The Catch-22 Kaepernick Conundrum

Nancy Armour asked all of the right questions in her September 17 USA Today column regarding the "actively, actively interested" but unsigned Colin Kaepernick. Given the early-season ravaging of the quarterback position, why has no NFL team rushed to sign Kaepernick?

Considering the rash of contender-toppling injuries, even if a particular owner had a distaste for assigning Kaepernick a roster spot, that owner would be insane to not sign the man immediately and use him as trade bait. Allow me to repeat that. If an owner is so committed to white nationalism that it precludes his team from actually playing Kaepernick, why not be the first to sign him and then leverage the signing into a deal that benefits your team? The fact that no team has done this underlines, strongly, that there has been some kind of NFL-wide conspiracy to keep Kaepernick off all rosters.

None of the Kaepernick saga makes any sense, and it never will. Carolina could use him, as could the Jets, the Steelers, Miami, Tennessee, Minnesota, Washington, the Colts, and maybe Tampa Bay. Kaepernick could start for a third of the teams, and he'd be a superb backup for mobile young guns in Philadelphia, Kansas City, San Francisco, Buffalo, Dallas, and Houston.

Instead, he's working out at home. Why is that? Are NFL owners all idiots? For the sake of brevity, let's skip that question and cut to the proverbial chase.

The owners are trapped in a classic catch-22 of their own making. If a team signs Kaepernick, and the man succeeds, the fact that he's succeeded will demonstrate unequivocally to the American public that the owners illegally blackballed Kaepernick from the league for multiple seasons. They deprived him of prime athletic years at peak ability. Conversely, if they do not sign him, and they plug in various and sundry journeymen quarterbacks, they also demonstrate to the American public that the owners illegally blackballed Kaepernick. But at least they aren't paying him.

The only way that the owners look as if they haven't illegally blackballed him is if some team signs him and Kaepernick fails miserably. But here's the catch-22 inside the catch-22:  the fact that nobody has signed Kaepernick and given him an opportunity to fail is because most owners are convinced that he won't fail. It's as simple as that.

Lurking in the back of the NFL owners' minds is another troubling thought. The possibility exists that signing Kaepernick could motivate some of that team's players to go above and beyond to help Kaepernick succeed. That team might perceive themselves as playing for more than paychecks.

The NFL owners' Mr. Magoo business optics just amaze me. Kaepernick sits at home. Ray Lewis is a commentator. How does that work? I keep expecting Lewis to show up on one of the new NFL/Tide detergent commercials wearing his infamous white suit. Peyton Manning could call him to the podium to have Ray explain how he got all of the stains out.

The entire situation is ridiculous. The owners know Kaepernick could start for a third of the teams. It's particularly absurd that the championship caliber team that would probably benefit most from having Kaepernick as a backup is the Dallas Cowboys, deep in the heart of "we don't kneel" Texas.

Personally, I don't understand why any African-American should stand for The Star Spangled Banner. I'm not sure how many owners are familiar with the third stanza, but it's a doozy. I happen to know all of the stanzas because my grade school music teacher used 1920's songbooks. We sang all of the verses.

"No refuge could save the hireling or slave
From the terror of flight or the gloom of the grave."

Remind me, the next time the Star Spangled Banner plays, I really need to kneel.



Bob Dietz -- September 19, 2019

Exorcism at Steve Spurrier Field: Part Two

Somehow I had brought unspeakable evil back from Las Vegas with me. The consequences of its possession of eastern Tennessee football weren't pretty. Testosterone levels among Tennessean males fell to an all-time low. A depression epidemic was a real possibility. God knows what the effects of the prior 24 hours would have on opioid use. On the other hand, of course, the University of Tennessee had chosen a fine time to begin selling alcohol in Neyland Stadium. Perhaps the Vols' administration had a hand in summoning Pazuzu. To many Volunteer football fans, that didn't seem terribly farfetched, and it would explain much about the athletic director's office.

I considered what I should do. An exorcism seemed to be in order. But where? And how? And by whom?

I couldn't get through to the Vatican. I don't speak Italian, and the Vatican switchboard didn't seem to take my report of a Football Pazuzu seriously. But I couldn't sit idly by while football in eastern Tennessee was corrupted forever. Although I felt uncredentialled, someone had to do something, and that someone, to paraphrase Travis Bickle, was me. Despite my clergy license plate, which I utilize during Biker Week in Daytona Beach so nobody parks me in, I am not ordained. I do, however, own copies of Demonolatry and Malleus Malleficarum, which were used to identify, convict, and exorcize witches during the Inquisition. The only additional required text was The Rite of Exorcism (Roman Ritual), which one can surprisingly pick up from Target for $22.99 with same-day delivery.

Next I had to figure out the where. Where in eastern Tennessee could football karma be so bad, so horrifically evil, that a maleficent demon would hunker down as if at a Holiday Inn? Then it hit me. The Science Hill football team plays at a home field named for Johnson City native, Steve Spurrier. Spurrier was notorious for all manner of running up the score when he coached at Florida. He routinely threw deep with massive fourth-quarter leads, causing much weeping, gnashing of teeth, and four-letter words that could lead to damnation. More importantly, he often said that "You can't spell Citrus without UT," a reference to how his Gators consistently sealed off the Sugar Bowl from Tennessee football teams and relegated the Vols to the Citrus. If the Football Pazuzu demon felt at home anywhere in eastern Tennessee, it would be Steve Spurrier Field.

The next evening, after procuring The Roman Ritual from Target, I arrived at Steve Spurrier Field at 9 PM. I entered the iron gates while carrying Demonolatry, Malleus Malleficarum, The Roman Ritual, and a life-sized rubber model of a human heart, in case any sacrifices or trades would be required. As I stepped onto the artificial turf field, I was shocked to find that I wasn't alone. Despite my legendary IQ and insightful brilliance, others had figured out the location of Football Pazuzu more quickly than me. Others who devoted their lives to strange beliefs and who were trying to control the demon for their own devious and selfish ends.

I was too late to stop them. I would have to cut a deal.


A week later, most things had returned to normal in eastern Tennessee. The Science Hill High football team played a team from Knoxville called Hardin Valley Academy. Science Hill prevailed 52-14. The ETSU Buccaneers, a 2018 FCS playoff team, went up against something called Shorter, which had lost 29 consecutive games. The Bucs won easily, 48-10. And finally, on Saturday in Knoxville, the Tennessee Volunteers hosted Brigham Young. The Vols, holding a 16-13 lead, gave up a 64-yard pass with 20 seconds left, which allowed BYU to kick the tying field goal as time expired. In overtime, a BYU team that had been pushed around all day played like a team possessed. They muscled in a rugby-scrum off tackle play for a touchdown to pull the 29-26 upset. As Brigham Young celebrated in Knoxville, 90 miles away I heard a deep mournful wail. I couldn't tell if it was the plaintive howling of Tennessee's hound mascot or the cumulative crescendo of Vols' souls in pain. It carried on the wind and drowned out everything else in eastern Tennessee.

