Good morning!
If Governor Charlie Baker has his way, Franklin County sports fans will soon be able to lob a ducat or two on the Red Sox this season. Baker introduced legislation on Jan. 17 that would legalize sports gambling on the pro teams but not college sports like the NCAA Tournament.
The Associated Press reported that the Baker administration expected that taxes from sports gambling would raise $35 million for towns and cities in the next fiscal year, which implies the bill will be fast-tracked into law by July 1.
The betting binge began when New Jersey governor Chris Christie sued to overturn the federal law that forbade sports gambling everywhere but Nevada, and in May the U.S. Supreme Court ruled 6-3 that the law was indeed unconstitutional.
In June, both Delaware and New Jersey opened sports books, followed soon by Mississippi and West Virginia in August, New Mexico in October, and Pennsylvania and Rhode Island in November.
Earlier this week, the New York Post reported that New Jersey bettors are expected to wager $100 million on the Super Bowl.
What’s it going to be like when MGM Springfield starts taking sports bets? During a pair of road trips to Florida, I stopped at FanDuel off I-95 in the Meadowlands, and the Hollywood Casino at Penn National in Grantville, Pa.
The latter is located off I-81 in rural Pennsylvania, where a casino looms from out of the farm fields like ballplayers from between the corn rows in “Field of Dreams.”
The entrance sign points visitors up a double lane road past the statue of a revolutionary soldier on horseback brandishing a sword. Last summer, a disgruntled bettor was arrested after he stopped his car and unloaded a handgun at the bronzed cavalry officer.
The casino is attached to a thoroughbred track, which has been sending horses out of the starting gate since 1972. Slots and table games were legalized in 2008, and the Las Vegas vibe came full circle when the spacious sports book opened on the second floor and on Nov. 15.
The view from the top of the parking garage encompassed the racecourse, barns and woodlands. “Tighter than s*** in there,” said a man getting into his rusty pickup truck. “They’re giving away money every five minutes. Ya can’t get a machine.”
I opened the glass door above the gaming rooms and took an escalator down toward the thrumming sound of slot machines and Ella Fitzgerald singing “I Wish I Were in Love Again.” Slots players, some with walkers parked next to them, took free drinks from waitresses in short black skirts and gazed at the reels spinning on Cash Coaster, Mighty Cash and Siberian Storm, hoping they’d stop on triple bars, double bars, Triple 7’s or land on the jackpot.
Inside the carpeted gaming room a croupier cleared chips off a roulette table. The ball had landed on 27 — my favorite number because it was Carlton Fisk’s with the Red Sox — but the saying goes if you miss the wedding don’t go to the funeral and so I kept walking.
Up past the Final Cut Steakhouse the sports book was large enough to seat 144 bettors who sat in eight rows that faced two dozen video screens. There were ashtrays on one side of the aisle, and a ventilation system sucked the tobacco smoke up and out of the room.
Pillars in front of the mutuels windows were plastered with Pirates, Eagles and Penguins logos, and the walls had been adorned with movie placards of Rocky, Mr. Baseball and Friday Night Lights.
After one bettor finished wagering, a floor manager gave the go-ahead for the next player to go to the window. Waiting to wager, I watched a clerk count out a handful of $100 bills, feed them through a money counter, stack and square them and hand out what I’d counted to be about $5,000 to a gambler who’d been watching impassively.
The mutuels clerks were dressed in ref’s jerseys like sneaker salesmen at Foot Locker, in contrast to FanDuel where a curly-haired clerk peered out from under his hoodie like a character in an Edward Hopper painting.
FanDuel is a dark mancave, a maze of lounges, video screens and mutuels machines where testosterone-fueled sharks studied their plays and burly, stonefaced security types hovered in the corners waiting for trouble.
Moreover, it’s absent the slots and gaming tables that can wither a bankroll. I’d found it by following the GPS off I-95 and around MetLife Stadium, past the abandoned Nets and Devils arena and into a parking lot where the Empire State Building loomed from across the Hudson River.
The sports complex is bordered by power lines, storage tanks, railroad tracks and interstate highways. It was built in swampland among reeds and cattails where Peter Clemenza told hitman Rocco Lampone to leave the gun and take the cannoli.
Prop printouts lay side-by-side on shelves near self-service kiosks where the minimum bet is two dollars. The NFL playoffs were set to begin, and bettors could wager $100 to make $650 that the Patriots would win the Super Bowl. (Where’s the time machine?)
It was bowl season, and a television monitor in the lounge enticed gamblers to make a $100 parlay on Miami and Baylor for a $390 payout. “Was $352,” it teased (and was a loser).
I grabbed a menu, ordered a Coke and got a Pepsi. An older man wearing a fedora was waving his finger at the hostess. “I know how to do my job!” she protested.
“Too late!” he barked.
Over at the mutuels windows I made my first legal sports bet east of the Mississippi River. “I wanna bet the Miami Hurricanes to beat Wisconsin,” I told Joe the clerk.
“Okay,” he replied. “It cost $115 to make $100 and you’re laying 2½.”
“I thought the vig was ten percent,” I said, referring to the house’s take of the action.
“It’s $115 to make $100 on Miami, and $105 to make $100 on Wisconsin,” he said. “See, they’re getting crafty. They’re all but asking you to bet Wisconsin.”
“No, I want $20 on Miami,” I said.
“Okay,” said Joe, “it’s Miami minus three.”
“I thought it was 2½.”
“It went up to three as we spoke.”
Crafty, indeed. I forked over the twenty.
The grilled salmon left a better taste than the trip to the mutuels window, and outside I bummed a light off Tony from Philadelphia. “The only time I’ve been to Florida was Orlando,” he said. “On the way back, I stopped in North Carolina and bought $1,000 worth of fireworks and $1,000 worth of cigarettes.
“I like to play numbers,” he added. “I’ve got $100 on Hardaway over 28.”
Translated that meant Knicks forward Tim Hardaway’s points, rebounds, and assists against Milwaukee had to total at least 28.
By the time I got back to my table, Wisconsin had scored two touchdowns and was en route to a 35-3 blowout of Miami. My other bets also fizzled — Auburn pummeled Purdue, Virginia wiped out South Carolina, the Patriots destroyed the Chargers and the Saints failed to cover against the Colts.
When I arrived in Florida I checked the Knicks-Bucks box score. New York had lost the game, but Hardaway hadn’t played. Further Googling revealed he’d been sick and listed as inactive. Good news for Tony, his bet was a push.
Now why can’t I be that lucky?
Chip Ainsworth is an award-winning columnist who has penned his observations about sports for four decades in the Pioneer Valley. He can be reached by email at sports@recorder.com.