The Sure Thing

My wise investment was guaranteed to pay off, big time.

The young, cherubic teller smiled. “How may I help you?”

“Hi. I’d like to make a withdrawal,” I said, checking my watch and glancing at the potted spider plants that flanked each teller window, each one struggling to flourish under the bank’s harsh fluorescent lights.

“Sure. How much would you like?” she asked.

“What’s the maximum amount?”

A few seconds later, she glanced up from her monitor. “Two-thousand dollars.”

“Really? Uh … might it be possible to get more? In cash?”

Again I checked my watch.

“I’m afraid everything else is tied up long term,” she said, frowning. “We could free up more in three business days.”

I didn’t have three business minutes. I needed it now.

“Okay,” I said, sighing in resignation. “I’ll take it.”

“And how would you like that?”

“In nickels, please.”

“Huh?”

“Nah, just kidding,” I smiled. “Anything. Twenties, hundreds. Doesn’t matter.”

She soon handed me a small wad of greenbacks. I thanked her profusely and darted out the door.

I raced back to the office, where I was late for a weekly Friday meeting. An editor for the Auto Club’s Publications Division (we produced the freebie magazines sent to all AAA members throughout California), I was tasked with reporting on the status of the various stories slated to appear in the next issue.

Despite the important nature of the meeting, I was up to something far more critical: a quick score, surely the easiest money I’d ever make.

One day earlier, I’d learned about the official point spread in that Sunday’s Super Bowl XXXIX (“39” for those not versed in the silly Roman numeral system used by the NFL), a contest pitting the New England Patriots against the Philadelphia Eagles.

In any other situation, I’d be screaming myself hoarse in favor of the Eagles, though not because I was a fan of Philly’s team.

No, I’d root for any team competing against the Patriots. Judge me if you must, but if the freakin Taliban fielded an NFL squad against the Pats, I’d consider pulling for them.

Why? Let me count the ways.

1. Three years earlier, the then-upstart Patriots had upset the heavily favored St. Louis Rams – my St. Louis Rams – in Super Bowl XXXVI (“36” for those who count in “common sense”). The surprise loss hurt my frail, brittle ego pride.

2. The Patriots competed in Foxborough, Mass., located within spittin’ distance (assuming you could expectorate 29 miles) from Boston. And, then and now, you couldn’t utter the word “Boston” in my presence without risking getting your ears boxed. Repeatedly. After all, Boston is home of the hated Celtics, a group of extremely tall sub-human basketball goons that former L.A. Lakers coach Pat Riley once astutely called “the Klingons of the NBA.”

3. The New England Patriots were coached by a stone-faced cyborg named Bill Belichick. Nobody, other than the delusional thugs who composed Patriot Nation, liked that guy.

4. Their quarterback, the comically overrated Tom Brady, selected as the 199^th pick of the 2000 NFL draft, managed to rise to the starting position on good looks alone. On top of all that, he’d been instrumental in beating my Rams in that earlier Super Bowl.

Tom Brady, the handsome face of evil

Why, then, was I pulling for the Patriots?

Because the point spread for Super Bowl 39 (“XXXIX” if you must, dammit) was only 7, favoring New England. In other words, the Pats had to beat the Eagles by just 7 points in order to pay out to those who’d bet on Boston’s Evil Empire.

And any football fan with the IQ of spinach knew that, on their worst day, the Pats could slap down the Eagles by far more than 7.

Easy money. A no-brainer. A sure thing.

Now let’s digress for a moment.

Question: If you could travel back in time to March 13, 1986, the day of Microsoft’s initial public offering, and invest $2,000 in the digital bully giant, would you? Hint: Today that $2,000 would be worth more than $10 million.

Answer: Like, duh… (Translated: Indeed, you would).

And you’d surely do anything – even run late for one measly work meeting – to nab that $2,000 in order to make it happen, right?

Like I said: no-brainer.

Which is why I’d ducked out of work: to shovel as much green in my pockets as possible, since pulling for the hated New England Patriots in Super Bowl 39 (I am done with this Roman numeral nonsense) was easy money.

A sure thing.

So I slithered my way out of the office to snag $2,000 from the bank

And I was frustrated beyond words that I couldn’t grab my elderly parents’ retirement a whole lot more.

The next day, I took my cash, drove 230 miles from Orange County to the buzzing megalopolis of Primm, Nevada (just across the California border) and bet on the Patriots.

The next day, a gaggle of friends and I enjoyed the Super Bowl while scarfing down bag after bag of Doritos, washed down with way too many Bud Lights. What a giddy way to witness a wise investment pay out, right?

As expected, the New England Patriots – the NFL team I loathed far more than any other – won the game ...

… by only 3 points. They didn’t cover the 7-point spread.

And I lost $2,000.

Even before I knocked down my final beer, I realized that I could’ve saved two tanks of gas and five-plus hours of driving (to lovely Primm, Nevada, no less) had I just taken a flamethrower to my 2-grand right there in the bank a few days earlier.

Better yet, I could’ve actually done my job, made the editorial meeting on time, and saved the money altogether.

Since then, I’ve understood that wagering on a “sure thing” – and cutting corners with any sort of quick fix – should be reserved for only two types of people: seasoned professional gamblers and mental pygmies.

And if anyone ever mentions a “no-brainer” sports wager, a “guaranteed” payout, you’ll see me heading – sprinting – in the other direction.

Bet on it.

Kudos to Kathy Ayers, Simon Emslie, Dana Allen and Genie Joseph, all of whom provided valuable feedback while I was conjuring this neurotic tale of woe.