Why had Football Pazuzu's curse been lifted from Science Hill and ETSU, but not the University of Tennessee? Well, as I said, I had to cut a deal with those mysterious folks at Steve Spurrier Field. They had already begun their own ritual, and the best I could do was bargain with them as to which locales would be free of the demon. They were, as it turned out, Mormons. Rocky Top could not be spared.


Postscript:  A friend of mine was hiking in Colorado at the exact moment BYU punched in its winning score against Tennessee. He swore he felt a rush of wind and heard a loud wailing somewhere overhead. My deal, you see, was that the Mormons take Football Pazuzu with them to do with as they pleased, with my insistence that the demon stay west of the Rockies. National championship teams, after all, do not live west of the Rockies, so how much damage can the demon do? The Mormons, I've heard, made their own bargains with Football Pazuzu in the days that followed. If BYU somehow goes unbeaten at home the rest of the season, we'll know the true power of the football demon. And if they win as underdogs in overtime again, well, sometimes it pays to have the devil in your corner.

Exorcism at Steve Spurrier Field: Part One

Note:  This entry addresses the aftermath of events described in the previous (8/13) post.


It was, of course, entirely my fault. When my trip to Las Vegas ended and I returned to Johnson City, I assumed all was well with the world. I thought that the strange occurrences and synchronicities that shadowed me for more than a week had ended quietly with my return to the Tri-Cities Airport. I had bidden goodbye to Mickey Bible and deplaned. Nothing unusual happened in the following days. No odd connections or inexplicable resonating events. Things seemed to have returned to simple normalcy.

Just as in the beginning of the seminal film, The Exorcist, however, festering is often a slow, quiet burn. And just as in the movies, animals often detect evil much more quickly than we humans.

My friend, Tony, was celebrating his birthday. He is a diehard Tennessee Vols fan, so I bought him an orange hat with the trademark white T.  It was a good looking hat. Tennessee was scheduled to open the 2019 season a week later as 26-point favorites at home against lowly Georgia State. Tony was pleased with his birthday present and said he was looking forward to cheering on the Vols.

A couple of days later, I was having lunch with Tony and a few other friends. Tony tapped my arm and pointed to his phone. He scrolled down to a photo of the new hat, which looked as if it had been ravaged by Dire Wolves. I was close. Tony's German Shepherd had found the hat and savaged it. I joked that maybe this was an ominous omen for the Vols' season. It turns out that the hat was a just a portent of disasters to come.

Thursday, August 29, I cleaned out my suitcase from the Las Vegas trip. I took my tan Skechers out of their plastic bag and noticed some debris in the tread. Locust debris. Pieces of the swarms that had flooded Las Vegas during my visit. The same locusts that The Exorcist 2 described as vessels of the demon, Pazuzu. At the time, I did not realize the significance. I simply cleaned my shoes and put them away.

Friday, August 30, I finally understood. The Science Hill High School football team, a local power that plays at Steve Spurrier Field, had never lost to the David Crockett Pioneers. That evening, a few miles away in Jonesborough, David Crockett utterly crushed Science Hill 62-34. The result was beyond stunning. It was apocalyptic.

I began to suspect that something was awry. Had I somehow brought the demon, Pazuzu, back from Las Vegas with me? And was it manifesting itself in eastern Tennessee by corrupting that most sacred of religious traditions, southern football?

The next afternoon confirmed my suspicions. First, the local college team, the East Tennessee State Buccaneers, an FCS playoff squad in 2018, traveled across the mountain to Boone, North Carolina. They played Appalachian State and were crushed like grapes, 42-7. Then came the coup de grace. Ninety miles to the west, in Knoxville, the Tennessee Vols were 26-point favorites against a Georgia State team that had been 2-10 in 2018. That's 2-10 in the Sun Belt. Tennessee, overwhelmingly superior by all personnel standards, lost convincingly 38-30. Not only that, but the University of Tennessee had paid Georgia State almost a million dollars for making the trip. The wailing from Neyland Stadium was carried on the wind, banshee-like, to the entirety of eastern Tennessee..

In the span of 24 hours, the unthinkable had happened twice with the Science Hill and Vols losses, and ETSU's playoff veneer had been stripped as if by a blowtorch. Football Pazuzu had possessed eastern Tennessee.

Travelogue: The Eighth Plague

The story you are about to read is true. I've kept the names the same because, as much as I love Hunter S. Thompson, gonzo journalism isn't my thing. I'm more of a Joe Friday/Dragnet guy.


I'd like to say that my sports futures scouting expedition to Las Vegas started off innocently enough. But that wouldn't be the truth. The fact is, I hadn't even left Tri-Cities (TRI) airport on my flight's first leg, when the weirdness began.

I had ordered a coffee and a chocolate muffin at the restaurant in the gate area. The cashier squinted at the total on the register and hesitated. She seemed somewhat taken aback. The amount was $6.66. She said that she refused to ring it up, and that she would bill me for a different pastry. I shrugged and said okay, and she rang up something else so that I owed $6.24. I thanked her, gathered my change, and sat down to enjoy my snack and ponder the likelihood of a $6.66 bill.

Shortly thereafter, I noticed that my flight had been delayed, although skies were clear and weather from TRI to Charlotte was perfect. I noticed because the gate attendants began rebooking half of my flight's passengers, starting with an announcement for Pastor A and then a second announcement for Pastor B. I can't say that I've ever noticed back-to-back pastor announcements during my hundreds of thousands of miles flown. Luck of the draw, I guessed.

I knew my connection would be tight, but the gate folks assured me that I'd make it. I settled back down with coffee and muffin and finally noticed the news. Las Vegas, Sin City, was being invaded by grasshoppers. Well, that was different. Video from the previous evening showed giant mega-swarms spiraling around an intense white beam cutting through the night sky. The sky-splitting white light came from the pinnacle of the black pyramid casino known as the Luxor. Downtown Las Vegas, which was the original founding point for the city, was also inundated with flitting, flapping clouds of tawny locusts. If the Luxor was the city's southern Gomorrah, then the downtown four miles north certainly fit the bill as a modern Sodom. They were both covered in bugs.

As I watched videos of the grasshoppers swarming all white lights, I felt compelled to google the number of the Old Testament locust plague. As it turned out, locusts were the eighth of the plagues visited upon ancient Egypt. Remembering how these Moses plagues culminated, I realized that I was a firstborn. Not a good thing. I also knew that I would be turning 62 while in Las Vegas, and six plus two equals eight, and locusts are the eighth plague.

I finished my coffee and boarded the plane, which was running even later than advertised. As I mentioned, I have six decades of living under my belt, so jogging across the Charlotte airport lugging a bag is no picnic. I made my Las Vegas flight by three minutes. I had the middle seat for the nearly five-hour flight, so it came as no surprise that I learned a few things about my seat mates. The young man on my right was heading to Las Vegas for a plastic surgery residency. The older gentleman with the window seat was an avid bowler and world traveler. He was also a minister returning from a mission in Kenya. Something about his build and demeanor suggested James Earl Jones, which set off some locust bell in the back of my head. I had to be wrong. What could a minister returning from Kenya have to do with locusts in Las Vegas? Then I remembered -- "Exorcist II:  The Heretic."

