A wise man once told me never to bet on sports, so I haven’t, I don’t. Not since the ninth grade when I made a bet with my friend Mark — a kid who punched me in the head once, broke his hand in the process and was eager to get even — that the Pittsburgh Pirates would emerge from two games down to beat the Baltimore Orioles in the 1971 World Series. He offered me five bucks if the Pirates came back, and I’d pay him two if the Orioles went ahead to close out the series.
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