A day in the life of an inveterate MLB gambler in 2038

The security lines are long because President Grohl is attending the game, but the slow line gives me time to finalize everything. The Reds to win, of course. They aren’t going to pay off that big because they’re such heavy favorites, but they’ve been playing .700 ball for almost two full months. The Nationals ... not so much.

It’s everything else that takes some more thought.

The over-under on Kumar Rocker is five innings, and I go with the over. The second-time-through-the-order nerds wouldn’t approve, but Jay Bruce is something of a throwback manager, and he lets his veterans go deeper into games than most. It’s one of the reasons Rocker threw 150 innings last year, and he shouldn’t have a problem with this Nationals’ lineup.

Over-under on runs scored for both teams is 8.5, which is low, but I still take the under. Rocker has been one of the best pitchers in baseball for almost two decades now, and he’s actually getting stronger with age. The Nationals’ lineup is, like, eight guys they found at the bus terminal, but Hunter Hunter can pitch a little, so it should be a low-scoring game.

Over-under on strikeouts for both teams is 25.5, and I go over. Might be the easiest bet of the game. Rocker’s averaged 16 strikeouts per nine just on his own for the last two years, which is better than the league average, and Hunter’s no slouch there, either.

Over-under on home runs is 2.5, and I take the under. It’s been a while since I’ve watched a game with fewer than two homers, but I’m all in on Rocker. And Hunter, too, I guess.

By the time I’m in my seat with a hot dog, I’m feeling pretty good. Maybe I won’t need to pick up extra shifts after all.

This is a fucking disaster.

Rocker has nothing. It’s like someone showed him the painting in the attic, and now he’s pitching to his age. He’s throwing weak-ass 97-mph meatballs, and the Nats can’t miss.

After the third homer of the inning, I delete the slip with the homer prop bet. When Bruce trudges out to the mound before the inning is even over, I delete the other slip. I’d be willing to bet the Nationals haven’t scored six runs in the first inning in any game over the last 20 years, and now they’re pummelling a Hall of Famer? The exact asshole I put my faith in?

I scream at Rocker as he leaves the mound. Something about his wife, I don’t know, but it sure makes some heads turn. Not my proudest moment.

Counterpoint: Screw that guy.

Finn Raloit comes in, and you can smell the smoke coming from his shoulder. He throws one pitch — one — and it’s a 99-percent hit probability off the bat. Here comes the seventh run, and this stupid, stupid crowd is going nuts. They haven’t seen a game like this all season.

The next batter breaks his bat, and the crowd groans because the two-percent hit probability comes up on their screen at the same time. Except it falls. It falls right in front of that fat tub of Trout in left. The guy’s, like, 50, and I get that he’s still a draw because of the chase, but why can’t they just park him at DH? Why does Bruce keep playing him in the field? After the last out, I let Trout know about my opinions. More heads turn, and I get a warning notification. Looks like we got ourselves a narc.

In the bottom of the first, the Reds hit two dingers, screwing up the other bet, and I consider literally printing out the slips so that I can eat them. Just om nom nom nom, right down into my stomach, where the acid and bile will turn the bets into literal shit.

There’s still a chance that the Reds could win, I guess. The Nationals’ bullpen is just that bad.

Not as bad as the Reds’ bullpen, apparently. The idiots. The absolute idiots. It’s 12-2 with two outs, and I want to throw up.

Let’s see ... $5,000 on the Reds to win, with $4,000 on all of the side bets. That’s $21,000. Two months’ rent, give or take. I message my boss about those extra shifts, and he responds in about five seconds to tell me they’re all filled. Even if you want more than the standard 80, you can’t get it. This is bullshit.

Printing out the slips is harder than it should be. Just one kiosk in the stadium? When I was younger, there was one in every other section.

But I get it done, and I start taking bites. The chewing is pissed off and deliberate, and I don’t care who’s staring at me. Get down in my belly. Become the literal shit that you are.

Drinkin’.

The itch starts again. I can’t scratch it, I absolutely can’t. I know how this ends. The voices in my head aren’t as persuasive as they used to be, which is a good thing.

Then I start running through the different scenarios.

If I can’t get more shifts, there’s no way I’m making rent until the middle of next month. A three-day notice will expire on the ninth, and I know those assholes will file on me the next day.

I’m not calling my parents again. It’s humiliating enough when they actually give me the money, but they haven’t done that in years.

Everything I could sell is gone. The Playstation IX, the multipass, the embots, the microwave tower, the creepy-ass dog robot from Boston Scientific that used to keep me company and rummage through my drawers while I slept. I’m not sure if I could liquidate everything I own and come up with $10,000, which is depressing.

