by Willie B. Lakey

“Nobody fucks with the Jesus.” ~ John Turturro as Jesus Quintana in The Big Lebowski

It’s times like Wednesday that can really drive a gambler crazy, along with setting a good example of why it’s so tough to beat Las Vegas. Not that I’m encouraging anyone to gamble, nor am I basing this on any personal experience, just a guess on my part based on empirical evidence more than anything else.

Placing a legal sports wager against the Houston Astros this season each and every game would’ve netted you a nice little profit. In gambling-speak, a disciplined game plan would be worth a little more than 10 units of black ink; more simply, if you had bet Houston to lose for a $100 through the team’s first 41 games, you’d have a cool grand and change in your pocket.

But it’s games like Wednesday’s matinée in Detroit that test a gambler’s mettle and resolve to continue an investment in this sorta’ start-up. If you put $2,000 into anything on March 31 and were ahead $1,030 at this point, you’d be very happy. Only your smile would be tempered by a $360 loss on Wednesday when the Astros actually beat their heaviest odds of the year with win No. 11 in 41 tries.

Part of that is Houston was playing one of the top teams in the game, and on the Tigers’ turf, no less. But it’s also starting to cost more to bet against the Astros each game, just like it’s becoming more expensive to get by in general. Vegas is having trouble finding anyone to bet on Houston despite the return being offered, and balancing action on both teams is the best way Sin City — or any bookie, for that matter — gets its cheddar.

Balancing Action Also How Things Work In DC
The Obama Administration is also finding it more difficult to get anyone to bet on them, and the balancing act by its political jugglers shows every sign of reaching a crashing finale. In other words, roughly the same thing we went through about a year or so into the last 2-term administration.

Trust me, if there was ever a sure-thing in Vegas, it would be to bet the house on not a god-damned thing to come from Benghazi, the IRS or the AP scandals. Like John Turturro said, nobody fucks with the Jesus, or in this case, the federal government.

The feds can roll, man, just like that creep Quintana. And the people really responsible never stop rollin’. Two years from now, we’ll see a repeat of 2006, only in the other direction with mid-terms giving more congressional power back to the elephants. And by 2016, a small majority of 125-130 million or so will take 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue away from the donkeys and give it back to the elephants, the same ones they blew off 8-10 years earlier. Bet on it.

Religion, Of Course, Is The Only Answer
There’s a huge lean to atheism at Chaos Section, and that’s fine with me. It has to be since relaxing and favoring each their own is at the core of my new religion, which is as big a gamble as sports and politics. Don’t get me wrong; for 30-odd years I have maintained disdain for any and all organized religions, even those organized against any religious beliefs. I’ve been a religion of one up to now.

However, Dudeism appears to be the most disorganized of organizations, even promoting a certain amount of chaos, and it just felt right to go through the process to be ordained in the Church of the Latter-Day Dude.

The Chaos Section certainly needs a religious balance to the reporting, plus surely there’s a tax-exempt status somewhere in the rules and regulations. And beating the IRS is an even better feeling than beating Vegas.

Communion this Sunday will include corndogs compliments of Lou’s West Side Bowling Alley, and arriving late for the sermon is encouraged. The big screen behind the pulpit will have the Dodgers and Braves at 12:30 p.m. LDT, Local Dude Time, stick $2 in the collection plate when it comes around, and get a coupon for a free White Russian.

Author: A crotchety old man since his birth during Gen. Eisenhower’s first term as US president, Willie B. Lakey resides in the bee-yoo-tiful Texas Hill Country along with his wife, too many cats and his beloved beer fridge. Employed as an overworked and underpaid freelance sportswriter, his few moments of happiness usually come when communing with critters, tending his garden or sippin’ cold beer and enjoying tunes at Gruene Hall.