by Lou Mindar
“I’m going to head back to St. Louis tomorrow.”
“I thought you weren’t leaving until Wednesday.”
“There’s something I have to take care of,” Scott said. He didn’t want to try to explain that he was antsy to carry on with his second chance at life.
His dad frowned but didn’t ask any questions.
On the trip back to St. Louis, Scott thought again about his choices. He now knew that Kathy wasn’t the reason for his second chance, but that didn’t mean that Melanie was. Maybe it was Holly or Liz.
It was a silly, never-ending argument. Who could know if the decisions they were making in life were the right ones?
Chapter 12
January 1984
Scott decided it was time to stop questioning the reason for his do-over. He could go his whole life trying to figure it out, but he knew he would never understand the answer. It was up to him to decide, and the decision he was going with was to build a life with Melanie. It was time to move forward.
What wasn’t clear to him was what he was going to do with his life. He was in law school, following the same path he had followed in his previous life with Kathy. He hadn’t particularly liked being an attorney in his first life. Why do the same thing in his second?
One thing Scott knew for sure was that he wanted to live a financially stable life. As an attorney, he had worked long, stressful hours, but the money was good.
Then there was the matter of his knowledge of the future. He knew the outcome to many sporting events, and he could turn that knowledge into cash. The only problem was, he wasn’t sure about the outcome of any games until later in the year. He hated waiting, but he had to learn how to place bets and develop some connections with bookies anyway.
In January, Melanie’s parents invited her and Scott to their Super Bowl party. Melanie’s dad, Bob Abbott, was excited because he had bet five hundred dollars on Washington to beat the Oakland Raiders. Most people thought Washington was the better team, but Vegas odds-makers only made them a three-point favorite to win the game. Bob acted like the bet was a sure thing.
“Oakland doesn’t stand a chance,” Bob said. “Not against that Washington defense.”
Scott was less interested in the bet itself and wanted to know more about how Bob had placed the bet. “Where do you place a bet like that,” he asked.
Bob furrowed his brow and stared at Scott. “You’re not planning to turn me into the cops, are you Scott?” He laughed and slapped Scott on the back.
Scott laughed. “I’ve just never placed a bet, and I’m not sure how it works.”
Bob lowered his voice and took a step closer to Scott. “There’s a guy at the country club that arranges everything. If you ever want to place a bet, let me know. I’ll take care of it.”
Oakland beat Washington 38-9. Bob didn’t want to discuss the bet anymore. He had taken a beating and wasn’t as excited about gambling as he had been.
Scott picked up a few books on sports betting at the library. Most were on horse racing, something he knew very little about, but he did find a couple of books about betting on other sports, particularly football and basketball. One of those had a chapter about how to bet on baseball games.
As he read, a tall, gangly guy with a big mop of black, curly hair approached him. When he got close enough, the guy picked up one of the books off the table and looked at the cover.
“Are you planning on placing some bets?” he asked.
Who was this guy? He wasn’t sure what to say. “What?”
“Are you going to bet on some games?”
Scott reached over and took the book from the guy. “I don’t know.” He stuffed the book into his backpack. “I’m just trying to learn about sports betting.”
There was a moment of uncomfortable silence as both men stared at each other.
“I didn’t mean to be rude. I’m Randy Fowler. I’m a third-year law student.” Randy extended his hand.
There was something about Randy’s voice that caught Scott’s ear. He had an accent, but it wasn’t foreign. “I’m Scott Thompson.” Scott shook Randy’s hand then began collecting his books and putting them in his backpack.
“I’ve done a little betting myself,” Randy said. “I’d be happy to help you. What is it you’re trying to learn?”
“Nothing in particular.” Scott wasn’t sure why he felt the need to be secretive. “I’ve just never bet on sports and I’d like to understand it better.”
“I could help you with that,” Randy said.
Scott identified Randy’s accent. It was from the beaches of southern California. It reminded him of the Spicoli character in Fast Time at Ridgemont High. The offer of help was strange coming from a guy Scott didn’t know. Maybe this Randy character could help him.
“You want to teach me how to bet on sports? Why? What’s in it for you?”
Randy shrugged. “I know something that you want to know. Why wouldn’t I help?”
“It just seems weird.”
“I guess it’s your lucky day.” Randy flashed a big, goofy smile. “You know what they say, when the student is ready, the teacher will appear.”
“Who says that?” Scott asked.
“Says what?”
“That thing you just said about the teacher.”
“You’ve never heard that before?” Randy asked. “It’s a Buddhist saying.”
“So, you’re a Buddhist gambling teacher?” Scott was teasing. He wasn’t sure why. He liked the guy and found it easy to give him a hard time.
“Yeah, sort of, I guess.” Randy seemed a little flustered. “Do you want to learn or not?”
“When do we start?”
“Let’s meet right here tomorrow at three.”
They agreed and shook hands.
Chapter 13
January 1984
Scott sat at the familiar table in the library and waited. It was three o’clock and Randy was nowhere to be found. Scott pulled a book out of his backpack. He had an exam in Civil Procedure the following day. He tried to read, but he was too distracted.