The Exorcist movies were all about the presence of demonic entities. In "The Heretic," the swarming of African locusts was a direct consequence of the influence of demons in the natural world. The locusts, like people, could be agitated by Satan and swayed to do great harm.

I watched more Las Vegas locust videos during the flight. The minister, meanwhile, wanted assurances that the turkey bacon on the airline's club sandwich was indeed turkey and not pork. The flight attendant refused to confirm this for him, but we both ordered it anyway. The plastic-surgeon-to-be fell asleep with his textbook open to something about smiling. I kept wondering what would happen if jet engines encountered swarms of locusts. The flight, however, went smoothly, and we landed in Las Vegas without incident Saturday evening.

Early Sunday morning, while checking the Golden Nugget futures and William Hill futures at the Plaza, I was continually approached by working girls, presumably having finished their money-making overnight Saturday shifts. I was too tired to give cute responses, so I simply asked them if they should be in church.

My numbers surveying, and the trip itself, went about as expected. I found a few bargains here and there. I managed to visit South Point, where iconic oddsmaker Jimmy Vaccaro had returned in time for 2019 kickoff. My diet went to hell, as it usually does when I'm in Las Vegas, and I once again managed to discern the difference between 105-degree days, which I handle quite well, and 112-degree days, which I do not. I almost dozed off in the parking lot of the Orleans at 3 AM, but it was a hundred degrees, and I didn't want to crack the windows. I couldn't afford for a gazillion locusts to swarm the rental car. Dozing in the parking lot was a no go.

The five-day trip was physically brutal (112 degrees usually is), but things went smoothly. I did a reasonable job of surveying numbers and understanding where they were going. When I boarded my final return leg, from Charlotte to Tri-Cities, I had almost forgotten about plagues and $6.66 snacks and Biblical resonances.

I plopped into my seat on the little Embraer for the 45-minute flight. My seat mate introduced himself. He was about my age, and he had just signed a five-year contract to work as a consultant in the United Arab Emirates. His name was Mickey. Mickey Bible.


Bob Dietz -- August 13, 2019


Postscript:  I enjoyed writing this, and every detail is true. What's equally true is that, sufficiently motivated, we can all construct similar stories highlighting pseudo-connections for a synchronicity framework on which we can hang the details of our lives.

Not the Lingerie Bowl

Well, this is embarrassing.  I'm supposed to be a knowledgeable football handicapper, but until 48 hours ago, I knew absolutely nothing about women's professional football. I didn't know that the United States had three professional leagues, I didn't know anything about what the teams looked like on the field, and I did not know that a local team was kicking everyone's ass.

Today I finally learned a few things. I drove to Bluff City (TN), less than 20 miles from my home, to watch the unbeaten Tri-Cities Thunder play the Hampton Roads (VA) Lady Gators for the USWFL Ironwoman Championship.

Evidently the Thunder (8-0) are pretty good. Going into this game, they had outscored their opponents 281-12.Their only competitive contest was a first meeting with the Lady Gators, which ended 24-12. By finishing second, Hampton Roads (6-2) had earned a rematch in the championship game.

I was really interested in seeing what women's professional football looked like. After all, the players would not have the hundreds of hours of high school training and team practices that male players accrue. How organized would these teams actually be? What about the hitting? Would it be as intense as a men's game?

Here are my observations. First of all, this is not flag football. It's not two-hand touch. It is rock 'em, sock 'em physical football. Second, I was surprised and impressed with the quality footwork at the quarterback and defensive back positions. I'm not sure how many hours of football these ladies have under their belts, but the quarterbacks seem to technically know what they're doing, and the defensive backs look as if they've played a long time. The quarterbacks also generally made the right reads, and there were only a couple of blatant misfires. The hitting, as I mentioned, is solid, and the tackling is good. Defensively, the women get sideline to sideline reasonably well. Some of the running backs have surprising speed. All in all, it's competent, intense football. Don't take my word for it. You can watch the USWFL championship game on YouTube. Both the Tri-Cities/Hampton Roads Ironwoman title game and the Division II Washington (DC) Prodigy/Keystone Arsenal title contest were live streamed.

I haven't yet mentioned what impressed me most about the women in the Thunder/Lady Gator game.  And when I say impressed, that is an understatement.

The game was played in the afternoon in Bluff City, with the temperature a blazing 88 degrees and the dew point around 70. The conditions were absolutely stifling. It was so humid that I sweated through my entire shirt just standing on the sideline. The teams wore full uniforms and pads, and in the case of the Thunder, dark blue uniforms with black helmets.

Now here's the thing. At season's end, with accumulated injuries, Tri-Cities suited up about 18 players. Hampton Roads had 15. So the majority of the women had to play both ways! Most had to play both offense and defense while manning multiple positions on each side of the ball. I was stunned that the teams handled the roster limitations so well in the oppressive heat and humidity. From the late third quarter on, some cramping occurred, but no more than one would see in any SEC game. And while the offenses were not sprinting to the line of scrimmage the second half, the actual intensity during plays never wavered. It was truly an ironwoman display.

The game I saw wasn't perfect. The teams were called for a handful of illegal motion and formation penalties. While no shotgun snaps actually went awry, Hampton Roads snaps did occasionally float back to the quarterback. The slickness of the ball likely contributed to that. Overall, however, the game was crisply played.

As I walked away from the Thunder's 32-6 win, the composure of the teams in the rugged conditions stayed with me. It impressed me so much that when I got home, this old distance runner wanted to verify the heat and humidity, so I went jogging for a couple of miles to check it out. My rule of thumb, after 45 years of long distance running, is to not work out when the dew point approaches 70 degrees. It's a good rule. The humidity killed me. The jog left me soaked and fried. I had not overestimated the brutality of the playing conditions.

I had stood a few yards behind the Tri-Cities sidelines the entire game. I heard almost no comments or complaints about the sweltering heat. In fact, the PA announcer reminded the crowd to stay hydrated more often than the players said anything about the conditions. It had been a real display of toughness in a grueling environment.

The game atmosphere in Bluff City (pop. 1800) reminded me of semi-pro games from my youth. I grew up watching the Schuylkill County Coal Crackers hammer interstate opposition, and the game ambience brought back memories. In terms of style, the Thunder offense hearkened back to another dominant team, the high school Berwick Bulldogs from their USA Today national title days.

The USWFL schedules their games in a sweet spot, after college basketball has ended and before pre-season NFL kicks off. Next season, the league will be expanding. I look forward to familiarizing myself with all of the divisions and reporting back here before the 2020 season begins.


Bob Dietz -- July 13, 2019

Trump, The Eagles, and Reading in the Rain

(to the tune of "Singing in the Rain")

I'm readin' in the rain.
Just readin' in the rain. 
What a glorious gaffe, but
Not my fault, once again.


