Still Batting .000 In Quest For Lotto Loot

It has been a ritual for so long now, I can hardly remember when it started.

Twice every seven days. One-hundred-four times a year, I go to the nearest dealership, pull out a greenback and name six numbers.

Lotto fever.

For years I have toiled in a never-ending challenge to match my ill-fated ticket with the numbers drawn on television.

And, without hesitation, I always know before the drawing that I am slated to be a Lotto bridesmaid for the rest of eternity.

Call me a pessimist. Warn Bob Uecker that he has competition. Call the Chicago Cubs publicity department:

The God of Losing Lotto Tickets has blessed me for life.

"My child," he chokes out, crying for his sanity, "you never were good with dollar figures."

"But I always played with baseball stats," I respond. "I dug through box scores, played with batting averages. heck, dad always thought I was going to be a bookie. Mom told friends her son was going to be an actuary."

"Yes," the God says. "I know. But that ain't money."

Every Wednesday and Saturday night turns into a celebration of empty wallets, a Mardi Gras of negative-balance checking accounts and overdue MasterCard receipts.

Mind you, this is not the biggest news story you'll ever grace your eyes upon. Heck, the concept of remaining a non-millionaire fails to shock me. George Steinbrenner fires managers at a similar ratio.

Yet, it's true. I'm still a regular guy. I still can't buy a Rembrandt. You won't find me spending the summer in The Bahamas. Donald Trump had to find someone else to bail him out of hot water.

If you're like me, you have failed to match those numbers correctly. For us, a great day is barely missing one number.

Also, if you're like me, you have wild, uncontrollable fantasies about what you'd do if you actually did win. (This is a sure sign of a Lotto non-winner.)

I already have the whole post-discovery scenario planned. There I'll be, in front of the television cameras, with Dan Rather hurling questions at me:

DAN: "So, Paul, what's it feel like to win $253 million?"

PAUL: "Well ... thank you."

DAN: "Did you ever dream you'd win so much money?"

PAUL: "You kidding? Never thought I'd be so lucky. Never."

SAM DONALDSON (he's always around to ask the really tough ones): "So, Paul, tell us - what do you plan to do now that you've got more money than Jose Canseco?"

PAUL (without missing a beat): "Well, I plan to pay off all my credit cards, my truck payment and my college loans. Then I'll probably use the remaining $15 and buy a pizza and some beer."

Now, then. Some people say winning the Lotto would be bad for me. "You're not used to having any money," they whine. "You'd blow it all on Rotisserie Baseball and Beatles CDs! You'd have women from high school and college - the ones who never gave you the time of day - begging you to notice them. It'll ruin your life!"

Gosh. I never thought of that. Winning the Lotto could destroy me.

What a way to go.

This article originally appeared in the Ogemaw County Herald.