I’m nothing if not a team player. When I’m at work, everything I do is for the betterment of journalism.

I seek out answers for listeners’ concerns for the betterment of journalism.

I argue with my editor for the betterment of journalism.

And I gamble for the betterment of journalism.

I’ve worked at WBAP for almost three years and for the first time, I feel like the newsroom is spending an appropriate amount of time gaming.

It all started a couple weeks ago. By now, you’re probably aware that WBAP was purchased by the company that owns KLIF. The news and talk staffs were merged under one roof in Arlington and told not to get comfortable because we would soon be merged under one roof in Victory Park, much to the dismay of our engineers.

I thought an NCAA pool would be an excellent team building activity. For five dollars a person, we would build the kind of camaraderie and trust that could only be matched through years of that thing where you fall backwards and someone catches you.

Of course, betting on the NCAA tournament is illegal. One of my co-workers did a story on it after he filled out his bracket.

The five dollars was simply an administrative fee because our new owners said we were making too many copies of NCAA brackets.

Once the tournament was over, I finally remembered to whom I owed an amount of money equal to 80 percent of the total administrative collection and the other person to whom I owed 20 percent of same. The three of us had lunch last month and they split the bill.

Just as March Madness was giving way to the understated solemnity of the Final Four, the MegaMillions jackpot was surging.

I began making the rounds in our building again.

“Hey, I need five dollars,” I’d say.

“Didn’t I just give you five dollars?” the other person would invariably ask.

“Yes, but I need five more,” I’d explain. “It’s for gambling.”

“The last five dollars was for gambling,” I’d hear.

The discussion would end with the other person handing over five dollars. The fear of being the only person who didn’t win a share of the jackpot always wins over the realization that you’d have a better chance of profiting if you took the five dollars, cut it into pieces and then tried to sell the pieces to a group of innocent but naive Norwegian tourists who think each one will regenerate.

Then we lost.

Everyone lost, though, and the jackpot grew to $600 million, so I started over again.

“Okay, now I know I just gave you five dollars,” everyone said. “Do you even work here?”

The difference this time was my colleague, Mark, who has emerged one of the leading cast members of this blog, thought everyone should have to buy in for $20.

Some others were willing to go as high as $10. Mark supported a system in which each person could buy as many shares as he or she wants for $5 and take a proportionate amount of the winnings.

“I’m not going to let you plot a hostile take-over of the newsroom lottery pool,” I explained. “You’re going to scare off the guys from KLIF.”

“Fine, but I’m buying more tickets on my own,” he continued.

“Okay, I wish you the best of luck,” I said.

But I don’t wish him the best of luck. That jackpot belongs to all of us. People often say they’d quit their job if they won the lottery, but I enjoy my work. Besides, I don’t even know where I’d turn in my resignation. My boss and his boss are both in the pool and I don’t think I’d ever see either of them again if we won.

Of course, we didn’t win the jackpot, but we did win $9, which we’ll reinvest at some point in the future. It’s only a matter of time, now.

Given the success of these recent ventures, I’d probably use my share to finance an underground numbers running operation or floating craps game.

I’d use my position at the station to divert attention from the location of the secret meeting place each week. For our listeners who swear the newsroom has an agenda right now, imagine seeing a headline like this: