My father did not care about pro football.

If the Cleveland Browns were on TV, he might stop in the living room for a few minutes to watch Jim Brown carry the ball. But that was pretty much the extent of his interest in the National Football League.

On the other hand, when I was about 13, I was a devoted fan. So when someone at my dad's workplace started.a weekly NFL predictions contest/betting pool, my father picked up an entry form and then passed it along to me.

Though technically illegal I'm sure, there wasn't much money involved. Still, I agonized over my picks.

And we won -- two or three weeks in a row, if I remember correctly.

My father, who had been quite open at his workplace about the fact that his teenage son was handicapping the games, delighted in reporting how my forecasting success really annoyed a few of his colleagues.

Looking back, I can only conclude that the people who got their noses out of joint were individuals for whom my father held little regard.

Under pressure from sore losers, the pool administrator eventually changed the rules. Something about entrants henceforth having to fill out their own forms.

My dad and I considered that weaselly change to be our ultimate triumph.

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