This is another of those truly absurd bad beat gambling stories. I had absolutely no intention of writing it, but President Trump decided to give a big deal speech on Independence Day, and it was raining. Somewhere in the middle of the speech, the president talked about Revolutionary War airports, and that confused many people, historians and non-historians alike. Did I mention that it was raining? Okay, I guess I did, so allow me to circle back to that in a few minutes. For now, to describe my tale of woe, I'd best start at the beginning. That beginning was 25 years ago.

The Imperial Palace Casino (today The Linq) was a very interesting place in 1994. It had a one-way escalator from the strip sidewalk directly to the sports book, and the owner threw massive private parties celebrating Adolf Hitler's birthday. The IP had a wonderful little snack bar and a nice quiet buffet where you could retreat from the cacophony of Las Vegas Boulevard. My German heritage, in case you were wondering, provided no discounts, although it may have explained my credit line.

Jay Kornegay, who made the Westgate SuperBook what it is today, was running the Imperial Palace sports book back then. The IP sponsored a nice football contest for the masses, and that's where my story really begins.

The weekly contest required that you select the outright winners of every NFL game. No point spreads were involved. You also had to decide whether each game would go over or under 37 1/2 points. The contest didn't use the actual NFL totals; it used the 37 1/2 figure for every game. The first place weekly prize was 4K. I liked the contest because it paid smaller prizes to the top 50 or so. You didn't need a miracle week to make money.

The particular October week in question, I had gotten off to a strong start in the contest and was watching the Dallas/Philadelphia game. I had picked the Cowboys to win. Late in the second half, Dallas had the game well in hand, leading 24-7 in a driving rain. My totals selection for the game, however, was Over 37 1/2, so I needed someone to get another touchdown and kick the extra point. The rain fell harder as the game wore on, and I was getting concerned that there wouldn't be any more scoring. But as the weather intensified, Philadelphia put together a drive and punched it into the end zone, closing the gap to 24-13. I looked down at my contest tally sheet, anticipating that I'd win the total. And no, Philly did not miss the kick in the rain to break my heart. That would have been an acceptable, every-day kind of loss. It would not have been something I'd remember 25 years later.

But let's leap forward to July 4, 2019. President Trump, in front of the Lincoln Memorial, inexplicably mentions the American army seizing airports during the Revolutionary War. Did I mention that it was raining?

I figured, when Trump said it, that he was simply going off script for a moment and made a mistake while winging it. I thought that he had probably transposed the word "airport" for "sea port." People with the beginnings of Alzheimer's often swap syllables in similar sounding words. Alzheimer's or not, it would have been an understandable error.

When the president was made aware of his blunder afterwards, did he say, "I made a silly mistake?" Nope. Did he apologize with, "Forgive my elderly moment?" or "I lost my concentration there for a bit?" Not a chance. He explained the gaffe by saying that the rain had somehow affected the teleprompter, and it had shut down too soon. He also added that it had been hard to read the teleprompter in all of the rain, anyway.

I have no idea if the rain had messed up the teleprompter electronics or if our president simply couldn't read the words. Frankly, I don't much care either way. The only reason that Trump's mistake and excuses flipped my switch is because it sent me back, deja vu style, to that 1994 Eagles/Cowboys game.

Philadelphia had scored to cut the Dallas lead to 24-13. To win the contest total, all I needed was the extra point. I looked down at my contest tally sheet, then looked up to see the Eagles...doing what? Going for two? What?!? I sat there flabbergasted as Philly inexplicably attempted a two-point conversion. They failed. The rain continued. The final score was 24-13. I lost the contest total by half a point.

I kept doing the math in my head. Somehow I must be adding wrong, I thought. But nope. The score was 24-13. Going for two made zero sense.

Rich Kotite was the Philadelphia head coach. He wasn't the best NFL head coach; he wasn't the worst. I couldn't wait to hear his answer in the press conference.

Well, the question was quickly asked. Did Kotite say, "I made a really silly, stupid mistake?" Nope. Did he apologize for losing his concentration, his presence of mind, and his ability to add? No. When asked, Coach Kotite said the rain was so hard that it had made the ink run on the chart that tells him when to go for one or two. I'm serious. Kotite sat at the press conference and blamed his gaffe on ink running and his inability to read it.

Simple addition had evidently not been part of his job description.

It wasn't official until after the Monday night game, and the Imperial Palace's posting of the first place contest ticket on Tuesday afternoon. Then it was official. Coach Kotite's reading in the rain had cost me four thousand dollars. Funny as hell now. Not so funny that Tuesday in 1994.


Bob Dietz -- July 6, 2019

The Borg Have Been Assimilated

The Past

Harrah's Entertainment acquired Caesars Palace in 2005 and shortly thereafter went on an east strip buying frenzy that included Bourbon Street, the Imperial Palace, the Barbary Coast, and Planet Hollywood. I believe I may have been the first, but not the last, to dub Harrah's as "The Borg." Assimilation was inevitable, and resistance was indeed futile.

I wasn't too pleased with Harrah's acquisition addiction, for a number of solid reasons. When an overarching entity buys up properties containing sports books, all of the books under that particular umbrella become, in effect, one large-volume book. They usually have a single linked bookkeeping system for all of the properties, and each property has identical lines and all of the same futures odds. For a professional gambler, this is not a good thing. Gamblers prefer a range of lines. The wider the range, the better.

The Harrah's takeover of Caesars Palace's sports book shook me to my history-appreciating core. The Caesars sports book, along with the Stardust sports book, were the two iconic football locales during the 70's, 80's and early 90's. I spent my Saturdays at the Stardust and most Sundays at Caesars. These two places, along with the Mirage (1989 opening) and Binion's downtown did the highest volume of action with the highest limits. Harrah's takeover threatened the Caesars cachet. The Caesars Palace sports book was, after all, a famous sports betting destination. It was hallowed wagering ground. The Caesars book had 20 huge helmet chairs at the front of the seating area. Every Sunday, those chairs were filled with a veritable who's who of heavy hitters. In 2005, Harrah's, with its mathematically challenged Branson-esque clientele and tight-fisted comp policies, invaded Caesars high class kitsch. Nothing good could come of it.

My fears turned out to be justified. Harrah's co-opted the Caesars name. Despite a massive linked sports betting pool for the Harrah's properties, the wagering limits actually went down. Comps were cut, and niggardly nabobs of negativity ruled the day.


The Present

Fast forward to 2019, and we have big news. The evil Borg have themselves been assimilated. El Dorado Resorts has announced that it's made the deal to acquire what today is called Caesars Entertainment. The Borg failure doesn't surprise me. During the last 15 years, Harrah's/CET has downgraded video poker, reduced blackjack payouts, and capped sports book bets in a paranoid attempt to reduce expenses. Yet the company designed and built competing multi-million dollar nightclubs within stone's throws of each other. Plus (for some God forsaken reason) a giant Ferris wheel. Not much they've done has made sense, so here we are.


