The games Bertha plays

Addictions and neuroses have been cropping up all over the place the past few years. For instance, there are now eco-therapists who specialize in treating eco-anxiety. I’ll let you figure out what that is.

I am not going to say that I don’t have any neuroses, tics, or irrational behaviors, but you will never see my name on the rolls of the local chapter of Gambler’s Anonymous. “Fickle” is too nice a word to describe Lady Luck—my lady or yours.

To be sure, I am all for getting the most for my dollar, in fact if there is a bargain to be found, I could be a little neurotic about getting in on it. But putting money on the barrel head and then trusting in something I have very little of (luck) is not part of my agenda.

I know you could argue with the sensibilities of Bertha. Rationality or brains may not be my long suit, but I’ll take them over clubs or spades any day. Whatever kind of sense I employ, I know it is more reliable than luck.

For one thing, my Lady Luck is a flint-faced, tight-fisted crone whose only smiles in my direction are smirks. Actually the same lady’s influence inflicts my whole family to one degree or another..

I like to play games, board games, word games, mind games (not the kind where I mess with your brain; I’m not smart enough for that); but don’t try to enlist me to play any kind of game that depends on the the roll of little white cubes with no minds at all.

I can almost happily concede a loss to a game player who is better than I, but not to a mindless spinner or a deck of cards. In fact, if zero-IQ cards or dice get the best of me in any game, I might go home and never play with them again.

I once played canasta with Father Butterbean and lost seventeen hands in a row. That made me angrier than losing at a word game all afternoon to my brother who I know is smarter than I am.

I am still trying to beat my brother and everyone else at word games, but I have not played canasta in thirty years. And I have never lost seventeen games of Trivial Pursuit, but I would rather lose at it than win at Uno.

If I played any game with seventeen randomly picked players and we matched wits, there would be no way I could lose that many times in a row, however weak my sensibilities are.

Relying on the luck of the draw or the roll of the dice is like letting someone you have never met do your homework for you. That is a scary thought. You may or may not be able to do it better, but doing it yourself allows you to be in control. Maybe that’s what this is about.

You can usually count on your own brains. You can even count on the lack of them in which case you might have to count on your fingers, but at least you know what you have got to work with.

No one can pull on your arm and one time come up with cherries and another time get fruit salad. Your arm is remotely connected to your brain and you are always going to get your own particular variety of smart.

So, no, I have never lost time from work or school due to gambling. And I haven’t sold the family farm to finance a trip to Vegas. There isn’t a drop of Irish blood in my veins, and if I ever had a lucky shirt I wore it out.

I could bring up rabbits’ feet here, but I haven’t seen one of those in years. There’s probably a reason for that. After all, they weren’t very lucky for the rabbits, were they? But the sight of one of those would likely trigger an episode and send anyone with eco-angst into a tailspin—or would that be a foot-spin?