RIP BIll .....I forgive you for the Five Grand

I just heard that Bill Buckner the classic Red Sox player has passed away at the early age of  69, It appears that he suffered from dementia which is really sad. I feel responsible because I put a curse on him because he cost me five grand.


Back in the day I used to bounce every night. Long before I got married
 of course. I was a regular in about 30 bars all over the city. O'Lunneys, O"Riell's. The Pig and Whistle. The Blarney Stone. The Pig and Whistle. The Quiet Man Cousins. Cody's. The Last Exit. Morans. Jimmys in the Bronx.. Smiths. Mchales. Langans. The North Star Pub. Fuente Unido. Julios Place. The list goes on and on. I took a lot of work. I used to show up at least once a week. Some on a Friday night. Some on a Monday. Man I was a drunk. And a gambler.

One of the things I was most noted for was being a Yankee Fan. Die hard. Season ticket holder. So one year I had a big dilemma. The Fuckin Mets were playing the Fucking Red Sox in the Series. The two teams I hated most in all the world were duking it out and I had no body to root for. It was like the Iran/Iraq war or something. The problem was the freaking Mets fans. They were feeliing their oats. This was the Doc Gooden/Darryl Strawberry team. I had to hear these mooks tell me how much better the Mets were than the Yankees and that the Mets owned New York and the Yanks would never get it back. All they did was taunt me. About how the Yankees sucked. How the American League sucked. How the Mets were the greatest team of all time. It got pretty old man.

Now at the time I was also I pretty big gambler.  Vegas. Atlantic City. Football pools. The works. When a pub had a football pool set up selling boxes they would always put me in sometimes without even asking. If it was 2 bucks it was fine. But a saw buck or even a 100 at Super Bowl really added up.

Now I had a big problem with this series. Every bar I walked into I had a Met Mook in my face busting my balls. Wanting to bet. ?Yeah I will give you odds." "No thanks." "2 to 1" "No," "3 to 1" No. "10 to fucking 1" "You know I have to take those odds."

The problem was that it started to add up. 20 bucks there. 100 bucks there.  It just started to snowball. I should have laid off some of the action but I was young and stupid back then. I had a big stash since I had hit a number a few weeks back so I wouldn't be out of pocket. So I ended up holding markers for about 5 grand. At 10 to one. Some of them were big numbers from bar owners. So it was looking good for me in that game. It was almost over. I was drinking Remy and smoking a cigar. And then Buckner happened.

I had to pay off all of those bastard. Which I did. Wiped out my stash for the year. Still and all it would have been a major score if I would have won. That's gambling. That's why I gave it up. Along with drinking.

As you can imagine I hated Bill Buckner. With the passion of a 5000 white hot suns. In fact once when I was talking to a Santeria Witch I told her to put a curse on him to make him lose his mind. I wonder if she did?

If so .....sorry Bill. May you rest in Peace. I forgive you. Those days were long ago and far away.

You can read about those adventures on my old blog in the thread Remembrances of Tings Pabst.  Just hit the tab. There are 99 stories.

So far.