I’ve never made a “futures” bet in my life, but I’ve never been more sure that this UT team is going to win the National Title. About halfway believe they beat UL in the title game. Best believe them sonsabitches will be in the playoffs, at the very least. Their schedule is setting up beautifully for them.
I hate sports.
I’ve been around this game long enough to know a fool’s errand when I see one, and let me tell you, gambling on sports is about as smart as trying to teach a mule to dunk a basketball. It’s a slippery slope, son, and it’ll drag you down faster than a Kentucky fast break.
The truth is, sports are as unpredictable as a spring storm in Lexington. One minute you’re up, the next you’re broke, wondering how you lost your shirt on a sure thing. I’ve seen good men—players, fans, even coaches—ruined by the lure of a quick buck. It clouds your judgment, turns a game of heart and hustle into a ledger of greed. You start betting, and soon enough, you’re not watching the game for love of it; you’re sweating every missed shot like it’s your last dime. It's a crushing existence, much like any poor object that tries to prop up my big hairy ***.
Save your money, son. Put it in the bank, buy your wife a nice dress, or come watch my Wildcats play—your wallet and your soul will thank you.