The Future

Do I think that the assimilation of the Borg is a good thing? Well, not really. From a sports gambling perspective, once again this means a likely reduction in range of numbers. From a general gambling and comps perspective, it's quite likely that El Dorado Resorts will not be one iota of an improvement over Harrah's/CET.

The July 2019 Las Vegas Advisor featured an ominous quote from the Wall Street Journal, "Part of El Dorado's success is its management's ability to slim down on unnecessary guest inducements, such as free drinks and hotel stays. Caesars has done better in this regard, too, cutting its perks about in half to roughly 14% of revenue since 2016. But El Dorado is better; its similar metric is around 10%." My reaction to the phrase "unnecessary guest inducements" was almost identical to the Las Vegas Advisor. The LVA author simply said, "Uh oh." I blurted out a Scooby Do, "Ruh Row." It sounds as if those Total Rewards slot club addicts may get slapped around pretty good. The Borg have been assimilated, and something worse than the Borg figures to replace them. It's the circle of life.

I'll close with some practical advice for those Harrah's/CET slot club members, who will be told repeatedly in the months ahead that their Reward Credits are safe and sound and that their comps will be better than ever once El Dorado officially takes the reins.

Back in 2005, I had a race/sports comp account at Caesars Palace. In advance of the Harrah's takeover, I asked seven or eight times what would happen to my accrued comps and the comp rate. The answers I received from all Caesars personnel were the same. Regardless of whether I asked ticket writers or assistant sports book managers, I was told that my comps were quite safe, and that the comp rate would actually improve when Harrah's took over. Being familiar with casinos, and also being a cynic, I didn't believe those answers. I quickly used all but $80 or so of my comp account.

The takeover day came, and not only were comp rates for sports bettors reduced, but comps that had already been banked were massively cut. Some players took hits of literally thousands of dollars in comps. Obviously, I wasn't shocked. I later learned that, depending on your status, some of the bigger players were able to negotiate to regain a portion of their gutted comps. The bulk of the smaller players, however, were left high and dry with no recourse. The fine print in players club rules gives the house carte blanche, and certainly gives a new owner mega carte blanche.

My recommendation for Total Rewards members is therefore "Player Beware." If you couldn't trust the Borg in 2005, why trust whatever assimilated them in 2019?


Bob Dietz -- July 3, 2019

Megan Rapinoe, Buddy Ryan, and The Problem with Names

Political Incorrectness Alert:  Somewhere in this brief entry, I refer to a lesbian as "ballsy." If this offends anyone, I am ecstatic. My goal in life is to offend as many people as possible in the time I have left.



I had a tough decision to make. While I don't know squat about soccer, I was looking at a very rare contextual betting opportunity. After the group segment of the World Cup, the U.S. Women's soccer team had been hyped as "maybe the best ever." Yet the 2-1 win versus Spain in the knockout round had been remarkably shaky, aided by a very questionable penalty call. My instinct was to at least consider France to win versus the Americans. A name, however, was creating a problem for me. The name was attached to a face, and the face was everywhere. Megan Rapinoe owned both.

Megan Rapinoe had been quoted in an interview as saying that, if the American women won the title, she was "not going to the fucking White House." Rapinoe had also been on board with Colin Kaepernick regarding the whole "Star Spangled Banner" issue. For the last couple of weeks, Rapinoe's face and comments had been on every sports website and in every newspaper. She had been hard to miss. I'm usually quite good at ignoring media noise and hyperbole, but I suspect that I'm hard-wired to notice ballsy, semi-lavender-haired lesbians who use my kind of language. When President Trump tweeted this and that in response to her, Rapinoe calmly repeated herself and stood her public ground.

All of that was a big problem for me. I'm supposed to be making bloodless decisions based on value, numbers, and an instinctive understanding of how media exposures affect odds. Rapinoe, however, had been ubiquitous. I probably would have been okay if she had not added the "fucking," but language like that is ultra-endearing when directed at an iconic bully.

By the way, before I'm castigated for being a "Trump-hater," please understand that I agree, more or less, with maybe half of the president's top dozen policy priorities. I just happen to think that the president of the United States should not conduct himself as if he were auditioning for the main villain role in a new Bruce Willis Die Hard movie. I estimate that I've offended 99% of all readers by now, which (as I mentioned earlier) is my goal. But I digress.

My issue with Rapinoe was that her public coverage had affected my ability to make an objective gambling decision. This brings me to Buddy Ryan, the famous architect of the '85 Bears defense and later head coach of the Philadelphia Eagles and Arizona Cardinals.

Buddy Ryan had a wonderful habit of referring to most players by their numbers rather than their names. He was especially prone to this during training camps, before rosters were set. I think this was a very useful, practical idea. Whether Ryan was making coldly objective talent evaluations or not, referring to players by numbers certainly suggested just that.

The difficulty, after Ryan became a head coach, was that the veteran players he knew well ceased to be numbers. He hung on to them a couple of beats longer than was wise, and this quickly corroded his rosters. They had become faces, stories, people with links to him. He lost his talent-appraising objectivity. His players had become names.

I examined the France/U.S. match again. France's value was depressed due to their recent successes against the Americans. More importantly, I couldn't get Rapinoe's face and the phrase "fucking White House," which always provokes a hint of a smile, out of my mind. Sometimes one must acknowledge that one's thought processes are messed up. I recognized that my objectivity was lacking, so I passed on betting the match.

Next Tuesday is another match. I'll have to wait and see if I can flush Rapinoe's public persona from my gambling mind. Perhaps by then, I'll be able to make a proper fucking analysis. Or not.


Bob Dietz -- June 28, 2019

Confirmation Bias: The Russians and Stephen A. Smith

"Saying is Believing."


Confirmation bias is in the 2019 news because of its relevance to U.S. politics. American voters have funneled themselves into camps that are virtually impervious to contradictory evidence or opinions. These voters seek only that information which agrees with their established respective mindsets.

Prior to the 2016 elections, Russian troll farms guided many Americans into disparate political camps much faster than would have naturally occurred. Putin set the wind beneath the wings of U.S. voter party alienation. Once the U.S. factions had been pushed a bit faster into their echo chambers, the Russians continually seeded more radical attitudes in those chambers, resulting in increasingly isolated, radicalized American subgroups.The Russians effectively insulated U.S. citizens from each other's perspectives. Putin affected the way Americans perceive each other, and he changed American behavior going forward. Scary stuff.

So what does all of this have to do with Stephen A. Smith?


Conflict and Ratings

American television is a capitalist enterprise. Higher ratings mean more money -- more product sold for advertisers, more income for networks, more money for parent companies, better salaries for stars on the shows. This is the case for everything from The Muppets to ABC's nightly news to a football pre-game show.

Humans are hard wired to attend to human faces and human voices. They are especially hard wired to attend to human conflict. Attention-getting aspects of conflict include higher decibels so as to command the aural stage and non-verbal gesticulating to command the physical stage. Conflict sells. Conflict is the most important component of almost every reality show. The reality shows can range from the political Crossfire on CNN (which set the stage for today's echo chamber politics) to Little Women:  LA to 90 Day Fiance'. Television is shooting for conflict. Conflict gets ratings.

