Betting Billy Walters’ Baseball Picks

Doyle Bunson (sitting) with the late George Fisher (standing), at the 2000 World Series of Poker

“You don’t know what pressure is until you play for five bucks with only $2 in your pocket.” 

— Lee Trevino (Golfer)

Sometimes I get asked do I “enjoy gambling?”

The answer’s complicated.

I no longer gamble as high or as frequently as I once did.  I used to gamble every day, year-round.  During the busiest times of the year, I often put $50,000 or more into action just in sports.  The most money I ever had riding on a single game was $39,000 (it lost).  But my average bet size over the years has consistently been more modest, ranging from $200 to $500 per wager (depending on my bankroll size and confidence level).

And the answer’s “yes” when I’m asked, “have you ever gone broke sports betting?”  More than one time, “yes.”

There are many reasons for my declining interest in sports betting, including my own inclinations to focus on other things that I enjoy more and believe to be more self-fulfilling.  But perhaps the tipping point for me is that sports betting has become damn difficult to beat.  Sure, it can be done.  But it takes a ton of work.  And frankly, I’d rather be doing other things than spending 70 hours a week running back and forth between Las Vegas sportsbooks.

Been there.  Done that.

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 Billy Walters was and is “the man.”

Walters is widely considered to be the most successful and influential sports bettor in Las Vegas over the past two decades.  Reportedly, he’s never suffered a losing year (betting sports).  That’s a remarkable testament to his skill, discipline, and ability to keep up with the times.  When Walters takes a position and makes a wager, you can be sure of at least two things.  First, it’s for big money.  Second, he’s done his research.

SEE “60 MINUTES” FEATURE ON BILL WALTERS HERE

There’s no way someone of my modest means and scattershot background could ever hope to coattail Bill Walters’ sports picks.  Even if I could, it wouldn’t matter.  If I had access to his wagers in advance, there’s no guarantee those plays would perform as well, nor would I be assured of sharing the winning streaks — not unless I get the exact same numbers and be on the spot ready for every bet he makes — which simply isn’t possible.  Timing matters.  After all, gamblers who bet as high as Walters sometimes play the other side in order to move the line (for a much larger bet), or get off a game entirely when late-breaking information warrants a change of opinion.  The point is — getting limited information on what a sophisticated bettor or syndicate does can sometimes backfire.

That’s precisely what happened to me during my first few years in Las Vegas.  Here’s the story.

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I didn’t work during the first eight months I lived in Las Vegas.

I mean, I didn’t work what you call a job.  The truth was, I worked a lot harder at “not working” than punching any timeclock.

All I did was play poker and bet sports, which basically meant lots of 70-hour weeks grinding out whatever I could.  What I earned didn’t amount to what anyone would call “big money.”  But I somehow managed to pay my bills, eat well, and enjoy life for a while.  There was a rudimentary satisfaction at being a professional gambler for a time, even though the lifestyle was far from glamorous.

One thing I’ve learned about sports betting is — try your best to surround yourself with smart people.  Oddly enough, sports betting and poker are complete opposites in this regard.  In poker, you want to sit among people dumber than you are (in a game).  You want to be among people with problems, people who lack discipline, people who are clueless.  But in sports, it’s just the opposite.  You can benefit immensely from the wisdom of people you can trust.

The reason for this is simple.  There are so many games and betting situations every day that a person working alone can’t possibly cover all the potential wagers with a positive expectation.  Moreover, someone working alone can’t keep up with all the late-breaking news and information which can make and break a sports bettor.  Things like injuries, which might not be widely known.  Travel issues.  Players with personal problems.  These things can affect the outcome of a game.  So, it’s advantageous to surround yourself with other (winning) gamblers who specialize in different sports and alternative aspects of betting.

I’d even go so far as to say this is perhaps the key to winning as a sports bettor.

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In baseball, I was what you call a “systems” or “angle” bettor.  That means I looked at situations.  I might not know a single player on either team, but I’d bet the game if there were favorable betting angles.  Not always, of course.  Some are misleading.  But when the stars line up, I’ll reach for the sky — and fire.

But there’s something far better systems and angles.  And that’s “inside information.”

Inside information means news that’s not available to the general public.  This is so-called “wise-guy” stuff.

