07/22/2003 - 6:17 PM ET

Bonus Play

By Tim Keown
ESPN The Magazine
 

A certain ex-NBA player is engaged in a serious argument with himself. He's about to tell a funny story, a story that exposes a little-known but long-suspected aspect of professional sports, but he doesn't know whether he wants his name attached to it. On the record? Off the record? He's a human metronome -- back, forth, back, forth. He knows the story is harmless, but there's one word nagging at the corners of his mind: gambling. "I can't believe I'm saying this, because it's not a big deal," he says. "But I'll tell you the story if you keep my name out of it."

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So here it is: before a game a few years ago, our player-not-to-be-named-later set up a pair of $10 bets with a friend on the opposing team. The first guy to hit a three-pointer would collect $10 from the other, and the first to dunk would do the same. Our storyteller was more of a paint player, while his friend thrived on the trey. In short, a split was the likeliest outcome of their bet. "I was a starter that night and my friend came off the bench," the player says. "I got the dunk and the three before he even got in the game. It was nuts -- I set myself up for a three in the first quarter just because I had money on it."

Harmless, right? The silliness of the whole thing makes our low roller laugh. He was a highly paid professional athlete, bringing down several hundred thousand dollars a year, but when he hit the three to win the bet, a jolt ran through him. "I was jacked," our anonymous gambler says. "I looked at my buddy as I went downcourt. Hey, why not? I just won 20 bucks."

The lesson here? Pro jocks will bet on anything: dominoes, cards, radio-controlled cars, themselves. Especially themselves. Locker rooms and clubhouses today overflow with testosterone, free time and disposable coin, the three key ingredients of high-stakes gambling. Planes are aerial card rooms. High-stakes NCAA Tournament pool sheets are prominently displayed in every spring training clubhouse. Any golf major is a reason to throw some cash in a pot.

Fact is, ever since Ty Cobb and friends amused themselves by playing poker on train rides -- and probably even before -- gambling has been a large part of the athlete's subculture. No surprise, really, when you consider that the whole conceit of pro sports is based on a gamble. To make it at that level is to ignore and defy overwhelming statistical evidence that says you won't. Those who pull it off have already beaten Powerball-like odds. Players gamble on their own talent. Owners and general managers gamble every time they draft or trade or sign a free agent. So what's a little card game among friends?

Well, that depends on whom you're asking. While none of the Big Four sports has rules against a friendly game of cards or dominoes, the leagues are less than thrilled about the high-stakes nature of some of these contests. Both the NFL and Major League Baseball warn players about the dangers of these games and the potential consequences of falling into debt to your teammates.

That's why, like any self-respecting subculture, locker room gambling demands discretion -- the kind that makes an ex-NBA player opt to remain anonymous when recalling an innocuous $10-a-shot wager with a buddy.

Such wariness is understandable: there's an indelible stain attached to the idea of a coach or athlete getting involved in anything more serious than a baby-weight pool. It's not just the Pete Rose tarnish, either. Former Washington football coach Rick Neuheisel lost his job over an NCAA Tourney pool. Golfer Phil Mickelson became so well-known for his gambling prowess (he won more than $50,000 when the Ravens won Super Bowl XXXV) that he wound up giving NFL picks on national radio during the 2001 season. That same year, he won $500 when he bet Mike Weir that Jim Furyk would hole a bunker shot during the playoff round of the NEC Invitational. He earned a reprimand from PGA commissioner Tim Finchem for that bet. Mickelson became so associated with betting that he now refuses to speak about the subject at all. "Gambling, that's a charged word, dude," says Rafael Palmeiro of the Texas Rangers. "It happens, but guys would rather talk about anything else." This, mind you, from a guy who shills for Viagra.

"In the justice system of pro sports, gambling is punishable by death," says Tom Tolbert, an ESPN commentator and ex-NBA player. "Beating up your girlfriend, driving under the influence, getting into a fight -- they're all misdemeanors. But gambling is a felony. Athletes don't want to be associated with it."

