Bingo

Oh yes, you heard me.

The sport that a lot of beings forget about. And when I say sport, I mean blood-boiling, sweat-inducing, adrenaline-pumping athletics of chance, mind and stab of the blotter.

Everyone seems to be under the impression that Bingo is just some feeble pass-time for women of a certain age (in the prime of life), but let me tell you - everybody goes. From youngsters to the elderly - boys, girls, women, men... a few weeks ago I even saw a big, burly, leather-coated biker sat clutching his pens and booklet.

I join Laura and her auntie, mum, nan and cousin every now and then for a game down town, and it's such great fun! It gives us all a chance to have a natter and a good catch up too, which is nice. We order our drinks, and then sit with booklets open and dobbers poised, ready for the chant of the amusing caller's cockney tinted call of the numbers.

Sure, it starts all light-hearted, with a tut and a hearty laugh at every missed 'Bingo!', but as the prize money increases, so does the competitiveness. The jolly giggles turn from a: "Ha ha ha ha ha ha!", to a simple: "Ha." - which then deteriorates into a forced smile, half smirk, and finally into that wrinkled brow, focused stare and twitching straight mouth as things get serious...

It's the last game of the night - with 3 sections of play to have the chance of winning: One line, two lines, and then the Full House.

The money is raised for the One Liner from £10 to £30.
The caller starts calling...
"69, 42, 5 - on it's own - number 5, 51, 17..."
Nope, still no lines.
Not even 2 numbers together.
That's fine.
Absolutely fine.
Noooooo worries.

"24, 65, 63, all the 3s - 33..."
Then, somebody from across the hall calls: "Here!"

Drat.

S'alright, was only the One Line. Only £30.
Nothing to worry about.

Prize money is raised to £60 for the next play.

I play the 2 Liner with an open mind; sure, it'd be nice to win... It'd be fantastic, actually, but the main thing is to have fun... And fill up a box in preparation for the next, bigger game...
"Here!"

Okay, that's okay.
That's no problem.
Here it is.
The Full House.
The big one.

My paw clenches tighter around the dobber pen, and my ears ram forward ready.
I'm perspiring a lot more than should be considered normal.

We await for the caller to announce the new prize amount; he jokes, playing with us and laughing joyousely at a woman on the front table who is threatening him, only half-joking.

We expect a humble £80, or perhaps even £100 if we're lucky...

Finally, the caller announces: "And, last game of the night, prize money is £200!"

I freeze.
£200.
200 whole pounds.
200 British pounds sterling. (Why they named their coins after a bird, I'll never know. Do humans not know that birds aren't circular, nor branded with latin?")

Think of all the creme eggs and smarties that could buy! I could even purchase a new basket to sleep in... or a new brush made from whale bone (Blades of Glory reference there)... I could buy HUNDREDS of juice boxes!!

Yessssssss, c'mon baby, I've got boxes that are filled with blue blobs - a few numbers away from that nifty jackpot.

He begins: "90, 81, all the legs - legs 11 (audience whistles), 31, 37, 49..."
Nope.
It's okay, it's early yet.
"61, 2, 22..."
No.
That's okay.
That's fine.
"21, 53..."
C'MON!
"75..."
Oh.. Hang on...
"86, 63, 7..."
Yes... Yes...
"52..."
Two numbers to go!!
"29, 1, 19, 38..."
ONE NUMBER TO GO!

My heart pounds - my perspiration is severely matting my fur, encouraging new levels of dehydration. I picture the win; clutching my booklet and leaping up with a fantastic punch of the air - confetti fluttering down in colours of the rainbow, and Laura and I jump up and down exctatically screaming and hugging; the audience standing to applaud and cheer, as I open my mouth and yell that glorious, empowered, victorious call of--

"Bingo!"

WHAT.

I throw my paws down on the table and glare at the woman across the room who is waving her book; her friends clapping cheerily. There is a groan filtering through the audience, but they all clap and smile tiredly as they ready themselves for home.

I stare at Laura in disbelief, taking the last swig of my tea to calm my nerves.
"One number, One number! Can you even believe that?!"
She laughs and pats me fondly on the head. "Better luck next time, kid."
I gather up my things, thinking of the dozens of juice boxes and creme eggs fading from view, when the Caller, after handing out the winnings, announces: "And, just to annoy ya - here's what the next number would'a been!"

The number displays.

I look at my booklet.

The caller still chuckles: "Bet some of you are--"

He is cut off mid-sentence, as for some reason a polystyrene hot drinks cup conks him on the head.