He couldn’t get past the first paragraph. He drummed his fingers on the table and stared out the window. It was nearly 3:30 in the afternoon when he gave up, threw his books into his backpack, and stood.
“Are you ready to leave?” Randy asked coming down the aisle. Before Scott could answer, Randy added, “Great, I could use a drink. Follow me.”
They went out into the St. Louis winter and walked two blocks to a bar called the St. Louis Surf Club. The afternoon crowd was sparse. Several people greeted Randy. Scott followed his new friend to a table in the corner.
“Can I get you a drink?” Randy asked.
“I thought we were going to talk about sports betting.”
“We are, but that doesn’t mean we can’t have a drink,” he said. “Want anything?”
“Sure, a beer,” Scott said.
Randy motioned to a waitress who stood near the bar, and she brought over two bottles of Bud Light. The bar was decked out like a beach shack. Ocean waves were painted on the walls, and the waitresses were dressed in one-piece lifeguard swimsuits. The beach feel was a nice contrast to the cold winter outside.
“Okay, now what is it that you want to know?” Randy asked.
“I need to know everything. I’ve never bet on baseball before and I need to learn how.”
Randy sat back in his chair and took a drink from his beer. He looked at Scott with one eye half shut, like he was trying to figure Scott out.
“You just told me two things that surprise me,” he said. “First, you want to bet on baseball. Interesting.” He took another drink from his beer. “The second thing is that you need to learn. Let’s start with the first point. Why baseball?”
“I just know more about baseball than I do the other sports.”
“That’s good,” he said. “In my opinion, it’s easier to make a profit betting on baseball than it is any of the other sports. But most people d
on’t bet on baseball because it’s a little more complicated.”
“Complicated how?”
“Most sports, like football or basketball, have a point spread. Let’s say the Cowboys are playing the Giants and the Cowboys are a three-point favorite. If you bet on the Cowboys, they have to win by more than three points for you to win. And if you do win the bet, you double your money. Bet a hundred bucks, you get two hundred back.”
Scott nodded and sipped his beer.
Randy ordered two more beers without asking Scott if he wanted one. Randy had finished his first, but Scott’s was only half gone.
“Baseball is a little different. Instead of a point spread, you have a run line. The run line is a combination of the point spread and the money line.” Randy looked at Scott to see if he understood. He didn’t.
“The easiest way to understand the money line is to think of it as the amount of money you’ll have to bet to win a hundred dollars, assuming you’re betting on the favorite, or the amount of money you’ll win if you bet a hundred dollars on the underdog.”
Scott shook his head. “Can you give me an example?”
Randy took a long pull on his beer and leaned forward, putting his elbows on the table. “Let’s say the Cardinals and Cubs are playing. The Cardinals are the favorite and the Cubs are the underdog, which they would be because the Cubs suck.” He laughed.
“Hey, I’m a Cubs fan.” Scott feigned being insulted.
“If I had known that before, I wouldn’t have wasted my time on you,” he said. “But we’ve already started, so let’s move on.” Randy took another long pull from his beer. There was an excitement in his eyes. “Let’s say that the money line is Cubs plus 120, Cardinals minus 130. You know that the Cubs are the underdog because they have a plus number, so if you bet a hundred bucks on the Cubs and they win, you get back a hundred and twenty bucks. But if you bet on the Cardinals, you’d have to bet a hundred and thirty bucks in order to win a hundred. Capisce?”
“I think so, but what about the run line?” Scott asked.
“That’s easy. For almost every game, the run line is one-and-a-half runs. So, in our example, if you bet on the Cardinals, they would have to win the game by more than a run-and-a-half for you to win the bet.”
“Okay, I think I understand.” Scott held up both hands. “In your example, if I bet on the Cubs and they win by any number of runs or they lose by less than one-and-a-half runs, I win a hundred and twenty dollars for every one hundred dollars I bet, right?”
“You got it,” Randy said. “You must be the smartest Cubs fan alive.” They both laughed.
“Plus, I get my original bet back, right?”
“Right again.”
“But the only way I can more than double my money is to bet on the underdog.”
“Right,” Randy said. “In fact, that’s what most smart bettors do. You can win less than half the time betting on underdogs, but still make a profit.”
Scott sat back and drank his beer. It didn’t make sense for him to bet on individual games. He knew that the Tigers were going to win the 1984 World Series, but he had no idea what the outcome of each game would be, especially considering the run line.
“What if I don’t want to bet on individual games?” Scott asked. “What if I just wanted to bet on the World Series winner?”
“You can wait until the World Series rolls around and bet on each game just the same way you’d bet on a regular season game using the run spread. If you want to avoid that, you can wait until we know which two teams are decided for the World Series and then bet on the one you think is going to win it all. But if you really want to make a big score, the way to do that is to bet on who you think is going to win the World Series before the season even starts.”
Scott’s eyes lit up. “How does that work?”
