This will give you an idea why I do not make my living in Las Vegas.

There is a certain allure to gambling. At least for most people. Not for me. There is only this certain truth: No matter what the wager I will come out on the losing end.

Don’t believe me? Consider this.

Saturday I’m at a graduation party. Of course, Saturday also was Belmont Day, with horse-racing lovers expecting the first triple crown in decades.

My family has sort of a romantic affinity to horse racing, in no small part because it was near and dear to our father’s heart.

So my brother decides to have a blind draw to “spice” things up a tad as race time nears. He threw the names of the nine horses into a hat and we make a blind draw.

My selection? Of course I drew Big Brown, the prohibitive favorite. That drew an immediate groan from my wife, who already saw seeing the handwriting on the wall for the horse who had yet to really be challenged and had blown away just about every field he faced.

Me? I’m already trying to figure out what to do with my little jackpot. Geez, even Big Brown’s main challenger, Casino Drive, was scratched.

You know what happens from here. Big Brown is never really in it. His rider actually pulls him up late in the race. He finishes dead last.

Not only am I forced to endure another lecture from my wife on why she has such a distaste for horse racing (thankfully there didn’t appear to be anything physically wrong with the horse), but my winnings just disappeared in front of my eyes.

That’s about my luck. Want to hear my prediction for the Phils? I didn’t think so.