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In my old age, I often wonder what is worse: the pearl-clutching Karens (all genders) who transform a lukewarm latte into a five-alarm human rights violation, or the doom-prophesying Chicken Littles who interpret every passing cloud as the harbinger of collapse. Both species strut through life with the self-importance of peacocks, their faces flushed with
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Last week my predictions stumbled like a drunk uncle at a wedding reception, going 2-2 while my spreadsheets sobbed in the corner. Still, my 17-4 season record remains impressive enough to make me insufferable at family gatherings. For Week 6, I’m hitching my wagon to the Packers’ ground game (basically a bunch of corn-fed Wisconsin
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Last Sunday’s games finally put two blemishes on my once-pristine record, dropping me to a still-enviable 15-2 for the season. My beloved Bears—those bumbling, stumbling warriors of the Windy City—squeaked past their opponent by a single point after my algorithm predicted a nail-biting half-point victory. For Week 5, my spreadsheets are practically smoking from the
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Let me answer a couple of your questions. Every week I feed every NFL matchup into my predictive algorithm, even though I don’t always turn those forecasts into wagers. The reason is simple: if the gap between my projected margin and the sportsbook’s line isn’t wide enough, there’s no value in placing a bet. For
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What can I say? Buffalo and Washington both steamrolled their opponents like monster trucks crushing a row of flaming porta-potties. That’s 13-0 for the season. Meanwhile, my own flesh and blood treats my advice like it’s written in invisible ink. Last weekend, my grandson-in-law nodded politely at my carefully calculated picks, then promptly bet on
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LISTEN UP, PEOPLE! Last week I HANDED YOU GUARANTEED MONEY with the Bills, the Bengals 4th-quarter comeback against the Jaguars, the Ravens, the Lions’ 31-point bloodbath over Chicago, the Cardinals, and the Chargers’ Monday night masterpiece! The week before? I gave you the Eagles who soared over Dallas, the Commanders who bulldozed the Giants, Denver’s
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Twenty-three years ago today, I stood at a hotel window in Burlington, Vermont, watching the impossible unfold on a small television while the mountains outside remained eerily peaceful. My meeting—originally scheduled for Tower One of the World Trade Center—never happened. Instead, our meeting site was changed, so I spent a week in that quiet New
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WEEK ONE IN THE NFL IS OFFICIALLY HISTORY, FOLKS! If you followed my picks, you’re probably BATHING IN CASH right now! All FIVE of my recommended teams delivered the goods—though the Eagles, Bengals, and Vikings nearly gave me THREE SEPARATE HEART ATTACKS before pulling through. The Broncos and Commanders rounded out my PERFECT 5-0 SWEEP!
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The war drums of the NFL are pounding again, and I’m locked and loaded for my annual assault on the sportsbooks. If you’ve ridden with me these past seasons, you know I leave Vegas bookmakers sweating bullets and reaching for their antacids. My picks haven’t just “generated income”—they’ve ripped open the coffers week after bloody
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Today, we talked to our one daughter and grandchildren who live in Minneapolis three different times. Every August, as yellow buses rumble back onto suburban streets, I post my outrage, then scroll to the next distraction. I own stock in companies that manufacture the very weapons I condemn. I vote for perfectly coiffed politicians who
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Old Man Pondering 