The Wagerer
To say that I was rebellious as a youth would be understated hyperbole. Actually it was easy to get me to do anything - just tell me to do the opposite. So when my father asked me to accompany him for a Saturday afternoon and evening at his brother's (my namesake uncle's) place at first I refused. The occasion was a party for a local amateur baseball group that my uncle had led from decades prior to my birth. The members were working class males ranging in age from late 20's to late 50's and at 16, I believed I had nothing in common with them. I acquiesced in attending only after deciding I'd take along my current Sci-fi book and just be oblivious to my surroundings.
When my father and I arrived at my uncle's farm about 10 miles outside of town, a group of 70 or so men were already clustered in the field out back of the house drinking beer and shooting dice. I found myself a pleasant shade tree, opened my book and tuned out the yahoos in the smug superiority of arrogant youth.
About 30 minutes later, my father came over and requested I follow him because he had "somethin' to sho' me". Rebellious though I was, I followed immediately. What is a lurker? Merely a people watcher on the net. Any and all abilities I may have as a people watcher, I learned from my father who was a "natural". I had long since learned when my father wanted to "sho' me somthin'", it behooved me to observe.
He took me to a vantage point where I could scrutinize the dice game. There they were about 20 to 30 guys in an oval, swilling beer, laughing, and taking turns shotin'. Surrounding them in a milling "ant heap" were about 40 other guys boisterously cracking jokes, laughing and getting drunk. My father said, "watch him," pointing to a particular individual that a first glance seemed like all the rest of the guys.
That is until you noticed his eyes. He would laugh, hold brief conversations, and generally be "one of the guys" as he slowly moved in an apparently random fashion around in the "ant heap". But those eyes. They never, and I mean never, left the side bets. What's more his motion only appeared random because he always had a good view of the side bets. I watched him for more than an hour this odd contradiction between random bonhomie behavior and diligent scrutiny.
And then he pounced. He swiftly knifed through the "ants" and covered a side bet. The shooter took his shot and the object of my attention scooped up a "fistful of bills", pocketed them and returned to his earlier behavior. Clearly, he patiently waited until he saw an almost "sure thing" and then jumped in "big time".
I never got back to my book that day. The crowd became increasingly intoxicated as copious quantities of beer were consumed. I watched my quarry repeat his predatory behavior four times in six hours. Each time he was staggeringly successful, raking in double handfuls of bills. Interestingly his "compadres" never seemed to mind. There was sufficient time between his bets, and sufficient beer, that no one apparently realized what was really happening. This was most evident when the group broke up that evening and in the discussion around the cars as to who was a winner, he was not mentioned.
I take various kinds of positions in the market - LTB&H, short term swing plays (usually with options) and ever so often when the conditions are "just right" a wager or two. To this day, an image from a summer afternoon long ago comes to mind whenever the word wager is mentioned.
lurking...
lurqer |