When it came to getting inside information, no one had the goods more than Billy Walters.  What if I could get a hold of Bill Walters’s plays?  Then, I could bet them for myself and run to the bank once a week with a fistful of deposit slips.  That was my plan.

I started working for Binion’s Horseshoe in late 2002.  Recall one of the key reasons I took the job.  I was told by the owner that I could gamble and drink (on the clock) as much as I wanted, as long as I did my job.  I know — no one believes this when I tell the story.  But it’s true.  It’s what you would call a “dream job.”

READ MORE HERE

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I owe a tremendous debt of gratitude to a man who isn’t widely known in poker, and who is largely forgotten by history.

His name was George Fisher.

READ MORE HERE

He died in 2004.

Fisher was a remarkable person.  A real prince.  He was entirely a self-made man.  Fisher started out with nothing in life and hustled his way around Las Vegas for decades until at one point he knew just about every big shot in town.  He was on a first-name basis with everyone who was anyone.  I got to meet lots of interesting people through Fisher, people I wouldn’t otherwise know under any circumstances.  I’m talking about underworld figures.  Well-known business people.  And high-stakes gamblers — including Billy Walters.  Note to Self:  Write more George Fisher stories in the future, they’re priceless.

Fisher knew I gambled a lot on sports.  He dabbled a bit with sports betting himself.  Wait.  Let me take that back.  Fisher bet a ton of sports.  And he bet considerably higher than I did.  We often drifted from one downtown casino to the other looking for the best numbers.  Many times, I gave money to Fisher to bet for me.  And he, in turn, did the same.  There were many times when, between the two of us, we bet high enough that we had to visit multiple sportsbooks to get all of our action down.

I remember Fisher’s favorite line.  “Let’s fire,” he would say.  When Fisher said, “let’s fire,” that meant — let’s bet this one really big.

Fisher came to me one afternoon in May 2003.   He was more excited than usual.

“You’re not going to believe this, but I’m getting Billy’s plays,” Fisher told me.  “You want in?”

Are you fucking kidding me?  Of course, I wanted in.

Like two mice smelling the first scent of cheese in a mousetrap, we were now going to get plays from the man himself — Bill Walters.

This is going to be great, I thought.  Now, if I can pump up my bankroll high enough, I’ve got a shot at becoming a real “player.”

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I should have known better.  Famous last words.

I had a close relationship with Nick Behnen.  READ MORE HERE  For all intents and purposes, he ran Binion’s Horseshoe through his wife Becky.  He’s the one who hired me for the job and gave me a license to do pretty much whatever I wanted.  I shared everything with Behnen, including the good news that I was now getting baseball plays from Bill Walters.

Nick encouraged me to make my sports plays at the Horseshoe sportsbook.  That should have been a huge red flag.  Why in the world would Behnen want to take wiseguy action?  Why would he want George and me to bet our plays where we worked?  Wasn’t he afraid we’d win and end up costing the sportsbook money?

Despite the encouragement from my boss, I still refused to do that.  I didn’t like the idea of tying up all my business in one place.  Too risky.  After all, the Horseshoe was where I worked.  It was where I played poker.  It was where I socialized to a great extent.  Behnen was known for his fiery temper and the last thing I needed was some report coming out of the sportsbook that Fisher and I were banging the house for ten dimes a week.  That wouldn’t go over too well with ownership.

So instead, Fisher and I usually took our action elsewhere — more often than not to the Las Vegas Club because that was the closest outlet.  But we also played at the Union Plaza, Golden Gate, Golden Nugget, El Cortez, Four Queens, California, Lady Luck, and Fremont.  In other words, it was no problem getting down as much action as we wanted with so many places within a short walking distance.

The first few weeks of betting the plays were pretty much a spinning wheel.  We bet one, sometimes two plays per day.  We didn’t win any money.  But we didn’t lose either.  I don’t recall exactly, but the plays we got from Walters basically split.  They broke even.

No reason to panic, I thought.  Patience.  Patience.  A sports bettor’s got to have one thing — and that’s patience.

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Have patience.  Famous last words.

My cell phone rang.  It was George Fisher.

“Rush up here immediately,” he said.  “Hurry — I’ve got something really hot, but we’ve got to move right now!”

