CONFESSIONS OF A WASTREL

I am a lifelong critic of lotteries. They are a terrible way to raise money. They have been called “a tax on the stupid.” And I now number among them. I am, unabashedly, but not without some shame, a “player.” Oh I’m much too grand to stand in line a supermarket service desk to get a ticket because the lottery prize has just risen to 20 million or something. Chances are in the multi-millions to one. I know. I know. I am covered with shame. I have been bitten.

But I am not much too grand to indulge in the deluxe, gold-plated lotteries run by the likes of the Heart and Stroke Foundation. The prices are higher. The chances (and fool that I am I believe) are better, the winnings are huge.

In spite of all the rubbish I have heard like:”I know the odds are against me, but someone has to win. It could be me.” Or: (this is the one I love) for a dollar or two I can have a dream.” Let me hasten to add, in my rightousness, I do not gamble. It is many years since I was patsy to Paul Kligman (the late Canadian actor) during rest periods at recording of radio shows at CBC. We’d go to the piano top and play gin rummy. He made expenses. But I maintain the stalwart pose that I am not a gambling man. I think it is crude and vulgar. I don’t like casinos or horse races. I have never been to a horse race but I confess to having been in a casino a few times.

But I am infected. Not only did I buy tickets (not the first time) for the Princess Margaret and Sick Kids lotteries, but I am doing all the fantasizing I have always been so critical of.

I am actually planning what I will do with a million dollars. My wife and I have real have arguments. I want to put it away (except for one small purchase) and she wants to distribute a lot of it among family members. We actually argue!! I have already been given permission to buy a 7 foot Fazzioli grand piano, which will just fit in the window of the living room in our apartment. I am actually hearing the first wonderful sounds from this masterpiece of a musical instrument.

Am I hooked? Or have I just given in to the urge that millions have, to have something exciting to look forward to, even though those hopes will be dashed the day the6y make the draws.

I can see it now. Me and Fazzioli, the sounds ringing through the building, Excited neighbours knocking at my door.

I’m infected. Stay clear. Unclean, Unclean.