Gut Instinct and Gambling Immortality

“It was at this point that serious conflict set in, because I realised- given the nature of what was coming up my spine and the drastic effect I knew it would have, very soon, on my sense of journalistic responsibility- that I would have to do two things immediately: first, deliver the sermon that had been brewing in my brain all week long and then rush back into the room and write my lead for the Super Bowl story”
-Hunter S. Thompson, Fear and Loathing at the Super Bowl

Well, we are, after all, professionals.

And professionals, come Super Bowl time, make sure they “get the job done”, no matter the circumstances or the trial.

Having failed in my demands for an all expenses paid two week trip to Detroit so I could lock down with the singular focus of pro football and get a feeling for it all, I decided to hole up in Old Sydney Town for a fortnight, to clear my head and hammer out my thoughts…

But Old Sydney Town, even from the well fitted and comfortable upper level executive suites of the Shangri-La, is not the place one goes to clear one’s head.

Having wandered the streets and drank heavily and sat in solitude for the better part of three days, trying to decide if the 3 ½ point spread on offer favoured those Seahawks of Seattle or those Steelers of Pittsburgh, I decided I needed music. Gut instinct said Seattle but could I trust my gut at the moment? Would he hold up in such a pressure situation? Or should I lock myself down in numbers and defensive patterns and internal arguments over coaches and mental strength?

It was important I made the right decision. I’m 10-for-10 against the spread this playoffs and to ruin a chance at gambling immortality with an ill considered selection would prove devastating to my gambling instincts and mental strength. I would require at least two months in the Greek islands just to re-establish mental equilibrium.

But we’ll deal with all this later, I thought. I need music and I need it loud. I still have 11 days. What’s the goddamn hurry?

So I fished around for the portable telephone and dialled up my old pal Kel.

“Kel, Captain Punt here. Do you still have those tickets for the Big Day Out? Mmm, you don’t…but you’re still going…mmm…good…no, no, never mind me…I know it starts in two hours…ho, ho, I know it’s sold out…I’m a professional and I’m well respected in this town…just hold on for two minutes…”

And after a couple of quick phone calls to The Right People and a quick call downstairs inquiring into their lack of ice, a ticket was found and we were on our way.

“Kel…Hey there big guy…Lock it in…It’s time to let down in the valley…meet me in The Blu Horizon Bar…36th floor…never mind that, just say you’re a guest of mine…ho ho…ok then, two hours…”

After a day of sniffer dogs and redneck nationalism and teenage short-shorts and vicious heat and body twisting rock, my brain was addled and my body sapped and I envisaged a last hurdle failure. My nerves were frazzled. I would need at least three days to recover, mentally, and the clock was ticking. Panic was settling in and fear wasn’t far behind.

Standing at Olympic Park station among a throng of very tired, very awake people, drunk and deaf, alone, the Super Bowl situation seemed hopeless, as did the prospect of getting back to the 33rd floor of the Shangri-La.

And then, a tap on the shoulder.

I turn violently, ready to teach a lesson or two about sudden movements and train station etiquette when I realise that it is my old pal Kel whom I hadn’t seen since the Kings of Leon.

A missed high five, a brief hug and then…the midnight special to Central. My luck had turned.

Sitting in a packed carriage, tired but relieved, among Goths and tarts and wishful teenage boys, Kel smiles and hoarsely mumbles, “you always knew it was going to be a good day, didn’t you? It just had that feel to it. It was one of those days that you just knew.”

Common sense and The Midnight Train to Central don’t often sit too close together, just like the terms “Shane Watson” and “success” won’t be found happily cavorting in too many articles in years to come. But with his off-the-cuff drunken remark, he unlocked my Super Bowl dilemma.

Seattle.

It was in the gut and in the bones. It had been all year. In one of my first pieces for this fine website, I spruiked the ability of the Hawks and have done so all year. All season, I have had this unwavering belief that Seattle would not let me down, that when I bet them they would win.

Sometimes you just know these things. Hunter S. Thompson, punter and poet, said when getting cranked on Super Bowl VIII that he was “certain of an easy Dolphin victory” but couldn’t explain why. He just knew.

Last week, the failure of Jakes Plummer and Delhomme was inevitable. I had arguments. But the arguments followed the feeling of certainty. I just knew.

And this week, I just know. The Hawks have carried me all year like a Pegasus to the sun and they will take me that one step further, that one giant leap into gambling immortality. They will give me The Perfect Game.

The point is this. In a game like the Super Bowl the desire, the talent, the will, the skill…they are all fairly evenly matched. And besides all that, in a game as big as this, all those aforementioned characteristics are usually thrown out the window. This is an event. And in an event of this magnitude, not only is gut instinct the best way to bet, it is the only way to bet. You can scrounge all the numbers and stats together you can, they, in an event of such Herculean proportions, won’t point you in the right direction. You need to look at the skies and follow the bones and the heart.

Content and rejuvenated, some further drinking was called upon. All in the name of celebration and pro football, of course.

The next morning, sometime around midday, I arose and after a breakfast of coffee, cream covered mangoes and some Dunhill’s, I started thinking deep and hard and soberly about the game. I still had 10 days, but I could use that time to weed out Steeler fans keen to bet heavily.

Offensively, both teams match up fairly equally. They are consistent and give up very few turnovers. Both teams have great QB’s who offer precision, consistency and good decision making. The Roth has a stronger arm but Hasselbeck is slightly more accurate. The Roth probably gets a slight nod but you cannot fault either of these two.

Both running games square up equally as well. Alexander is the best back in the game but the duel tandem run of Parker and Bettis puts the Steeler’s firmly on par with Seattle.

In the receiving stakes, Seattle have a slight edge based primarily on diversity. Both teams catch extremely well. Hasselbeck just seems to be prepared to throw to more receivers.

Defensively, both teams are at the top of the league. Both teams are in the top 3 in sacks this year. Both defend the run very well. Pittsburgh have given up only one individual hundred yard running game in the last thirty two, so the match up against Alexander will be fascinating.

Simply, the two teams are identically matched. There are no glaring weaknesses in either side. And in games like that, you always want to be on the plus.

And Seattle is 5-0 lifetime against the spread when matched against Pittsburgh. Not that important, but interesting.

The more I thought about it, the more I was convinced of a Seattle victory.

And I still am. I can just feel it. I have all year. The Hawks are the team.

They are my team. I am riding them to wealth and glory and gambling immortality.

And that, football fans, is that.