It doesn't matter that I'm American. It doesn't matter that I follow politics. It doesn't matter that I grew up in DC and ate, drank, slept and shit politics. It doesn't matter that I've worked on American political campaigns. Heinz knows better.

"Wanna bet?"

He decided to repeat the same shit that the Clinton supporters finally stopped saying Saturday afternoon.

"€100. I'm telling you now that whoever the VP will be, it won't be Clinton."

He started to stick out his hand and thought it over for a second.

He explained how he'd already lost €100 to Greg, a physicist who sometimes talks with Heinz over a few beers. Greg said that it wasn't going to be Clinton back in January. Heinz never learns.

"Tell you what. I'll give you 2:1. If Clinton becomes VP, you get €100 from me. If not, I only get €50 from you."

He repeated it back to me and I confirmed. He was almost drooling; it was like watching a really bad con man trying not to scare me off before he could get me to shake hands in acceptance of the terms. If Tex Avery had drawn him there'd be slot machine wheels in his eyes.

We shook on it.

I then tried to explain to him that it was already over with the idea that Clinton would be VP, that her camp had already announced she wasn't seeking the slot. I offered to let him cancel the bet and show him on-line. He steadfastly refused.

Fifty smackers for me. But making Heinz eat crow is even more rewarding.