When I was a teen, I was really into sports. Growing up in Wisconsin, the Green Bay Packers were like a second religion to me with Brett Favre as my lord and savior.
One Saturday at the age of 14, I slept in late. With eager footsteps, I went down the stairs to my living room just in time to catch the Badger football game. My father approached the couch and handed me a letter. I was pleasantly surprised to receive mail at that age as this was an infrequent occurrence. I excitedly opened this letter addressed to me from a company called Perfekt Prediktions, Inc.
Dear Mr. Gilpin,
We are writing to inform you about our Perfikt Prediktion Program. We can say to a certainty that the Packers will win the game against the Dolphins on Sunday 09/14/1997. You can enroll in our program for one low payment of $50 to receive more Prediktions. We know. We watch. We win.
Included was an envelope that contained a PO box number. My father inquired about the contents of the letter. I reluctantly told him. Without even really listening to me, he took it from my hands and threw it in the garbage.
I grew up in a fundamentalist Christian home and my father took the portions of the Bible that decry gambling very seriously. In a condescending tone and referring to me as Jakey, which I hated, he took this opportunity to go into a long diatribe about the evils of betting. I pretended to listen as I watched the action on the field unfold on my TV.