With apologies to Frank Sinatra, who is dead and can’t sue me, I am the chairman of the board. And I’m not just singing my own praises.

After decades of failing miserably at board games, one of which had such a monopoly on me that I went directly to jail, I am game to announce that I recently emerged triumphant in not one but two exciting games of bingo.

Best of all, I dethroned my mother, Rosina, who at 101 years old is a bona fide bingo champion.

Mom doesn’t employ gamesmanship, or even gameswomanship, but she did use talent, experience and a bit of luck to win so many bingo games when she was in a rehab facility that she was asked to give everyone else a chance.

“In other words,” explained Mom, “they didn’t want me to play anymore.”

Now she is back home, where I found myself competing with her in a big bingo bash.

The odds were against me, even though I am very odd, because of my inglorious history of losing at board and card games.

Over the years, I have suffered defeat at the hands of friends, neighbors, children and grandchildren, as well as my wife, Sue, and, of course, my mother.

Sue’s late grandmother regularly beat me in Scrabble, but only because she was still alive at the time. When my two daughters were in grade school, they beat me, too.

When I played Sue, I cheated by making up words. And I still lost.

I have been crushed in Candy Land by my grandchildren, which was sweet justice. They have also trounced me in Monopoly, thus accounting for my status as a jailbird.

Because I have a checkered past, I have lost in — you guessed it! — chess.

No, sorry, I mean checkers. That other board game has given me chess pains.

I suffered my greatest humiliation when I was beaten in a blackjack tournament by my dog.

In each game, I dealt Lizzie two cards, one up, the other down, and asked, “Hit?” or “Stay?” She gave me her paw to indicate which one she wanted.

To make a long story even more pathetic, we won nine games each. In the deciding game, Lizzie stayed at 20. I had 17. I took a card. It was a jack. I busted. Lizzie won.

After that, I refused to play her in Scrabble.

I even tried to get on “Wheel of Fortune” but bombed on the test, thus saving letter-perfect Vanna White and then-host Pat Sajak the shame of having me on the show.

But this latest competition, with defending champ Mom in bingo, broke my losing streak.

Also playing were Marilyn, one of my mother’s caring and giving caregivers, and my sister Susan.

Each of us got a card with “BINGO” across the top and 25 numbers, five across and down. We also got a bunch of colored chips. Mom was the caller.

She spun the roller cage containing the bingo balls and called out, “B-6.”

I had it.

“Do you know what comes before B-5?” I asked.

“What?” Mom wondered.

“B-4,” I announced.

Everyone groaned.

It went on like this for the entire game, until Mom called, “I-16.”

“Bingo!” I shouted, completing my diagonal sweep.

I was the new champ.

“Let’s play another game,” Mom said, looking to take back her crown.

“You’re on,” I responded, rising (or, rather, sitting) to the challenge.

We all got new cards, but I won again when Mom called, “G-53.”

“Bingo!” I shouted.

I was close to winning the third game, needing just one more letter-and-number combo, but Susan shouted, “Bingo!”

Just like that, my winning streak was over.

“I hope,” Mom said, “you don’t have to wait until you’re 101 to be a bingo champ again.”

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