Nat Geo Wrote About Sports Betting, So I Turned My Lens Inward

Even National Geographic is piling on the world of sports betting.

In an April article, the magazine detailed everything everyone else has detailed – problem gambling, the explosion of sports betting, young men and their issues, etc., etc., etc.

Again: National freaking Geographic, the magazine (and company) known for wildlife photography and nature documentaries, saw fit to tackle … sports betting.

Insert face-palm emoji.

Well, I’ve decided to fight back.

If a wildlife photography magazine can write a story about sports betting, then a sports betting website can run a series of wildlife photographs.

And so, I present to you a look at a gambler in the wild. (While you read, I highly recommend you do so in the voice of Sir David Attenborough, as that was the prompt I gave the chatbot to help me punch up the prose.)

Native territory

We turn our trained eyes upon the gambler in his native territory, hunched before the luminous screens that are the modern-day campfires of his nomadic tribe.

This particular gambler, caught in an unflattering angle that does not highlight his most photogenic aspect, is nonetheless a sight to behold as he meticulously weighs his options.

His concentration is laser-focused on a  DFS slate — those daily fantasy sports battlegrounds where reputations and fortunes are made or lost with each digital joust.

Curiously, we note that his dual-screen dominion displays identical images, suggesting a ritualistic practice or perhaps a superstition unique to this subset of the gambling fraternity.

Mating dance

In the perpetual dance between fortune’s fickle tides and the gambler’s insatiable hunger, we bear witness to an age-old ritual play out before our eyes.

For here, ensconced in his natural habitat, one fearless specimen boldly disregards the presence of his mate in pursuit of his eternal quarry — shipping a GPP.

To the untrained observer, such severe disregard for one’s mate might be interpreted as callous indifference or a troubling lapse of familial duty. Yet we know better than to apply our pedestrian social mores to the gambler.

No, what we are bearing witness to is a profound expression of the gambler’s unconditional devotion to his austere calling — a full-bodied immersion in the pure ether of probability so complete that all temporal demands upon his psyche must yield before it.

Hot dog

In the harsh, unforgiving environs that provide the theater of gambler operations, we haplessly stumble upon a most undignified display.

Caught in an unguarded moment, bereft of the masterly poise and calculation that defines his ilk, this lone gambler has been rudely ambushed by that most ancient of foes — a rogue splatter of mustard.

And how does this proud embodiment of the gambler spirit react to this indignity? With an instinctive, almost visceral maneuver that harkens back to the gambler’s primitive evolutionary roots.

Unhesitatingly, he employs his sweat-stained plumage that protects him from the elements to wage battle against the offensive yellow invader.

It is a drastic tactic, sacrificing valuable camouflage for the sake of restoring his imperiled dignity in the unblinking gaze of our documentary lens.

Anger management

The humid evening air hangs thick with tension as we stumble upon a most fascinating display in the gamblers’ arena. For here, one of their seasoned warriors expresses a primal reaction that transcends the boundaries of language itself.

We observe in respectful silence as he vents through a ritualistic series of grunts and furrowed grimaces. Each straining sinew and taut muscle fiber speaks volumes of the singular dedication and primal passion that courses through the veins of these supreme opportunists. (He’s watching something called the “UFL.”)

Though his rage simmers white-hot in this moment, we know the spirit of the true gambler can never be permanently scorched. Like the fabled phoenix, he will rise again from the ashes of this skirmish, ever-eager to rejoin the eternal hunt.

At rest

Here we observe the noble gambler in his natural habitat, resting after an arduous day’s hunt. The hour is late, the night well-worn, yet his instincts remain ever-vigilant. At this hallowed hour of 3 a.m., we find him carefully monitoring live odds.

His piercing gaze is fixed upon the clash between the titans of Liaoning and Guangdong of the Chinese Basketball Association.

Liaoning, the underdogs, trail by three at the mid-hunt pause, yet the gamblers’s finely-tuned intuition senses opportunity. The odds have shifted, presenting Liaoning at a tantalizing +200 to claim ultimate victory over their foes.

With the practiced patience of his kind, the gambler bides his time, weighing the circumstances and judging the moment to strike. For in his world, fortune favors the bold, the calculating, those who can read the signs that escape lesser beings. We can but watch in hushed reverence as this majestic specimen decides his next fateful move.