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Thank Lorde I never fell completely down the pit, but even where I was, it was not fun. Nothing like calling your grandmother to come and get you while your car is in the shop whilst trying to explain why exactly you had driven across half of New Jersey in the first place, since the truth ("It's the nearest ATM on the system and I need to pay my bookie") was right out.
The good news is that, after losing over $10,000 (in 1989 $$) to that college bookie, I was able to turn things around and win back over 60% of the losses.
The bad news was that the bookie decided to drop out of school and vanish and I never actually saw a cent of those winnings.
The worse news was that the lesson I learned was not "stop gambling, you fool" but "cheating amateurs! I need to move to Las Vegas, because Caesar's Palace isn't going vanish overnight!" And so further adventures lay in store ahead…
(It should be noted that none of the horror stories involve "bad beats" where I had the right team bet only for things to go horribly wrong at the end of the game. [Not even that freaking UMass-Penn State game…] Those I wear as badges of honor, not to mention how they give me the excuse to talk about all the times I was brilliant. No, the terrible thing about having the compulsion is how it kills the joy of both winning and life in general. Sigh.)
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