There's a specific kind of American tragedy that doesn't involve guns, opioids, or a Cybertruck, and it happened again last week in the great state of Ohio. The Mega Millions drawing for September 11, 2025, came and went, and somewhere between the gas station and the group chat, a whole bunch of Buckeyes learned that their retirement plan was once again a $2 fantasy.
Let's get the boring part out of the way, because I know you're scrolling for the numbers like a raccoon looking for a half-eaten McDouble. The winning numbers for that Tuesday night drawing were 9, 22, 35, 41, 61, and the Mega Ball was 14. The Megaplier, for the three people who actually pay extra for it, was 3x. Nobody in Ohio hit the jackpot. Nobody in America hit the jackpot. The pot rolled over, because of course it did. The universe looked at the collective desperation of a nation and said, "Not today, peasants."
Now, the jackpot for that drawing was sitting at a cool $46 million, which sounds like a lot until you remember that after taxes, annuities, and the inevitable cousin who shows up with a business plan for a vape shop, you're looking at roughly a mid-tier Ohio suburb and a lifetime of people calling you "the lottery guy." Still, for a state that ranks somewhere between "fine" and "why is there a cornfield in my cul-de-sac," $46 million is life-changing money. It's "I can finally move out of Ohio" money. It's "I'll never have to hear about the Bengals blowing a lead again" money.
But here's the thing about the September 11 drawing that really grinds my gears: it was on a Tuesday. Who plays the lottery on a Tuesday? Tuesday is the most nothing day of the week. It's not Monday, so you can't even complain about the weekend being over. It's not Wednesday, so you don't have the sweet relief of hump day. It's just Tuesday, sitting there like a lukewarm cup of coffee. And yet, thousands of Ohioans drove to their local Circle K, bought a ticket, and spent the rest of the night refreshing the lottery website like it was a Tinder match that might actually respond.
The aftermath is always the same. Someone in a Facebook group comments "I knew I should've played my grandma's birthday numbers." Someone else posts a screenshot of their ticket with the caption "so close" when they only matched the Mega Ball and won two bucks. And then there's the guy who swears he was "one number away" from millions, which is technically true in the same way that I'm one number away from being a billionaire if you count my bank account balance as a number.
The real winners, as always, are the gas stations and the Ohio Lottery Commission. They got their cut, you got a piece of paper that's now worth less than the receipt it was printed on, and life goes on. The next drawing is Friday, because the house always gives you just enough hope to keep the wheel spinning.
So congratulations, Ohio. You didn't win. You probably didn't even come close. But hey, at least you didn't have to share the jackpot with anyone, because there was no jackpot to share.
**Opinion:** The lottery is a tax on people who are bad at math, and Ohio just voluntarily audited itself. If you played, I hope you enjoyed your $2 therapy session, because that's all you bought. Better luck next time, which is every Tuesday and Friday until the heat death of the universe.