A Good Bet

My father was a bookmaker. Not like someone who binds books, but a guy who makes book. A bookie. Back before there was a government run lottery, guys like my dad were the lottery. It was just one of those things around the neighborhood... some of the delivery guys would even take bets for this or that bookie.

You would think that should make me someone who's interested in gambling, or, at least, someone who has some kind of unique insight when it comes to making bets. It does not.

Every year when the Super Bowl rolls around, when discussions of prop bets and point spreads reaches a crescendo, I'm forced to acknowledge just how little I know about the family business.

I'm the kind of person who used to drive to Vegas to see a show and not place a single bet. I always loved hanging out in Sin City the first weekend of the NCAA Men's Basketball Tournament, but that was because I could walk into the sports books and see all the games at once. I don't think I ever actually made a bet on a single one of the games. I did place a Super Bowl bet one of the times that I was in Vegas around the time of the game. I lost.

Other than the fact that I know what a point spread is and I know how to correctly use the terms "vig" and "moneyline," I have no idea how to gamble. Not just sports betting and the like... any gambling. I suck at cards. I have to think hard to remember the rules of craps... and, I only know what I do because there's an Abbott & Costello routine about it. The randomness of a roulette wheel appeals to me... until I lose twice and then I'm done. I won once on a slot machine and stopped gambling for the rest of the day.

As a toddler, I was at a horse racing track so often in the summer that I still remember the office secretary who would watch me when my dad got sick of having to keep track of me. The smell of cheap cigars and stale beer still makes me feel all warm inside. Do I have any idea what horse I should be looking at on a racing form? Nope, none at all.

I've spent a chunk of my life writing about sports, but I can't pick against the spread to save my life. Not on football. Not on basketball. And, with apologies to Pete Rose, I don't have the first clue how you're supposed to bet on baseball.

I've never won an office pool. I'm bad at fantasy sports. If they were to invent a new way to gamble tomorrow, I'm sure I would be terrible with it.

I don't think that I'm missing out on anything. In addition to being a bookie, my dad was also a bit of degenerate gambler. There was either a lot of money around when I was little, or no money. I still remember the one Christmas Eve when my father hit a decent score and then bought me a bunch of toys at the last minute. I was confused about why there was only one year that Santa didn't wrap anything. But, he also took every bit of birthday money that I got and bet with it.

Still, when I tell people about my dad, I always have that moment of embarrassment where I'm afraid that I'm going to be asked about gambling strategies or for an explanation of how baccarat works (I've watched the stupid video on that in Vegas hotel rooms 15 times and I still don't understand that game, but it always looks cool).

I'm sure that I'm better off being a semi-well-adjusted, responsible adult than I am being too much like my dad, but I still wish I had paid a little more attention during those first seven years so that I could at least fake things a little better. ("little better," son of a bookie... get it? Yeah, well, they can't all be winners.)