Dr. HA! presents "Grandpa’s Games"

Cleveland scattered the attic looking for his dad’s old baseball card collection.

“Mom! I can't find them anywhere up here!” He screamed.

His best friend James overheard his father talking about selling his Hank Aaron card and buying a new house.

Cleveland was never really into sports or trading cards but ever since his 13th birthday a few weeks ago, he’d found a new love for money. He’d been cutting neighbor’s lawns and washing their cars for the past five days when James mentioned the Hank Aaron card. Cleveland and James' dads were also good friends before Cleveland’s dad transitioned with cancer last year. Such good friends that James’s dad made a verbal commitment at the funeral to be there for Cleveland like he would his own son. “I found it!” Cleveland exclaimed.

He picked up the dusty book tucked under more dusty books and wiped it off with his t-shirt. He flipped through the pages counting dollars in his head with no real knowledge of collectibles or even baseball players for that matter. “I wonder how much Mark McGwire could get me?” He thought aloud. A spider crawled on his hand and he dropped the book. “Whoa!”, he shrieked, stumbling backwards on the mess he had made searching for the collection. “Everything ok up there?” His mom asked. “Yes, just a little spider!” He replied. “Well, you know they say the little ones mean big luck!” She joked. When reaching down to recollect the trading cards he had dropped his eye caught a shimmer from another book lying on the floor. Oddly enough this book was in much better condition than the others and it even had a shine to it. “Grandpa’s Games” was engraved on the front of the book in gold letters. Cleveland opened the book and started flipping through the pages, reading aloud “September 18, 1972, Washington Redskins +4, September 24th, 1972 San Diego minus three, Dallas Cowboys plus eight, Buffalo minus 4” the list went on and on. Before he knew it he was on the living room floor with his laptop looking up the dates and games. Having  initially no idea of what he was reading, but the chills running up his spine wouldn’t allow him to put the book down. Cleveland wouldn't continue his quest for the baseball card collection. Thirteen year old Cleveland was now a pirate for a little black book of numbers. “Mom, who's Nathaniel Kane?’ His mother looked in confusion, “Let me see what you have there?” his mother replied, reaching her hand out for the book. She sighed and then replied, “This is your grandfather’s book Cleveland.”  “My grandfather? Cleveland replied.

She nodded her head and left the room. Cleveland's father had once told the two of them a story about the last time seeing his dad. The story would end with his father violently beating his mother and leaving his siblings and him to watch her die. His name was never spoken of again after that. Although the thought of his grandfather still shook Cleveland to his core, he couldn’t help but continue to be in awe of the little black book and the numbers inside.    A few years had passed since finding his grandfather's little black book but the goosebumps still stood. Everyday after work Cleveland would pull out the book and recite the team and numbers aloud, checking ESPN seeing if any of the games and numbers would match up. They never quite did but every so often two of the same teams would play one another. He'd find himself glued and yelling at the television trying to make the final score's spread match the book and then fitting in a rage when they didn't. It had gotten to a point where his mom would have to interfere, first asking him to keep it down and sometimes shutting the television off when he wouldn't. They would argue a lot more when he started to gamble. Cleveland had gotten so good at predicting sports game outcomes, James's father would pay him to write a list each week of the college and professional team score predictions. That money would feed Cleveland's personal gambling habit and his continued urge for his grandfather's little black book. One fall night, Cleveland was awakened by a pinch in his foot. He jumped out of bed yelling! "Ohh, ohh ohh!" His mother ran into his room a short second later. "What happened to Cleveland?" She said, wiping her eyes while still half asleep. "I don't know, I think something bit me!" They both pulled back the sheets and caught a little spider scarring off of the bed and into a crack in the floor. "These damn little spiders and this house." Cleveland's mother said with a sigh of relief. "Well you know they say the little ones are big luck." Cleveland jokes.

"You think you're going to be okay?" She said exiting his room. "Yes, I'll be fine, thanks mom. Hey mom!”, Cleveland called before she closed the door. “Yes dear?” She  paused. “I wanted to let you know that I’m really sorry about how I’ve been behaving lately and I want you to know that I will intentionally be a better son and person to you.” She smiled and nodded. “Goodnight Cleveland, and thank you.” Cleveland held his foot sitting on the edge of his bed and then his television cut on. He leaned over looking for the remote under him thinking maybe he'd butt dialed the ON button, but there was nothing. He scattered the room for the remote control and found it on his computer desk. "Weird." Cleveland said to himself aloud. "Isn't It?" Scott Van Pelt said, almost replying to Cleveland's words. "The anniversary of Super Bowl VIII, Miami vs The Minnesota Vikings led by "The Scrambler" Fran Tarkenton!" ESPN would go on to show highlights of that game where Miami would ultimately prevail winning back to back super bowls. It was Sunday morning but unlike in 1973 only one of the teams were on a guaranteed path to the playoffs. Minnesota had a perfect 11-0 record, while Miami held the exact opposite record of 0-11. Minnesota had beaten every opponent they faced by at least 30 points in their last 4 games. Seen as a shoe-in for the Super Bowl as far as Vegas was concerned with odds of 10,000 to 1, but before they'd go for the Super Bowl they would face Miami in a regular season exhibition match up. Cleveland instantly remembered the last spread written in his grandfather's book. "January 13,1974, Miami minus 7." He spoke loudly. Cleveland's jaw dropped as he felt himself rise to his tippy toes, completely forgetting about the spider bite he ran to his top drawer and collected all of the money he'd been saving over the years. He took his grandfather's book and $4,000.00 straight to the gaming hall and laid the money on the cashier's desk.

"I'd like to take Miami to win by exactly seven points." Cleveland said with full confidence. "Are you sure you want to make this bet buddy? That's a lot of loot to be putting up against a team that is supposed to win by 30."

"I'm sure." Cleveland said. "Well, ok. Your loss. Miami minus seven, exacta! Four-thousand dollars to make sixty-nine thousand dollars. Good luck young man, you'll need it."  Cleveland clinched his grandfather's little black book and walked away. Miami would go on to win the game that night by exactly seven points and Cleveland would spend his first winnings on a downpayment for his mom's new house and then a pet spider he named Nate Kane.