There is no thrill left in putting 20 G on the playoff games, sitting at a $1,000,000 poker table, or following the Great Karl Wallenda over the high wire of the Niagara Falls.  After this week we have to up the stakes. 

The odds at auction time were getting worse, six degrees Fahrenheit, a 20 KMH wind coming from the north, wind chill who knows what (ink freezing in the pen where it would only write half a number), snow and ice on everything and couldn't use water to clean anything as it only makes it worse on the frozen rags, nobody, nobody in the building, simulcast locking up (probably because the computer got frost bite), cars lost by drivers all over the 200 acre lot, snot freezing up as our people courageously did everything they could to make them all sale ready, dead batteries, out of gas, sliding into one another, and off we go.  No turning back or quitting with sore hands or frozen balls, 1,300 units (and 1,300 more in the pipeline for next week), every one of them paid for (average cost north of $22,000 per unit, do the math) on the block. 

For a guy that, as a kid, grew up with Kellogg Corn Flake carton my mother cut out to fill the holes in the sneakers, and on a good day had Spam for dinner (which was prime rib for us, didn’t know no difference, (still don’t, I like Spam better except they stopped selling it because they figured out what’s in it ain’t fit for humans)) this ain’t no joke. 

Like magic sold all but a few of the first 100, we were at 96.9% but that’s like saying because you scored on your first possession, hit on your first hand, or can turn around on the high wire after the first step.  Feels good but can’t even think about it.  Sold, sell the bitch, sell it for the next five hours is what we need.  Three hours in we were still over 95% (these are $20-$60,000 units, not Carriage Trade slugs (no offence Dom, but the 4 G unit is easier to sell in the ice than a $60 G unit), a little different).  You can’t let euphoria set in yet as we ain’t half way done even though the math is happening in my head  the game has really just begun.  It’s not time to sing the victory song.

By the time we get to the heavier cars, $100,000 north, Simulcast blows up, blew a fuse, froze, whatever.  Needless to say I could feel the blood pressure blowing out my eyelashes.  But it’s a new year and I want to stay calm, be nice, act like it don’t matter, it’s just a game, smile, don’t flip out, watch the melt down and don’t get nuts.  This is a perfect time to count the 100 or so units that are lost on the lot.  That probably was a bad idea as well because now I can count my heartbeat in my ears.  By the time it came back on, it felt like a hour, there was still 320 buyers on line, thank you Big Guy in the sky.  On we go and sell straight through till the end, money got thin, we sold anyway. 

I am sure I have to be half nuts, but I swear saying no-sale seems like screaming blasphemy, I just can’t do it without  a degree of disgust, failure, rejection, feeling like a simpleton that is invalid, wearing a bicycle helmet, not eating bacon,  don’t you?  That’s a different topic. 

But it’s all part of the high stakes game we have chosen to play, but it makes all other forms of gambler degenerate behavior seem like a preschool  cookie break.   I was at a casino Friday night looking for some action, I saw some commotion, went to the table, tried to get worked up to jump in.  It felt like diving into a bathtub after cliff face free-fall parachuting for two days. 

God I wish, and my wife wishes it more, that the thrill was gone, or at least starting to go away.  But loading up beyond what is possible, depending on our courageous people to be at my side as we plow into another world record load for this week is very exciting.  The pressure is already mounting and who knows how it’s going to turn out. 

I love the thrill of this.  See you next week with another 1,300 with no safety net.