The undercover mad dog's execution

After my turn of fortunes between taking zona undercover a couple weekends back cashing big and putting my thanksgiving picks in the open before getting slaughtered, I thought it would be a good idea to stay off the radar when I made a foray into the boxing ring. Shits had the big rematch of Bernard “The Executioner” Hopkins vs Chump Champ “Bad Intentions” Taylor. Last time they fought the older Hopkins lost a controversial decision on the scorecards to upstart Taylor, and the mad dog was foaming at the mouth with the thought of the revenge factor.
I undid my leash and headed over to the hard rock sports book high as a fucking kite. The odds were going off as a pure pick ‘em -115 each, and I was ready to uncork with Mad Dog Moulton’s Mashup Money Maker. Hopkins was a fucking lock dude, 23 to win 20. Follow it up with the KO ending the shit at 160, and twenty on that nets me 32. I couldnt belive the fools were completely neglecting that Hopkins owned the final rounds last fight and he would come out firing in the shit. Content with my wagering, I hit the road for my buddy seans condo. I hadnt smoked pot in like a week and a half while I was home either out of respect for my parents welcoming abode and the rules thereof, or because I dont know a good dealer in philly, you decide. Regardless, I was fucking seeing shit as I made the trip south to Sean’s place. It honestly felt like I was driving in a video game, with me accelerating unneccesarily at points just to outclass an economy size car in the next lane. If I would have seen a cartoonish oversized banana peel in my path as I drove, I would not have thought anything was out of the ordinary.
I stopped off at chipotle to take down some shit to bring by the place, and made it to my seat in front of his plasma TV as the announcers were previewing the main event. He had recently quit his job selling corporate phone plans in order to play poker full time, and he was in the middle of a twenty dollar tourney on poker stars as we watched the fight go off. He had thrown five dollars on a knockout in each round at great odds, and combined it with a bet of a knockout in any round like mine. All told he had 100 bucks on the fight, but was more concearned with the tourney he was in 9th place out of an original 180. With my tutledge we built him to second chip leader, largely due to a terrible call I told him to make with AJ where he had to hit a gutshot queen to beat two pair kings and tens as well as overpair aces. Shit was sweet as shit.
The fight was going on the whole time, but nothing interesting was happening. They were just getting one quick shot and clenching with both dudes showing way too much respect. Sean spent most of his time stealing blinds and bullying the fuck out of people while he would bitch about each new losing ticket with each passing round. By about the ninth round, Sean had 35,000 in chips and the chip leader had 50,000. No one else of the twenty people remaining in the tournament even had 20,000. He had come over the top on sean a couple times when he was bullshiting, but for the most part he had been stealing from everyone at the table including the chip leader. Then there was a hand where sean was dealt pocket threes in the small blind and the chip leader limped on the button for 200. Sean made it 800 to go, and the dude came over the top to 3000. Sean thought about it a while and decided to make the call. Flop comes 3,7,7 and dude immediately goes all in. Sean calls for like 30,000 chips with the third nut hand and the only hand other than pocketsevens that could have been helped after what had been bet before the flop, as the dude flipped over pocket fives. Turn comes ace, then sure enough river comes five. A 70,000 chip pot gets passed to a man who hit a two outer, and sean essentially loses 500-1000 dollars give his 3.5 to 1 chip lead he would have had in the tournament that paid 1000 to the winner.
Around the same time, the announcers are telling us that going in to the twelth Taylor has it won on the scorecards and there is no chance for hopkins but the knockout. Hopkins throws some big leather, but not enough to get it done in the final round. Scorecards say he loses by two even though he landed more punches for a higher percentage and almost twice as many power punches. Every schematic seems to favor Hopkins but boxing is like the electorial college, set up to score in a way that pisses everyone off. Its not a happy mood in the condo as latecomers start to show and we rewind the fight to watch the mad dog lose his money again. I partied for a bit, then made the long drive home, thinking about my recent poor taste in gambits. I came to the realization that for every hot streak there must be a slump and that the best way to break such a stretch is to break routines. So I went to the ATM and I took out some fucking cash. I looked at my sheet and I picked some fucking games. No one big bet, no ridiculous parlays. 5 straight wagers. 22 dollars a piece. Lets let the gambling gods try to shit on my now. Fuck you, fuck you and your horsedrawn temporal chariots. The Mad Dog is not afraid of you fucks. He barks in the general direction of your chosen people.
Mad Dog Moulton’s Blasphemous Barrage of Bi-Madisonial Benefits
Bengals -3(105) vs Steelers 20 to win 21
Cheifs +1 vs Broncos 22 to win 20
Giants -3 vs Cowboys 22 to win 20
Tampa Bay -3.5 vs Saints 22 to win 20
Jacksonville -2.5 vs Cleveland 22 to win 20

The undercover mad dog's execution

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