It's fair to say the entire state of Arkansas, heck, the entire nation in the last week experienced a religious revival, the intensity of which hasn't been seen since the Great Awakening.
Across this great nation of ours, citizens from every station and of every persuasion joined together to engage in a whole lot of praying and supplicating. Whatever that is. I used to know. I forgot. The "supplicating" part. I know what prayer is. But I digress...
Anyway, Americans of every stripe, many of whom haven't called on the Almighty since their last hooked tee shot or when they were cut off in traffic and haven't been to church in so long they were about to show up on the ecclesiastical version of a milk carton, took to the ethereal and eternal airwaves to beseech of the Creator of the Universe one small, insignificant little $1.5 billion favor.
It's said the Good Lord answers all prayer, but that sometimes the answer is "no." That was certainly the case over the last few days.
Lottery Fever. Catch it. Judging from the line at my neighborhood convenience store, everyone else has.
I certainly did. Yeah, yeah, I know. I'm supposed to be The King of Cynicism, quick to point out the odds of actually hitting the winning combination are roughly one in 292 million. That means you're more likely to be struck by lightning (one in 1.9 million), hit by an asteroid (one in 1.6 million) or bitten by a shark (one in 2.9 million) than to be walking away with the cash (yeah, right, like I'd be walking if I picked up a billion dollars).
I know all these very inconvenient facts. And while I don't appreciate them as much as someone who actually passed Statistics in college, even a numbers-adverse mathophobe like me can understand that, say, as a retirement strategy, I might be better served reviewing my 401K.
Does that change a thing? No it does not. And not just because once you get past about two or three integers I kind of lose interest in whatever you're saying, though that certainly is a factor.
And not just because, come on, it's two bucks! Who can't dig down in the seat cushions and cup holders long enough to come up with eight quarters for the chance to win so much money you couldn't lose it all if you drove up and down the interstate shooting rolls of $100's out of a T-shirt cannon.
And certainly not because we're a nation of gamblers and risk-takers, residents of a country founded by folks willing to bet long odds. Like that there was something on the other side of that ocean, or that we could beat the best army in the world or that someday, someone might want all that black stuff that came out of the ground when you were actually drilling for water or to be able to take pictures with your phone, which, by the way, you could carry around in your pocket.
No, it was because it was fun. Fun to dream about it, fun to joke about it, fun to ponder just what you'd do with all those great green gobs of money. If all the lake houses that got built in the collective imaginations of lottery ticket purchasers in Northwest Arkansas actually became real, we'd have run out of lake.
Before last Saturday's jackpot of only $900 million, I was in line 15 minutes and had about half the jackpot accounted for by the time I got to the register. I suggested to a sociologist that the sorts of people who buy lottery tickets would make an interesting study. He said he'd finance it if the numbers he got from the carry-out Chinese fortune cookie proved to be as lucky as advertised. After, of course, he built the lake house.
The Lovely Mrs. Smith and I spent not an inconsequential amount of our Friday night investing in the academic future of our state (yeah, right) at that aforementioned convenience store, and left giggling like teenagers. Needless to say, the bag of Butterfinger Mini's we bought along with our tickets meant the purchase wasn't totally without reward.
Now, Wednesday and its latest Powerball drawing have come and gone. Three ticket holders will split somewhere in the neighborhood (and a wonderful neighborhood it must be) of $1.5 billion. Chances were really, really, really (say, 292 million to one) good it wouldn't be me. Chances were right.
It was fun while it lasted. After all, it's nice to be rich. Even if it's only for a little bit, and very much only in your own mind.
If I had won, well, rest assured this wouldn't be my last column. I mean, why quit doing something you love if you don't have to? I'd still be here, plugging along, pounding away at the keyboard. From my new house at the lake.
Commentary on 01/15/2016