You know what’s crazy? I’ll tell you what’s crazy™
That Little Tingle.
It’s a thunderbolt down your spine.
It’s an electric pulse across your consciousness.
It’s the spark that ignites life’s internal fuse.
The tingle inside you can be the difference between living life and going through the motions.
The tingle is the excitement you feel when you speed by a cop.
It’s the adrenaline rush wondering if blue lights will fill up your rear view.
The tingle is that place where excitement lives, accelerating from mundane to visceral.
The Tingle is the internal cauldron that fills your veins with adrenaline and purpose.
The tingle is the place where fight or flight atoms collide at light speed.
The tingle is the visceral percolation of spirit that reminds us to do more than stand still.
Life is often a series of mundane moments, held together by monotony and boredom.
The tingle is that slap in the face that shouts, WAKE UP BOY!
The tingle comes in many forms.
It’s a motorcycle ride through Big Sur.
It’s a parachute jump out into wild blue brilliance.
It’s a balls out ski run down a black diamond.
And for many sedentary souls, it’s a sports wager.
Everything is more intense, when money is involved.
A football game between 2 teams is interesting.
A football game with a point spread and a few dollars hanging in the balance is a reason to sweat through a dress shirt.
Unless you bleed Crimson Tide, Alabama rolling over Arkansas State is a so what.
Add a 37 point spread and $50 dollars and it’s must see entertainment.
Recently I added chocolate sprinkles to my vanilla football Saturday with a little sports wagering.
Nothing to worry about, mom. The house note is still secure.
Just a few bucks here and there to put some tingle in an other wise vanilla college football Saturday.
Alabama was a 37 point favorite.
That means before a single player straps on their jock, laces up their shoes, or before Nick Saban adjusts his recalcitrant scowl in the locker room, Alabama is already down 37 points to door mat, Arkansas State.
There’s absolutely no doubt that the Crimson Tide will beat Arkansas State.
The question is; will they win by 37 points?
And there’s your tingle.
Now the question is; how much are you willing to bet.
$10? $25 $100?
The bigger the bet, the more that tingle is stimulated.
Suddenly you become a math wizard.
It’s 3 minutes into the game and Alabama is already up 14-0.
If you took Alabama, then your still down 37-14 with 3 1/2 quarters to play.
23 points to cover the spread you think to yourself.
Suddenly, field position and going for it on 4th down and turnovers take on a heightened sense of urgency.
A game that was wall paper on a remote cable channel on a lazy ass Saturday is suddenly vanilla ice cream with rainbow sprinkles dipped in Goo Goo Clusters.
It’s delicious and nauseating all at once.
Tingle. Sizzle. Aaaaah!
I spent a Saturday recently with my best buddy in a Vegas Sports book.
The room is electrified insanity.
Video screens and display screens and amplified noise fill the room.
I watch as Citizens of the Earth gather, roaming this sports oasis preparing to mainline the Tingle.
All around me, Tickers whiz by like New York City Subway cars.
Sports Scores change as often as a middle school girl’s best friends.
The wall is a decorative hallucination of 25 television screens tuned to multiple sporting events from across the planet.
College football in Alabama, Los Angeles, South Bend.
Horse Racing in Australia.
Baseball in Milwaukee.
And seated on every stool, at every table, on every sofa, a citizen of the world, holding a ticket, staring at the visual gluttony.
Men and women. Young and Old. A benneton of humanity all seeking the tingle.
And then, the moment of all moments.
My buddy owns a percentage of a race horse. She is a four year old filly named Moon Kitty.
She is racing in the 2nd race at Del Mar.
She is wearing number four.
I place $50 dollars down on Moon Kitty to win.
It’s exciting. I have a tingle to be sure.
And there off!
My buddy is standing in the middle of the sports book.
He is screaming at the massive screen before us.
“Go Moon Kitty! Go baby. Come on Moon Kitty.”
There is a buzz on the floor as our energy spills across the sports book.
We are yelling, fists pumping, urging the 4-horse around the dirt track.
“Run Kitty Run,” he screams.
The horse pulls away and wins.
It’s amplified intensity. A cannon burst of adrenaline. A thunder clap across my cerebellum.
we cheer, we hug, we celebrate with perfect strangers, all brought together by a horse and a quest for that tingle.
Horses running in a circle is not usually exciting.
But bet on a horse, your buddy’s horse, and a 2 minute horse race is like fireworks exploding in the middle of an Antifa protest.
The tingle of this moment is nuclear. The exhilaration heightened by a small wager on a horse paying 7 to 2.
My 48 hours in Vegas is a run on sentence of soggy alcohol fueled memories.
The singular moment that tingles is my buddy’s horse racing, winning, and paying off handsomely.
Without it, life’s not worth living.