Aaron Smith, of (I assume) Las Vegas, put down two bets totaling $21,750 on last Thursday's matchup between the Royals and Indians, What would possess someone to do such a thing? Well, Zack Greinke was pitching and that guy like ... never loses.

Even if you hadn't read this story from last week, you could probably guess how this one ends. Greinke and his bullpen blow a 3-1 lead and the game-winning RBI in the tenth bounces off a seagull that had parked himself in the outfield. Royals lose! Now Smith—a man who willingly wagered over $20,000 on the Royals— somehow thinks he has the worst bad beat story of all-time and will give $1,000 to anyone who can top it. That shouldn't be too hard. (Especially since the Indians had two on and nobody out against Kyle Farnsworth. The bird was the least of your issues. Of course, this contest make no sense unless the guy is trying to sell something—or he's an even worse gambler than we imagine.)

But walk into any poker room in the country and say, "Boy, did I have some rotten luck today," and you'll have 50 degenerate gamblers swarming you with sob stories that would make the hardest leg-breaking mob enforcer weep.

And to think all this guy lost was money!

When birds attack: a terrible gambling story, and $1,000 offer if you can top it [Ball Star]
Cleveland's Flock Of Seagulls Scores Another Hit [Deadspin]

It hasn't happened that way at all.

You fuckers have broken me. This is a brutal, backbreaking job, and I can't understand why Will Leitch is always smiling and cheerful. You've spent an entire day knocking me down, relentlessly mocking me, and generally just beating me into the ground. You are, in short, perfect Gawker editors. Whether you like it or not.

See? We're not so different after all.

Truth be told, apart from the agony of doing all these posts and the occasionally stinging barbs you managed to land in my hide, I sort of enjoyed it. I hope I didn't fuck things up for Will too badly, and you all are welcome to wander over to my place any time you like. But I'm going to make a promise I'm sure you'll help me keep: I will never do this again.

Thanks for your time,
Balk

Okay, what can I say? My guys lost, and badly. At the start of the season I was telling friends that I'd be happy with 87 wins (which, as it turns out, is more than the Cardinals wound up registering); I don't think anyone expected a World Series appearance. And yet I'm still bitter, when, by all rights, I should be thrilled that they got that far. I'm also doing that thing you do when your team loses where you keep telling yourself, "It's only a game, there are more important things in life, etc.," except the fact that I'm here (and at my regular gig) all day is a constant reminder of the fact that, while I got to see the Tigers win a post-season series for the first time since I was eleven (although I sort of count those final three games against the Blue Jays in '87 as a playoff match), I got to see them fail in the clutch.

Speaking of the Tigers: There was a lot of chatter during the original announcement of this wager as to how I could be both a Tigers fan and a fan of the Saints. I'm also a fan of the Flyers and the Celtics, so between the W.S., the Ravens, Red passing away, and, you know, the hockey season thus far, it hasn't been the best week. In any event, why those teams? The short answer is that my dad is completely, actively disinterested in sports: as a kid I was forced to form my own allegiances, and rather than do the easy thing and pick my local teams, I looked around and carefully considered whom I'd be rooting for. My Tigers fandom came about because at the age of nine no one in the world seemed more to represent what baseball was than Sparky Anderson. The Celtics happened because Mom's family is from Boston and has had season tickets since there were still Jews on the team. The Saints are case of a late-developing interest in football and the ability to sit in a bar that seats 70,000. And the Flyers came about because, much like Peter Zezel, I hate the Rangers.

But enough about me: I'm going to throw this out there to those of you who somehow wound up fans of teams from different cities: How did it happen? Why? Do you feel like you're somehow more committed because it's harder to catch your team on TV? Are you intrinsically a better person because you've chosen to buck the convention that dictates you must like a team out of some accident of geography? Intersperse your answers in the comments with all the other readers who are busy telling me I suck. (Bring it on, bitches, I am NOT AFRAID. I deal with Leon Freilich every day, you lot are nothing. And if the commenters at Gawker are right, you're a bunch of easily-intimidated troglodytes who are completely lacking critical faculties. Yeah, they said that.)

Okay, one down. Got a couple of features planned today, and, if you're good, I'll put up some clips from Jaws II, the little-seen gay porn movie Ron Jaworski made after he retired from the Chiefs. I know that's what you want anyway.

Oh, right, before I forget: Congratulations to Will Leitch and the St. Louis Cardinals. I am totally sincere when I say that, if I had to lose to Will, I am thrilled he was able to watch his team clinch on the home field. And I'm glad he made it out of St. Louis without getting raped or murdered, which is apparently a common occurrence there. Thanks (I guess?) for trusting me with the keys, Will; I'll try not to fuck it up too much.