What's wrong with that? And where does Stephen A. Smith fit into all of this?


Gambling Effects

All of the sports talk shows on television, whether head-to-head talk formats or pre-game warmups, are sorely lacking in impartial analysis, the dry asking of proper questions, and the framing of theories. Instead, the shows are rife with declarations disguised as debates about future events. Questions are rarely asked in probabilistic terms. The people on the shows are too busy making declarative statements that conflict with each other. Unless one is clairvoyant, making declarative statements about future events is probably a bad idea, for an array of reasons. You're more likely to see me use "more likely" in a given sentence than you are to hear "more likely" in all of a network's college football prediction shows combined.

I've highlighted Stephen A. Smith because he's an iconic declarer who presents his opinions with a forcefulness, both verbal and non-verbal, best left for boxers after their arms have been raised in victory. Really, the ridiculous certainty of most sports show talking heads is a widespread disease. Skip Bayless, Kirk Herbstreit, almost any ESPN panel, and virtually every sports show on television -- all of them employ conflict and proclamations of certainty as audience hooks. And so one might ask once again, what is wrong with that? Well, to be honest, not much is wrong with it if you're watching and not betting games with the intention of winning. But if you're betting games and trying to win, watching this kind of programming is absolutely toxic, counter-productive, and much worse than just a waste of time.

Most of the formats involve declarative "debates." The topics, which can entail fantasy selections, who will win what games, or college playoff rankings, tend to funnel viewers into camps. The television personalities present their individual conclusions, and viewers are invited to adopt one or another perspective. This guides viewers down the slippery slope to personal commitments, rather than neutral theorizing. In essence, you have been guided into echo chambers. What Russians did to the American electorate, ESPN does to college football fan bases and viewers in general. And they do it every blessed day. Once you've committed to a viewpoint prior to an event, you are in an echo chamber, and that is nowhere for a gambler to be. A commitment is like a thick fog. You'll be able to make out just the bare outlines and dim shapes of actual reality as it unfolds, despite the fact that reality is taking place right in front of you.

Commitments lead to confirmation biases, which include perceptual biases and memory biases. While the primrose path to confirmation biases may be the single most important reason to avoid sports shows, the talking heads also create other compelling problems for would-be winning gamblers. For example, Billy Walters with five players in his pocket would not display the conviction and certainty of the television pundits. The declarative style of the broadcasters can easily have an intimidating or dampening effect on a sports bettor who wisely holds conviction at arm's length. Also, broadcasters spend most of their time discussing players and coaches. In college football, the games are not player versus player or even coach versus coach. The games are organism versus organism. Watching these television shows teaches bettors the absolute wrong way to analyze college football games. If you want to be a winning tennis player, watching people playing tennis with baseball bats teaches you very little. The types of analysis on television are literally that wrong. The tools are wrong, and if the tools are wrong, not much of what follows can be right.

Some people respond by saying that they rely on mid-week and pre-game shows to get injury updates and learn key stats. Folks, if you're learning about injuries and stats from a television show, you are not really trying to win (not that there's anything Seinfeldian wrong with that). For those trying to win, injury updates are best tracked online. I cannot emphasize this enough, but time is of the essence in sports gambling, and reading is faster than listening to the same content. Allow me to repeat that. Reading is much, much faster than listening to the same thing. The only conceivable reason for watching a pre-game broadcast would be to see the on site weather. Even then, you can keep the sound off.

There are other social psychological reasons to avoid the television sports shows, and we'll review those down the road. We'll also discuss ways to fend off intellectual commitment. For now, however, keep your mouths shut and the sound turned down. Don't let the Russkies or Stephen A. Smith get to you.


Bob Dietz -- June 26, 2019

Confirmation Bias -- Introduction

When it comes to sports betting and gambling in general, an understanding of confirmation bias has immense value. I'll tackle various aspects of confirmation bias in at least a dozen posts in the months ahead. I think that it's the most convenient and useful starting point from which to explore sports betting pitfalls and errors.

Many 2019 references to confirmation bias address the current political situation in the United States. Observers see the U.S. electorate divided into hardened camps almost impervious to evidence that disconfirms their respective political positions or that places favored representatives in a bad light. Common nomenclature describes Americans as existing in "echo chambers" or "silos." These terms reference social and informational spaces that are selectively permeable, like a human cell. Information that feeds the echo chamber is allowed in; conflicting data is filtered out. The more the echo chamber fills with one-sided information, the more the pressure difference grows between those inside the chamber and those outside of it.

American politics has thrust confirmation bias and all of its elements into the spotlight. I would, however, like to set aside the political aspects of confirmation bias and examine instead the awesome utility of the concept when applied to sports betting and gambling. So, for our purposes, confirmation bias will refer to the human tendency to vet information so that any resulting conclusions conform to pre-existing theories, expectations, and beliefs.

We selectively filter our acquisition of information both "out there" in the world and information catalogued in memory so that we require the least reorganization of our existing "reality." Confirmation bias is like a personal and flawed version of Occam's Razor. Instead of the simplest explanation as our default, however, we default to the explanation that requires the least adjustment to what we already believe. Consciously or not, we adhere to the premise that our beliefs are best kept crystalline and unaffected by conflicting evidence.


Cognitive Dissonance

Cognitive dissonance theory is an ancestor and close cousin of confirmation bias studies. Leon Festinger introduced cognitive dissonance theory in his classics, When Prophecy Fails (1956) and A Theory of Cognitive Dissonance (1957). When Prophecy Fails will be a focal point for another column. The book deals with a UFO cult whose leaders predicted events on specific dates. The events did not occur, but the cult members surprisingly became even more invested in the leaders and the cult itself after the prophecies had failed.

Cognitive dissonance was one of the first theories to address things like the fact that people who have recently bought one brand of automobile tend to not read ads for other brands. These tendencies are statistically predictable. While cognitive dissonance may have been a useful (and at the time, novel) tool for asking real world questions, many of the older laboratory studies seemed quite unwieldy. Today, the subject has for the most part been subsumed under the much broader helm of confirmation bias.


Overview

Our entire individual lives are a test of our ability to overcome confirmation biases and the associated narcissism. We live these 70-odd years, pinned down by whatever culture in which we're born, and our life experiences are limited. I'm talking brass tacks, bottom line, numerically limited. Despite this, we are constantly faced with drawing conclusions and making decisions based on the individual data bases of our lives. Quite often, we don't have a statistically significant sample from which to generate future decisions, but either we don't recognize this, or we don't have the ability to de-emphasize our life histories as influences. Our minds are filled with the full color narratives of ourselves. We remember every pain or pleasure without a sense of their lack of importance. The challenge for us is to recognize when our lives have not given us a statistically significant sample, to go get the info required to take statistically sound action, and to then override the flawed perspectives our lives have provided. It's a daunting task.

