Anyone who has ever placed a bet knows the pain of coming so close. For me, it became a pattern. Every weekend, I would analyze matches carefully, follow form, injuries, and statistics.
My predictions were accurate almost perfect. The problem was always the same: one goal. One late equalizer. One red card. One missed penalty. I didn’t lose badly; I lost painfully.
Friends even joked that I was cursed. They copied my slips and removed just one match and won. I stayed behind, watching my balance drain while my confidence slowly disappeared. It wasn’t about greed anymore; it was about frustration.
How could someone be right so often and still never win? I took breaks, changed strategies, and even stopped for a while. When I returned, the same thing happened again. Near-wins. Constant heartbreak.
It felt like luck intentionally avoided me. I started asking myself hard questions. Was it really just bad luck? Or was there something deeper blocking my breakthrough?
The turning point came after a particularly painful loss where all matches won except one that conceded in the 89th minute. I felt drained, angry, and embarrassed.
