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Tuesday, Feb. 05, 2002
As if in some derainged dream state I awoke Monday morning.

Yep, the newpaper confirmed what I already knew.

The Patriots had won the 'Bowl and I was out $10.

Now, this might not seem to be a significant loss. I know there are bookies in Vegas who have probably already plunged off that silly looking sphinx-like hotel in anticipation of the Monday call. But understand, I was not betting with a bookie.

The bet was made with the New England born and bred barkeep from hell.

This lass is all of 5 foot nothing and cuter than a butterfly on the bedpost at dawn, but given a bunch of New England football types and she goes all to pieces. There is no question that she would marry Tom Brady the quarterback even if he wasn't the most eligable dude in Boston at the moment. She whispers of inside information regarding this team with the furtive look of someone in the know, someone who has much to gain by remaining annonymous about the whereabouts of certain prize studs wearing the blue and silver of her chosen gridiron hero's.

I swear, it's all I can do to prepare myself for the lashing I will receive when the money changes hands and she becomes convinced of the righteousness of her decision to root for these bunch of bums.

Please tell me it ain't so.

In other news, I actually won $100 in one of the football pools I entered. So you would think that losing the aforementioned $10 would tend to be offset. Let's look a little closer at the full financial disclosure.

Won $100 from one of the pools
-$10 for bet with barkeep harpy
-$50 for entering other pools
-$72.30 appx. expenditure for beer whilst perusing said pools
-$1,500 lost hourly chargeable time while sitting at Watering Hole
-$3,000 lost hourly time spent explaining it all away
-$14,367 estimated future medical expense for ulcer related pool angst

You can see that, if taken from a coldly legal and accounting perspective, this is gonna cost me big.

This must be how the federal government makes up annual budgets that become nothing short of an exercise in number madness. How the proverbial toilet seat, for example, became a $6,000 item when installed on the commode of a certain high level airplane.

It's obvious that I need to recalculate my pitiful charges for work done in sub-human construction environments while under the whip of a litigious and foaming-at-mouth owner who is never as free with his checkbook as he is with his demands for speed.

On the other hand, the halftime oysters were crafted in an elegant and salty way, and as Super Bowls go, it was entertainment at the highest level that a John Madden hosted event could attain to.

And the real season starts next week. You know the one. The one with loud engines and bright colors and excuses to go on the road to view them.

And betting pools every Thursday. I can't wait.

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