Addicted: The Full Story

Tim glanced rapidly through the Sunday football scores. "Nooooo!" he wailed. "I've lost my football pool this week!" I couldn't help but force back a wee grin.

Last week it had been a whole different story. He was bound to be undefeated this year, he stated. His quarterback had more points than any other. He picked his other players with almost miraculous ease. It was as if he had a gift. Though he was happy, I couldn't help but be a little ticked off.

You see, victory only furthers the addiction. The chemical reaction that the brain receives from a win can not be conquered by any girlfriend. When a man is on a winning streak, Sundays are a write off. That's a given. He can't miss a game. He can't miss a play. There's no time to do anything except sip beer, flick channels, and check your point totals on the pool's website. The whole situation only gets worse with every win.

A loss gives a woman an unrealistic hope. When the TV is turned off in anger, the laptop slammed shut, and all the tickets ripped up, a gal can start to believe that this is the beginning of the end. "I'll never bet again!" resounds in her brain, like a carrot dangling in front of a horse. I couldn't help but rub his loss in a bit - the bigger the sting, the more Sundays I can possibly free up for some 'us' time. It's my contribution to his recovery. And a little victory for anyone involved with an addict.

Alas, despite my best efforts, it was not to be. No matter how big the defeat, no matter what is uttered in his moment of disappointment, Tim never fails to rebound. "There's always next year." Such words are poisonous to a woman like me. The addiction, if not the relationship, lives on.