Evil can tell the Gators where to stick this.
Evil hates. Hates. Hates hates hates. Florida.
And yet, during this our 2008 bowl season, Evil found himself locked in mortal wagering combat with several of his friends concerning the outcomes of said bowls. Both of his bowl pools came down to last night’s Natty Championship game. How about this for the horror . . . the horror: if Florida won, Evil won. If Florida lost, Evil lost.
Naturally, Florida feathered the covered wagon of overrated football that is the Oklahoma Sooners with flaming arrows of SEC speed. (You won’t see descriptions like that on ESPN!) Evil emerged victorious, if filthy. Kind of like how you’d feel diving into a vat of raw sewage after the Hope Diamond. Sure, you emerge clutching that priceless emblem of victory in your shit-covered fist. But your fist is, um, covered in shit. And you just wiped your mouth with that shit-covered fist. And now you’re retching.
Deal with the devil? Faustian bargain? Or simply a preview of a possible fate awaiting the Evil should he take his obvious talent for betsmanship to the next level?
That third possibility is what struck the Evil as he watched Tim Tebow rant and rave and probably weep whilst the clock wound down. Is this what happens to seasoned gamblers? Is this the nature of their disease?
Consider: Evil had no doubt whatsoever that Florida would beat Oklahoma. Thus, much as it disgusted him, he picked the Gators. Tossed aside loyalty, honor, all that is good and pure about sports—a Georgia Bulldog fan’s loathing for all things Florida—in a grim quest for gambling victory. And yes, he won . . . but at what cost?
Evil would like to tell you, dear reader, that his bowl pool victories made him feel hollow inside. But that wouldn’t be true. Evil is like a series of Russian nesting dolls—open him up, and another, smaller version is revealed. Ever smaller, ever more Evil. That’s the way to go.
Enjoy the weekend. If possible, throw a pie at Tim Tebow.