I ran up to Fisher’s office, which was right across the hallway from what’s now known as Benny’s Bullpen.

“I just got the play of the year.  Best game of the season.  Bet the Yankees.  Bet like the game is already over and you know the score.”

Wow.  These are the kind of words every sports gambler dreams of hearing.  Like sticking a crack pipe in front of a dope addict.

“How strong is the play,” I asked.  “What does Walters know about this game?”

“I don’t know and I don’t care,” Fisher answered.  “The pitcher for the other team has some kind of problem with his arm.  Just bet it like it’s already in the bag.”

Then came his magic words.

“Let’s fire,” Fisher said.

With that, the fuse was lit.

I intended to fire.

***************

“Let’s fire.”  Famous last words.

Nevada State Bank had a branch less than a mile away.  I had about $6,500 in the bank, which was all the cash to my name.

Less than 20 minutes later, I was walking down Fremont Street like the Pied Piper.  It took me a while to spread out the action.  A few $1,000 tickets here and there.  Mostly $500 tickets.  It all added up to every dollar I had at the time.  I panic sometimes, especially when I’m losing.  I’ll go high and deep, something I can’t control, something which has cost me a ton over the years.  But sometimes you just have to move all-in when you’ve got a good hand.  And let it ride.

The first-place Yankees were playing Tampa Bay, which was an awful team that season.  First place team versus last-place team, 17 games out, and the opposing pitcher reportedly had arm trouble.  Yanks at home, where Tampa never won.  Pure gold.  The prices varied, but I was laying something like -170 to -180.  That meant my $6,500 would return somewhere around $3,800.  Easy money.

When you have this kind of money riding on the line, I don’t enjoy sitting down watching the games like a casual fan.  In fact, I hate casual sports fans.  They annoy the shit out of me.  One of the reasons I never watch pro football games in public.  I can’t deal with the cheerleaders.  Besides, I don’t like watching baseball anyway.  I’m not a fan of the game.  But this game had my full attention and got my eyes superglued to the TV screen.  I watched the game at the Golden Nugget, choosing as I often do, to sit alone.

The game was tied after the first inning — 1-1.  No problem, I figured.  Good sign the opposing pitcher has already given up a run.  Maybe that arm trouble will start flaring up.

Little did I know that would not only be the only run the Yankees would score against that lame pitcher but the only hit the opposing hurler would allow.

Somewhere around the fifth or sixth inning, I completely lost it.  Tampa came to bat in the top of the inning and scored like 6 runs.  It was multiple slam-your fist 30-minutes of pure hell and a thousand fucks.  They batted through the entire lineup.  Then, an inning later, Tampa scored another five runs just to gang bang my tickets all to losing hell.

The Yankees ended up losing the game 11-2.

George Fisher was nowhere to be found.  He must have gone into hibernation.  I’m sure he felt worse about it than I did.  After all, he’d talked me into making a big play.  I never blame other bettors for their opinions.  But I sure as shit wanted to find out what happened.

The next day I caught up with Fisher.  He just shook his head and apologized profusely.

Of course, he had nothing to be sorry for.  I’d made the decision to let it all ride.  No one put a gun to my head.

Over the next few months, Fisher continued to get plays straight from Bill Walters (or someone close to him, I later found out).  So, the Yankees pick that day had been a bust.  It wasn’t Walters’ fault that I’d bet way above my bankroll.  After I raised enough cash to get back in action, I started wagering on Walter’s plays off and on for the next few months until the end of baseball season.

The strange thing about the Walters plays was, we actually should have won a tidy sum.  I don’t have the precise records, but betting an average of $200 per game for the rest of the season got me back pretty close to even.  That one $6,500 money management mind fuck would have been my profit — about $1,400 per month for essentially doing nothing but spending ten minutes a day going to a few sportsbook windows.

Actually, I would have made more than that — since I’d likely have stepped it up to $300, $400, and then $500 a play as I gained more confidence in the process.  So, that was probably closer to a $10,000 swing.

After that baseball season was over, I didn’t see much of George Fisher anymore.  I still miss him.  Even though we lost a bundle of money that day, I still long to hear those magical famous last words.

“Let’s fire.”