change from a man to a woman. It’s a procedural understanding of numbers, statistical trends, and the ability to utilize these factors in order to determine the potential outcome of a match.
Sure, after a long day of sports betting, I enjoy getting a pedicure and massage, instead of slamming back shots and watching porn. But in the end, we all cheer when we win, pout when we lose and, apparently, use a lot of lotion in between.Til next time, cover the spread.
Follow Sarah J. Phillips on Twitter @Covers_SJP