In my life, I have had a single terrible experience buying a Renault automobile and a single great experience buying a Toyota. These were vivid events in my life, and they are writ large. The reality is that these events have no statistical significance. I am capable of recognizing this, so I will read Consumer Reports before car shopping. If Renault, however, gets top grades, I will still have a very, very difficult time putting my life experiences aside. It's hard to subordinate the evidence of our lives, however sparse, to some third party summary that we haven't personally experienced. The job, however, is to do just that. From a statistical perspective, the idea that "what we've lived should guide us" is largely an illusion. For many things, our lives don't provide a big enough sample from which to draw meaningful conclusions.

We view the world with perceptual biases of which we are unaware. We process information in a sea of memory biases. We may be overmatched by our biases. I think, however, that in the arena of sports gambling, we have a chance to improve ourselves by recognizing and controlling these biases. We'll discuss how in the weeks ahead.


Bob Dietz -- June 20, 2019

Vintage Vegas: Sweet Suites and Edmund Slick

Astrology can be a bitch.

The initial World Cup of Handicapping (Football) took place in 1985 at Caesars Palace. It was a one-weekend, thousand-dollar fee event that drew many of the biggest names in football handicapping. In 1985, a one-weekend, 1K contest was slightly out of my sanity range, but I had targeted that particular weekend as very beatable in terms of the college football schedule. Frankly, it appeared to be the best college football wagering week of the 1985 season, so I sucked it up and entered.

The format was formidable. Contestants had to select 20 college sides, then rank them by designating two as $2000 bets, two as $1800 bets, and so on down to $200. Similarly, one had to choose 20 NFL plays from sides and totals and rank them. Prizes would go to the top 10 college records, top 10 NFL records, and top 10 combined records. Bonus prizes went to the top bankroll scores in the three categories. I had no illusions about doing well in the NFL that week, especially with 20 plays. College football was going to have to carry me, and I thought that it could.

Caesars Palace had a huge, respected independent sports book at the time. Harrah's had not yet bought it and imposed its Borg-like assimilation. The Caesars sports book hoped the World Cup would become an annual football handicapping event, much like the World Cup of Thoroughbred Handicapping. To this end, Caesars treated us pretty well. Unlike current Las Vegas horse handicapping tournaments and the WSOP, which saddle players with housing costs, Caesars comped our rooms. And boy, they were nice rooms.

I'm a frugal sort, so I can honestly say that after 40 years of Las Vegas visits, I've stayed in just a handful of suites. I've enjoyed the Palace Station original suites, with their classic brass accoutrements, just off the casino floor. I've also stayed in the old Barbary Coast suites. I hadn't even known about the Barbary suites until my 2 AM arrival forced the BC staff to honor my reservation. The retro suites at the Rio are fun in a 1980's way, and the Tropicana's retro suites with the mirrored ceilings are very cool, too. I once visited a client at the old suites in the Stardust rear complex (prior to the building of the tower). Those suites were two stories with a spiral staircase. My World Cup Caesars Palace room, however, definitely topped these others.

I had a huge round bed, like Dean Martin in the Matt Helm movies. The walls were covered in mirrors. The ceiling over the bed was mirrored. Many, many mirrors. It was all sort of wasted on me, since I was traveling alone, but I appreciated the ambiance when I wasn't unsettled by it. If you like looking at yourself -- a lot -- it was a wonderful room.

Saturday was a long day. About a hundred handicappers had entered, and the day was one lengthy dogfight. My instincts and schedule analysis had been spot on, but cashing came down to a final game between LSU and Kentucky. I had Kentucky with seven points. As the game unfolded, LSU pushed them all over the field. I knew I had the wrong team, but a heavy, driving rain and some scattershot field goal attempts kept Kentucky in it. LSU held a 3-0 lead with a minute to go and the ball inside the UK 10-yard line. LSU could have run out the clock. They did not, and a third-down, off tackle run broke for a touchdown. LSU won 10-0.

I finished 15-5 against the spread. Unfortunately, 18-2 ATS won the day, and the cashing cutoff was 16-4 ATS. On Sunday, I eked out an 11-9 ATS record, doing just enough to not win any money overall. Rough break, as they say.

Now about that astrology thing. Yeah, about that. At the awards ceremony, I learned who had won the college part of the contest. He was a really chubby guy with a tightly coifed 80's perm, a frilly pink shirt with ruffles, and a tuxedo featuring astrological symbols, stars, and ringed planets. His name was Edmund Slick.

At the time, Edmund Slick was a ubiquitous presence in football magazines. His schtick was that he used astrological analyses to determine his handicapping plays.

To be honest, I don't know if he actually won the contest with his own handicapping, or if he simply took credit for the winning entry. His name was not on the contestant list. The official story was that he had entered under a pseudonym and stepped forward to take credit after he had won. Well, maybe I buy that. Or maybe he paid the name that actually went 18-2, and Slick claimed ownership of the entry after the fact. I do not really know, just as I don't know whether the stars and planets on his tuxedo glowed in the dark. I suspect that they did.

As a fan of James Randi, as an avid supporter of CSICOP, and as a card-carrying investigator for the short-lived SSDPE (Society for the Scientific Documentation of Paranormal Experiments), I was appalled at the idea that someone was using an astrology gimmick to sell football plays. Those glittering symbols on Slick's tuxedo really annoyed me. The fact that he was the winner of the college contest bothered me more than the fact that I didn't cash. Time, however, heals all wounds, or at least dims our memories.

I can look back at it now and chuckle. At least I had a really nice room.


Notes: (1) That was the first and last World Cup of Handicapping (Football). (2) For a relevant article capturing a feel for the sports services of the time, I recommend Melissa Isaacson's column at www.orlandosentinel.com/news/os-xpm-1986-08-26-0250080277-story.html


Bob Dietz -- June 13, 2019

Days of Futures Passed

I'm known as something of a futures guru. Futures have led to some significant, reputation-making scores. Futures are the one category of wagering in which I will occasionally "step out of my lane." I am, however, a conservative creature, and in 2019 I have arguably been too conservative. My mistakes have to do with NOT betting teams. These errors of omission have turned out to be real botches.

I tend to be tight when analyzing sports at which I'm not expert, which is everything but football. I  think that comprehensive shopping, schedule analysis, and timing can carry bettors to futures profits, but my trigger threshold is much higher for sports other than football.

Prior to the start of the NHL playoffs, Boston had caught my eye as the best value based on some of my post-season statistical priorities. I thought, however, that the odds to win the title were right on the edge of wager worthiness. The record-setting Tampa Bay team scared me. I made the decision to pass. Then the favored Lightning were miraculously swept in the first round, two of the next best teams were also ousted, and Boston had a clear path to the finals. Once in the finals, hedging would have guaranteed me a solid profit. Not a great decision to pass, as it turned out.