As it happens, the attributes that help to make a great athlete -- confidence, competitiveness, focus -- are the same ones that help to make a willing gambler. Merge those traits with an almost unreal amount of money, and you'd be hard-pressed to find a more potent formula for creating an aggressive, persistent bettor. "The stakes get way out of hand and the pots get so big because most of these guys have no concept of money," says one NFL veteran. "So many guys come from poor backgrounds. Money wasn't ever something they had in their pockets. It was just an idea, a concept."

Joe Maloof, whose family owns the Sacramento Kings and the Las Vegas Palms Resort & Casino, believes pro athletes are the world's worst gamblers. "They're so competitive," Maloof says. "They think they can change the outcome of a bet if they just try a little harder. They don't understand a bet doesn't work like that. You can't change luck, but they think they can. That's why guys who lose the most money are often athletes, even though I think they gamble at about the same percentage as the general population."

With riverboat and Native American casinos springing from the earth like mushrooms, most stops on a pro's itinerary offer easy access to legal gambling houses. Players in all leagues relish trips to Philadelphia, an hour's drive from Atlantic City. "We'd fly in to play the Phillies, land at some crazy hour like 3 a.m., and everybody would pile in a limo and head to Atlantic City," says a former pro who played in both the major leagues and the NFL. "We'd stay five hours, come back at 9 or 10 the next morning, then sleep until 2 p.m. and go to the park. We'd do this three or four days in a row while we were in town. Managers didn't care. They treated you like a big boy."

At the same time, technology -- computers, DVD players, video games -- has created any number of alternatives to gambling. "It used to be that guys would head to the back of the plane, talk about the game, have a few beers and play a few hands," Palmeiro says ruefully. "It doesn't happen so much anymore." That said, the nature of pros' gambling habits has changed in recent years. Players who do gamble say the stakes have risen with salaries. "The biggest hand I've ever seen was around $150,000," our NFL vet says. "Everybody was like, 'How did this happen?' But we finished the hand and people paid up. That's why, generally, you gamble with friends. If you're good buddies with someone and they owe you $15,000, you might offer them a $9,500 settlement. Then you aren't taking the whole $15,000 and there aren't any hard feelings."

Not that pros are above reneging on a bet. The NFL vet we spoke to says ex-teammates still owe him more than $200,000 -- a clear violation of one of pro sports' gambling codes -- which he doesn't expect to collect. But even with those unpaid debts, he made more money playing cards as a rookie than he did in salary during his first two seasons. He used that income to pay for part of his house. And when teammates couldn't pay cash, he took merchandise, like a Franck Muller watch worth more than $10,000.

One reason it's so easy for players to lose so much so fast: they're too macho to admit they have no idea how to play the hand they're dealt. A savvy gambler can use that to his advantage. "I played poker all my life, so I knew how to play and a lot of my teammates didn't," Tolbert says. "I could make $3,000 to $4,000 on a road trip. Guys who aren't as good as me at cards but had more money than me? I couldn't ask for more than that. On some teams, management would play with the players. It was crazy -- you'd have a coach writing a check to players at the end of a flight. It was like Monopoly money. I knew guys who could lose $50,000 on a flight from Portland to LA."

The Dream Team card games at the 1992 Barcelona Summer Olympics -- which included noted gamblers Michael Jordan and Charles Barkley -- were legendary. As the story goes, players left huge pots and unfinished hands on hotel room beds when they left for games or practice. Maids entering the room found hundreds of thousands of dollars strewn on the sheets. Afraid to move the cash, they left the beds unmade.

Of course, one of the biggest gambles in sports history came in December 2000, when Rangers owner Tom Hicks told agent Scott Boras he'd give Alex Rodriguez $252 million over 10 years to play shortstop in Texas. Boras completed the deal in Dallas, then called his client to tell him the news. And where was A-Rod when he opened up his cell phone to take that call? In Las Vegas, naturally, at the Mirage Hotel and Casino.

This article appears in the August 4 issue of ESPN The Magazine.
 

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