The only thing standing between me and a shelter is a hot streak. It’s the only way.

So I turn on the notifications for the Official MLB Wager app.

God help me.

The trick is not getting overwhelmed. The only problem is that I’ve never managed this trick successfully.

PROP BET: WILL VLADIMIR GUERRERO III REACH BASE SAFELY (+150)

He’s just a child, but screw it, he’s hot. I look to the right of the screen, and the bet is on.

PROP BET: 1ST PITCH BALL? (+95)

He’ll get ahead in the count. I look to the bottom and adjust the bet to $1000, then look to the left and confirm.

PROP BET: RUN SCORES THIS INNING? (+160)

If you’re going to bet on a runner, you might as well bet on the run. And, shit, this makes me remember that all of the inning prop bets need to be in before the inning starts. Lightning round.

PROP BET: NUMBER OF STRIKEOUTS THIS INNING, MORE THAN ONE? (+110)

Yes.

PROP BET: NUMBER OF STRIKEOUTS THIS INNING, MORE THAN THREE? (+2000)

Ha, ha. Sure, screw it, swing for the fences.

MLB.COM WARNING: YOU HAVE PLACED FIVE BETS WITHIN ONE MINUTE. PLEASE ACKNOWLEDGE THAT YOU ARE AWARE OF THE RISKS OF GAMBLING, AND CALL 1-800-STOP-BET IF YOU BELIEVE YOU HAVE A PROBLEM.

Shut up, nerd. I scroll through the waiver and acknowledge.

PROP BET: ERROR COMMITTED IN INNING? (+200)

This is exactly the kind of bet a player can swing in a blowout without drawing any attention at all, especially the minimum-salary scrubs playing the garbage innings. Hell yes, I want to bet on an error.

PROP BET: WALK ALLOWED IN INNING? (+110)

Green-ass rookie on the mound. Yep.

PROP BET: OVER-UNDER ON GROUND-BALLS in play, TWO (+110)

Uh, crap, is Perez a sinker guy, or is he ... uh, fine, fine, yes, over.

Damn, too slow for more bets. The inning starts. The first pitch is a fastball right down the middle, and Guerrero doesn’t even pretend to be interested. Idiot.

PROP BET: 2ND PITCH BALL? (+95)

Yeah.

Guerrero swings at a pitch that bounces. Idiot.

PROP BET: 3RD PITCH BALL? (+90)

Sure.

It’s a ball. Finally. This is where it turns around.

PROP BET: BALL IN PLAY? (+120)

Yes.

Guerrero pops it up. So that bet hits, but the earlier one about reaching base is a miss, and they cancel each other out.

I’ve never even heard of this guy coming up to the plate.

PROP BET: 1ST PITCH BALL? (+95)

Sure ...

PROP BET: 1ST PITCH BALL? (+95)

Yes. It’s a ball.

PROP BET: 2ND PITCH STRIKE? (+95)

Nailed it.

PROP BET: 3RD PITCH BALL? (+95)

Yes, and the hitter waves through a lazy breaking ball like an absolute asshole.

PROP BET: 4TH PITCH BALL? (+95)

Yes. Missed, dammit.

PROP BET: 5TH PITCH BALL? (+95)

Yes. It hits.

PROP BET: WALK ON NEXT PITCH? (+110)

Yes. But it’s fouled back. Idiot ...

Cut off. Account empty. I use the cash in my wallet to buy a final beer. The strongest they have is 6.1 percent, which is about a third of the strength I’m looking for.

This is bad this is bad this is bad this is bad this is bad this is bad this is bad this is bad this is bad this is bad this is bad this is bad this is bad this is bad this is bad.

A miracle.

Every day for the last two seasons, I’ll spend a few bucks on the MLB Powerball 10-Team Parlay, just for laughs. I pick the same teams to win, every time, unless they’re playing each other: Cubs, Royals, Astros, Pirates, Rays, Angels, Braves, Brewers, Indians, and Tigers.

It spells out “CRAP RABBIT.”

Which makes me laugh.

The odds are roughly .09 percent to hit on all 10 teams, which means a jackpot on a 10-dollar bet would be something like a 1,000 bucks. But today I put $100 on it. No reason, either. Was just feeling it.

All of those teams won today. Every single one of them. I’ve never hit on one of these.

I just need to find the slip.

The state lottery is literally the only place in the world that still prints shit out.

Why do they still print shit out? Idiots.

It’s not in my pockets. I check six times before I check another six times.

I know I bought one today. I always do.

I know I bought one today.

When I find it, hey, look at that, there’s another game tomorrow. And the day after that. And, well, there are like 1,000 games every year, and they can’t all be this shitty.

They can’t all be this shitty.

I just need to find the slip.