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"Most of these letters are about Pats vs. Bills in 1998, honestly." "Yea, that game killed me."

[Ed's note: Magazine senior deputy editor Chad Millman wrote a book called The Odds, about gambling culture. He also oversees The Mag's coverage of sports gambling, among other subjects. In a new feature for The Mag.com, he will take a look at the lives behind those making sport's biggest bets.]

I've only been at this column for a week (we can't even settle on what to call it, yet) but it's exhausting. So let's do a mailbag!

Actually, in the wake of the Steelers-Chargers fiasco, I was moved by the heartbreaking emails you sent in about your tough loss sob stories. So much so I felt compelled to put together a mini Bad Beats Hall of Fame to make everyone feel better (meaning: get some perspective, you degenerates, and try to remember the good sweats). Sure it might seem like I'm lazy and can't think of anything better to write up. But the truth is I think sorrow like this has to be shared, the burden is truly too much for one man. So here goes.

Chris from the smarties at Vegasinsider.com wrote to remind me of this gem: Jacksonville 30, Pittsburgh 21. Sept. 22, 1997.

Playing on a Monday night, the Jags are a three-point favorite. With just a few seconds left on the clock, the Steelers trail 23-21 as their place-kicker, Norm Johnson, lines up for the winning field goal. These are the best moments, really. The game is in hand, nothing can go wrong, just a gimme kick, the coaches shake hands, you cash your ticket. Silly, silly bettor. Johnson's kick is blocked. Still, no worries, right? It's not like anyone is going to bother running it…wait. There's Jags linebacker Chris Hudson! He picks up the ball. No, he's not. He is not running that ball back. Take a freakin' knee man, the game's over. As Hudson gallops by, Bill Cowher is so mad he nearly leaps off the sidelines and levels the player with a forearm shiver. Fifty-eight yards later, Hudson is in the end zone. The Jags easily cover. And Chris weeps.

Scott from Pennsylvania is still bitter about this one: Kansas State 40, Nebraska 30. Nov. 14, 1998.

It had been 29 years since the Cats beat the Huskers. But Kansas State, behind QB Michael Bishop, was loaded and hovered around the top five all season. The Cornhuskers? Not so much. With the Wildcats favored by 10.5 and holding a serious grudge, Scott loads up on the favorites. Look at the stats from that game and you'd think Scott didn't even break a sweat watching his bet. But the numbers lie. With less than a minute to go, the Huskers have the ball, down 34-30. Scott needs some divine intervention, and he gets it.

K-State defensive end Joe Bob Clements forces an Eric Crouch fumble with 15 seconds left. At the Huskers 23, a Wildcat linebacker picks up the ball. Sound familiar? "I get only slightly excited," writes Scott. "Because any football fan knows that taking a knee will end my chances. Apparently this guy wasn't any football fan because the dude was trying to score! I mean he was really trying to score!! Back and forth, pointing out blocks, breaking tackles. I'm going bananas.

"Finally he dives towards the pylon and TOUCHDOWN! TOUCHDOWN! HE DID IT! 40-30 and the PAT to come. But wait. The fans are pouring on to the field. The security guards are no match for the thousands of Wildcat maniacs ripping down both goal posts. The officials confer. They decide, no goal posts, no PAT. The game is called with a few seconds left. Final score 40-30 I lose by half a point. Whenever I finish that story people always say 'Well, that can never happen again!' My response is always the same: 'Wanna bet?'"

My favorite, a game that not only made millions of bettors reconsider their very existence, but also single-handedly changed the rules of the NFL: Pats 25, Bills, 21. Nov. 29, 1998.

In the final minute of the game the Pats, 3.5-point favorites, are down 21-17. Drew Bledsoe throws a pass deep into Bills territory. Officials call it complete, although replays show the receiver, Shawn Jefferson, is out of bounds. But it's 1998. And the zebras don't have the benefit of replay, an experiment that lasted from 1986-1991 and then was scuttled by the owners. (They voted on bringing it back before the 1998 season, but too many moneymen said no. One of replay's most vocal opponents that year: Bills owner Ralph Wilson. Remember this.)

On the next play, with just six seconds left, Bledsoe lofts an up-for-grabs pass into the end zone. Incomplete. Game over, right? Umm, not so fast, fellas. The refs call pass interference on the Bills. Once again, replays show otherwise—the Bills defender actually gets taken out by the Pats receiver.

So the Pats get one more un-timed play. And, wouldn't you know it, Bledsoe tosses a game-winning TD-pass to Ben Coates. The Pats go up 23-21, with a PAT to come, still half a point shy of covering. But normally sleepwalking Bills coach Wade Phillips is apoplectic on the sidelines about the blown calls. As a protest, he pulls his team from the field and refuses to contest the extra point. Instead of kicking, Adam Vinatieri walks the ball in for a two-point conversion. Final score, 25-21, a miracle cover for the Pats and a history-altering game for the league.

The following March, owners vote 28-3 to bring instant replay back beginning in 1999. The man who made the final—and most persuasive—argument on its behalf?

Ralph Wilson.

Bet you've got a great gambling story. Email Chad.

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