Rubber bands …

Photo on 12-21-13 at 11.04 PMRight now, around my wrists, I’m wearing about 12 rubber bands.

This is new for me, physically, but not mentally.

Hmm … how to explain? I’m a fan of odds. But not of defying the odds, or meeting the odds. No, I’m a fan of messing with the odds. As an example, whenever I hear someone say something like, “Towson State is a 100,000-to-1 underdog against Duke,” I pick up a random rock and place it in my pocket. Then I turn to my son or daughter and say, “Do you know what the odds were that this rock would wind up in my right hand on December 21, 2013? Probably 1,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000-to-1. Really, infinity-to-1. It’d be a mathematical impossibility.” Heck, were I the Towson State coach, that’d be my speech—and it’d be a pretty good one.

Wait. I’m off topic. Rubber bands. I have 12 rubber bands on my wrists because I find them on the ground and can’t help myself. I think of the long, long, long, long odds that said band would wind up on my wrist—and then I wrap it around my wrist. Then I forget that it’s there. Then the wife asks why I have 12 rubber bands around my wrists. Then I shrug. Then she tells me it looks silly. Then I get defensive and keep all 12. Then she gets annoyed. Then I get annoyed.

All in the name of long odds.


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