Randy finished his second beer and ordered a third. Scott was still a half-a-beer behind. “Ah, I can see you’re a man looking to make a big score. Okay. At the beginning of the season, Vegas sets the odds on how likely each team is to win the World Series. The chances of guessing right are pretty slim. A lot of people consider it a sucker bet. Even so, you can make a lot of money with a relatively small bet.”
“What kind of odds can you get?” Scott asked.
“I don’t know what they are right now. Vegas won’t set the odds until closer to the start of the season. They’ll want to see who is on which team and if there are any injuries to be concerned about. But the odds can get really high. For instance, the favorites to win the Series might be three-to-one or nine-to-two, while the real dogs might be four hundred or five hundred-to-one.”
“That’s what I’m looking for,” Scott said. “I’m looking for a bet with long odds.” He toasted Randy and finished his beer.
Randy leaned forward. His demeanor turned serious. “I have to warn you, there’s a reason the odds are high. It’s because it is so unlikely to happen. I’d hate to see you blow a bunch of money on some ridiculous long shot.”
Scott nodded. “I understand. I’m not going to do anything dumb.”
Randy smiled and took a drink from his beer. “Famous last words.”
Chapter 14
March 1984
Randy wasn’t the flake Scott thought he was. In time, he found Randy to be outgoing, fun-loving, and with a zest for life that Scott found all too rare.
What Randy wasn’t was a third-year law student. He wasn’t a student at all. His girlfriend, Carla, was the law student.
Randy was the son of a prominent San Diego attorney. He had come to St. Louis to attend law school. That’s how he met Carla. But Randy never wanted to be a lawyer. That was his father’s idea. When his father died a couple of years earlier, Randy took his inheritance, quit school, and bought the St. Louis Surf Club.
Carla was in her third year and was a serious student. But away from school, she was a lot like Randy. She loved to have a good time and didn’t take life too seriously.
In many ways, Carla was the opposite of Melanie. While Melanie liked to have a good time, she took life far too seriously. Everything was a crisis or a potential crisis. Her moods shifted based on what was going on at work. She often worked ten or more hours a day, and when she was away from the office, it seemed all she wanted to talk about was what was going on at work.
Scott hadn’t seen this side of Melanie in school. She took her studies seriously, but she wasn’t consumed by them. He knew that they couldn’t build a happy, successful life together when she was spending so much time and energy on her career. He had a plan. The first step was to place some bets.
In March, Randy called with the news that the odds for the upcoming baseball season were out.
“What are they?” Scott asked.
“Oh no, if you want them, you’ve got to come over to the bar.”
“But it’s freezing out there. Can’t you just tell me over the phone?”
“Nope, you’ve got to come over.”
Randy was at his usual table. He called it his office. There was a beer waiting for Scott.
“Let see what you’ve got.”
Randy motioned for Scott to sit. “Here’s what you have to remember,” Randy said. “These are the odds that will be in play at the beginning of the season. As the season goes on, the odds will change. Odds will go down on teams that start out the year looking good, and they’ll go up on teams that don’t look as good as they were supposed to.”
“So, if I want to bet on a team that starts out the season hot, I’ll want to place my bet early, right?”
“Right, because the odds will go down and your payout will be less,” Randy said. “We need to really study the teams to figure out who we think is going to win. That will determine when we should bet.”
“I already know.”
“What do you mean? We haven’t even talked about what team we should bet on.”
“I know, but I’ve already looked into it and figured out who I want to bet on.”
&
nbsp; “Who?” Randy asked.
“Detroit, and I want to place a bet before the season starts.” Scott knew Detroit was going to win the 1984 World Series and he knew that they started the year hot.
“Detroit? Why Detroit?” Randy asked.
“That’s just who I think is going to win.”
Randy sat back and looked Scott in the eyes. “You know, gamblers don’t become successful by playing hunches. They study the teams and the odds. They make educated bets. What you’re doing is throwing money at a hunch.”
“Maybe, but it’s what I want to do.”
Randy shrugged. “It’s your money. How much do you want to bet?”
Scott had scavenged every dollar he could put his hands on. He had money in his account from a student loan that he re-purposed. He borrowed money from his parents. He cashed in a life insurance policy his parents purchased when he was born. He even got Melanie to kick in $500, although she didn’t like the fact that he wouldn’t tell her what he needed it for. “$17,500.”
Randy’s eyes grew big. “Are you nuts,” he said a little too loudly. He looked around, but no one paid attention. “That’s a shit load of money. I thought you were looking to bet two or three hundred bucks.”
“Nope. I’m going all in,” Scott said.
“I don’t think my guy will take on a bet that big.”
“Your guy?” Scott asked. He had planned on placing the bet with the bookie that Melanie’s dad used.
“Yeah, I assumed you were going to use Frankie, the guy I place bets through.”
A bookie named Frankie? It sounded like he came straight from central casting. Scott imagined a guy with a big gut and a crooked nose.
“I’ll have to check to see if he’ll take on a bet that big,” Randy said.
Scott hadn’t considered there might be betting limits. It was a lucky break that he now had two bookies so he could split the bet. “Okay, you find out and let me know.”
“Are you sure I can’t convince you to bet less?” Randy asked. “You don’t want to blow your wad all at once.”
