Author's Note:
I saw a few comments saying the last couple of chapters felt a little too much like a canon rehash, and honestly, you're not wrong lol. I wanted to keep the pilot's essence intact because that first episode is such an important foundation for the characters, the tone, and the whole dynamic of the series.
I also know there are quite a few readers here who have never actually watched the show, so staying close to the original pilot felt like the best way to introduce everyone to the world before things really start changing.
After the next chapter onward, though, the differences from canon are going to become more and more noticeable, even if I still keep some of the show's general structure as a backbone.
And if you've never seen the series, I seriously recommend it. It's honestly one of the best sitcoms ever made.
...
The living room was illuminated only by the flicker of the television screen.
Charlie and Jake were slouched on the sofa, watching a late-season MLB matchup between the New York Yankees and the Boston Red Sox.
Charlie took a swig of his beer. "I put a thousand bucks on the Yankees to cover the spread."
"They are probably not going to win," Jake said, his eyes glued to a book he had resting on his lap.
Charlie scoffed. "What? The Red Sox are starting a rookie pitcher. The Yankees will win."
"You don't know that," Jake replied neutrally. "It's just probability. You gotta calculate the variables; bullpen fatigue, historical matchups, weather patterns, and then you arrive at a percentage of likelihood. Statistically, Boston has the edge tonight."
Plus, I already know the future, Jake thought to himself, turning a page.
"That's just nonsense," Charlie said, waving off the kid's logic. "If that were true, betting wouldn't even make sense. It's about gut feeling, kid."
"Okay," Jake said, simply shrugging his shoulders.
Two hours later, the Yankees blew a three-run lead in the bottom of the ninth. Jake ended up being perfectly right.
"Pfft. Lucky guess," Charlie muttered, aggressively clicking the remote to change the channel.
He switched over to a late-night West Coast NBA game: the Los Angeles Lakers versus the Sacramento Kings.
"I bet on the Lakers for this one," Charlie said, side-eyeing his nephew.
Jake glanced up at the screen. "The Kings will probably win."
"Yeah, right," Charlie snorted, but he sat forward, watching the screen much more seriously this time.
By the fourth quarter, the Lakers' offense collapsed. The Kings won by eight points.
"Oh, come on!" Charlie yelled, throwing a decorative pillow across the room. He ran a hand over his face, doing the mental math of how much he was down for the week. He turned slowly to Jake.
"Alright... how about the USC versus Notre Dame game tomorrow?"
"I don't know," Jake said, not looking up from his book. "How much do you have?"
Charlie blinked. "What? Do you want to charge me for guessing my bets? No way. You're ten."
"Alright," Jake said effortlessly, flipping another page.
The silence stretched for three agonizing minutes. Charlie bounced his leg nervously, watching the post-game highlights before finally breaking. His patience had thinned out completely.
"Alright, how much?"
"How much do you have in your wallet?" Jake asked.
Charlie grumbled, pulling his leather wallet from his back pocket and thumbing through the bills. "Three hundred bucks."
"I'll take it," Jake said, holding out a small hand.
Charlie glared at him but slapped the three hundred dollars into Jake's palm.
"USC wins," Jake stated flatly, pocketing the cash.
When USC utterly dismantled Notre Dame by exactly fourteen points, Charlie jumped off the couch and cheered so loudly he nearly woke the neighbors. He practically threw himself back onto the sofa next to Jake, his eyes wide with the manic desperation of a degenerate gambler on a hot streak.
"Okay, okay! What about the Monday Football game? Raiders versus Chargers?!" Charlie asked breathlessly.
"You know that's not how probability works, Uncle Charlie. I can still be wrong due to statistical variance, and—"
"Yeah, whatever you say, kid! Who is going to win?!"
Jake pretended to think deeply. Internally, he accessed Argus.
"The Raiders," Jake announced.
Charlie didn't waste a single second. He grabbed his flip phone and immediately speed-dialed his bookie.
"Hey, Mickey. Yeah, it's Charlie. Put five dimes on the Raiders. Yeah, five thousand."
As Charlie was confirming the bet, Jake calmly reached into his pocket and pulled out a thick wad of cash. He counted out $2,300 and set it on the coffee table.
"Tell him to add this to the bet," Jake said.
Charlie stared at the massive stack of hundreds and fifties sitting on his table. He slowly lowered the phone. "Where the hell did you get that kind of money?!"
"What are you, the IRS?" Jake asked, fixing Charlie with a deadpan stare. "Just place the bet."
The next morning, the replay of the game was playing on the television. The Raiders had dominated from the first quarter.
When the final whistle blew on the broadcast, Charlie and Jake both erupted. Charlie pumped his fists in the air, while Jake gave a rare, highly satisfied grin as they high-fived.
"Yes!" Charlie shouted. "You were right, kid!"
The front door opened, and Alan walked in, carrying a bag of groceries. He stopped, staring at the bizarre sight of his hedonistic brother and his usually stoic son celebrating wildly over a football game.
"What's going on?" Alan asked, narrowing his eyes.
Charlie froze, quickly composing himself. "Nothing! We're just... I'm really happy."
"I didn't think you were a fan of the Oakland Raiders, Jake," Alan noted, highly suspicious.
"Well, Dad, it's a pretty good sport," Jake replied smoothly, picking up his book again as if nothing had happened.
Alan squinted at them, clearly smelling a rat. However, the crushing weight of his impending divorce, the fact that he was currently living with his brother, and his ongoing feud with Judith quickly pushed the issue out of his mind.
He had far too many other things to worry about to investigate his son's sudden, suspicious passion for professional football.
By late night, Charlie was hosting a get-together with his usual crowd of degenerates, while Alan was out at a highly anticipated dinner with Judith.
The living room was clouded with cigar smoke, the clinking of glasses, and the heavy silence of a high-stakes poker game.
"You can win, Uncle Charlie. Call it," Jake whispered, standing behind Charlie's chair and analyzing the table with cold precision.
"You sure?" Charlie muttered, glancing at the pile of chips in the center.
"I'm certain," Jake replied.
Charlie threw his chips in. The dealer flipped the cards, and Charlie scooped a massive pot. He turned and enthusiastically high-fived his ten-year-old nephew.