I win, you lose!

With those words, my friend Amy soundly tromps me at pretty much everything, whether it be a game of Skip-Bo or Pop-A-Matic Trouble (a game which she has somehow rigged, seeing as how it's simply not possible for a person to pop as many twos as I did.) She's got the magic-- she can't be stopped.

Or maybe it's just me. All my life, I have never really won at anything. I came in third in the first grade bike rodeo (which was actually not half bad, since I technically didn't know how to ride a bike until the third grade, and made it through the rodeo solely by flailing my arms and praying with all my might that I wouldn't tip over.) I went out in the first round of the eighth grade spelling bee on the word "whack," a defeat my father forces me to relive every time the words "whack," "spelling," or "big fat loser" come up.

And every single year of my high school existence, I was slighted at the Aurora High School Academic Awards, where I should have been the rightful winner of the "Outstanding English Student" award, but never was, possibly because it was rigged by Bernie Keister, my mortal enemy, but I don't really want to get into that now, except to say that I hope Bernie Keister develops a disease that makes him bald. Moreso.

Point is, I've never won anything.

Until last Saturday.

The scene: Wheeling Downs, a quaint dog track just east of our fair state. The dog: Mocan Rightaway, a puny dog with the look of crazed terror in its eye-- the perfect combo for a win, plus the fact that it relieved itself just before running, making it lighter and less, um, preoccupied.

Mocan Rightaway came in second place, winning me a whopping $6.30 on a $3 bet.

And that was just the start.

I took one of my crisp new $1 bills into the casino for my first taste of legal gambling, not counting strip poker and multiple choice tests. And with that $1, I won-- get this-- $25!

Twenty-five dollars might not sound like a lot to win, but to a perennial loser, it was more than a big jackpot, it was a vindication, a payback. A chance to wave my newfound wealth in Amy's face and chant "I win, you lose!" Which I did. Repeatedly.

Now, I can't be stopped. I've already won two bottles of Sprite in the past day. And I intend to win more-- I intend to go on Jeopardy!

This has been my goal in life since I was approximately three months old. But, given my losing tendencies, I never thought it possible. With my luck, I assumed, I would get categories like "15th Century Furniture" and "Biblical Men Named Vern," and Alex Trebeck would laugh me off the stage, and I'd be barred from ever appearing on another game show, even Match Game or The Price is Right.

But I think I could pull it off now. I've always had the wealth of useless knowledge necessary to propel myself to the heights of Jeopardy! fame (what was Botticelli's mother's maiden name? I know.) And now I have the winning streak I need.

And when Alex is interviewing me, I intend to look right into the camera, wink, and say "Bernie Keister-- I win, you lose!"