Bill loved playing games -- board games, dice, cards, darts, betting on the ponies, and most of all getting in your mind. He was like Colombo with that last one. By talking, he could fathom your soul with the responses you gave and gauge your strengths and weakness, all while you had no idea what he was doing. You would think he was just being obnoxious, but he had a method to this madness. He was as sly as an old fox. He would always tell me, “Son, in every game there’s a gimmick. You just need to figure that out, and you’ll win.” His gimmick was to find your weakness and then pound on it until you cried “Uncle.” I used to hate him for this and for the fact that he seemed to always put me down, never acknowledging my accomplishments. But looking back, I see it has made me a stronger man to have learned how not to let others control what I think of myself. When I was 12, he taught me the game of Craps and won all my savings from me, just to teach me that I should never gamble. He would never let you win a game. You had to earn it, and when I started beating him at his own games, his job was done. Now, he could confess his love and pride for me. I learned how not to respond to him in anger, as that only allowed him to control me, and I learned the gimmick in his game. That was the gift he gave me, and I will be forever grateful for that.