For the vast majority of their still-young lives, my daughters – ages 14 and 12 – have somewhat fairly considered their father to be something of a dinosaur.
They see a 61-year-old man who prefers khakis to blue jeans, his shirttail tucked in (at least when he remembers to tuck it in), reluctantly owns a cellphone – flip variety – but still warmly embraces his land line and whose next online purchase will be his first, and they openly wonder how they could wind up with such a grumpy old cuss in the Daddy Lottery.
And Monday brought further news of how out of touch I’ve become when SportsBusiness Journal released its annual list of the most influential people on the business side of sports and the generic “American Sports Gambler” stood No. 1.
Now I’ll plead guilty to buying lottery tickets now and then, especially when Powerball or Mega Millions reaches nine figures. But I don’t bet ballgames. Never have. Never will. Not online. Not with a friend. Certainly not with a bookie.
Perhaps it’s because my father was in college when the point-fixing scandals rocked college basketball at the dawn of the 1950s. Perhaps because I hate the thought of watching a great game on television, a game that the team I want to win wins, but I’m miserable because that team didn’t beat the spread.