In the NBA, I had my eye on Toronto, as the Raptors are routinely underbet in futures, especially in Las Vegas (as opposed to offshore). One problem, I felt, was that Toronto faced Philadelphia in the first round. Toronto had completely owned the 76ers recently, winning 14 of 15 games or thereabouts. That depressed the Raptor futures numbers. In addition, Golden State loomed as a likely Finals opponent that would be a prohibitive favorite. I was not sure how heavy a favorite. Years earlier, I had taken a very good 76er team at 30-1 and 35-1 to win the title, only to see them face off against a Kobe/Shaq Lakers team that was -1100 in the series. The -1100 had surprised me, and I made very little on the wager because of the wicked hedging. I was concerned I'd run into a similar situation. Once again, I passed. Well, Toronto leads Golden State 2-1 in the Finals, and the Raptors will be a lousy value for years to come. So that is the end of that.

In baseball, I will be surprised if the present does not portend the future, which simply means that I expect the teams in first place after 50 games to finish on top. This season, there appear to be no baseball futures bargains. After 30 games, I had my eye on the Mets as a conceivable long shot threat. They had decent numbers in the statistics I prioritize, and they were owed a huge home stand in terms of home/road games. Their numbers, however, took a dive during the next 20 games, and now I really cannot take them. Despite my recent errors of omission, I'm going to take a deep, sighing breath and pass once more.

The job, after all, isn't to amuse yourself or demonstrate cajones or brilliance. The job is to make money. Keeping your wallet in your pocket should always be the default.


Bob Dietz -- June 7, 2019

Vintage Vegas: Me, Myself, and The Castaways

I'll be using the "Vintage Vegas" columns to report on handicapping tales from days gone by. I've been doing this sports handicapping gig a long time, 40 years professionally to be precise. Since I'm old, I qualify as vintage, so a few of these reports will touch on things I've done that provide a modicum of credibility.

The "Bob Dietz's Integrity Sports" moniker has been around forever. For a brief snapshot of things I did "back in the day," I suggest heading to the internet archives via the wayback machine. Plug in my old Integritysports.com site and take a look. The accomplishments are real. In future Vintage Vegas entries, we'll examine historical sports handicapping publications and contests, some of which are mentioned on the old Integritysports.com site. We'll take a look at former Seattle Times reporter Mike McCusker's annual "Tipsters or Gypsters?" and an old "Who's Who in Sports Gambling" from Hall Publishing. Today, however, I'd like to talk about the football contest that was the direct ancestor of today's Westgate Las Vegas Superbook Contest. The contest was called the "Pro-Football Handicap," and it was held at the Castaways Casino, on the site where the Mirage now stands. Sonny Reizner designed and ran this competition.

For a nice retrospective on early Las Vegas handicapping competitions and what we called "The Castaways Contest," I recommend a July 19, 2018 Sportshandle.com piece by Robert Mann, a Gaming Today columnist. Mann does a fine job surveying the original contests. I just want to add a little detail from my personal experience.

The Castaways, directly across the strip from the Rat Pack hangout, the Sands Casino, wasn't posh like today's megaresorts, but it wasn't a dive, either. The Castaways was a small, classic-for-the-time casino with a great location. The contest made it a weekly destination for sports bettors and gave the Castaways a certain cachet.

The Castaways Contest, with its hefty thousand-dollar entrance fee, was the forerunner of today's Superbook Contest. There was one huge difference, however, between the current Westgate extravaganza and the Castaways' competition. While the Superbook requires five NFL selections against the spread each week, the Castaways contestants had to pick every NFL game ATS each week. Fourteen games a week, no byes, no breaks. Every single game counted on your record.

I had a client, a CPA from New York, who tasked me with entering the contest in my name and putting his selections in for him. The contest drew more than a hundred entrants. The top 20 contestants had both their selections and their records marked on an old fashioned white board under glass (on the wall) in the Castaways lobby. Those contest plays were quite the draw.

My client was doing pretty well, about six games over .500 after nine or ten weeks, but he got frustrated with his inability to move up in the standings. So he asked me to take the helm for the remainder of the season with the understanding that we'd split the money if I rallied to cash. I had no real interest in trying to pick all of the NFL games each week. Even as a young man, I was aware enough to not take a "pick every game" contest terribly seriously. It's a good way to go blind or mad. I agreed, however, to give it a shot. Although I'd like to share an exciting narrative of being into and out of the money and how I spent long hours analyzing and conquering the NFL schedule, that's not what happened.  There wasn't a drop of drama.We finished more than 20 games over .500, in a tie for 12th, I think. Just the top 10 cashed. Any other year of the contest, our record would have been good enough to cash, but not that particular season.

That was my first and last go at the Castaways Contest. The Castaways itself wasn't long for this world, and was soon demolished to make way for Steve Wynn's opening salvo in the Las Vegas revolution, the Mirage. The times, they were a'changin'.


Bob Dietz -- June 3, 2019

The Holzhauer Effect

James Holzhauer, a 34-year-old Las Vegas resident, just won his 30th consecutive "Jeopardy" game, bringing his total winnings to more than $2,300,000. Holzhauer's responses are correct more than 95% of the time. He's flawless regarding geography, he's brilliant at everything else, and he's a preternaturally fast thinker. He also knows what he doesn't know. Besides inhuman speed and an enormous data base, Holzhauer appears, to my naïve eye, to be strategically sound with heretofore rarely used tactics. He's on pace to break Ken Jennings' all-time "Jeopardy" winnings record ($2,520,700) within a week. None of this, however, references the true nature of his current impact on American culture. James Holzhauer, you see, is a professional sports bettor.

He's a professional sports bettor shattering records on national television the year after the legalization of sports betting in many states. He has put a name, a face, and a style to the nation's perception of professional sports bettors. And he's making everyone else look stupid.

I know almost nothing about game theory. My limited game theory knowledge, as it were, comes from annually reviewing game theory DVDs from a "Great Courses" collection. I sit and debate with my friends in academia whether Holzhauer increases variance with Daily Doubles in service of reducing variance inherent in Final Jeopardy. Or is he simply always going for maximum earn, and session wins be damned? Obviously, if he gets 95% of his responses correct, variance is his enemy. Or is it? I'm sure Holzhauer would chuckle at our questions. He's undoubtedly pinned down the optimal risks given all contexts. He's beautiful to watch.

That's the effect he's had on me, which is saying something. I cringe with disdain at most trivia contests, probably the result of having been expected to finish in the top one percent of any blessed test I took as a kid. Iowa Basic Skills, IQ, SATs, and on and on -- all exercises in trivia, really. But as much as I despise that kind of testing, I'm rooting for Holzhauer.

Holzhauer has single handedly delivered a compelling vision of what a professional sports bettor looks like and acts like. To this point, civilians have had no idea who we are and what it is that we do, and most of what they imagine is generally wrong. In my personal opinion (fortified by 40 years of doing it), Holzhauer is very much like most of the top sports handicappers. In my estimation, a hundred or so individuals win long term at sports betting in the United States. Most of them are quite similar to this guy, although maybe not quite as sharp at"Jeopardy."

James Holzhauer has come along at the most serendipitous time for those of us who have spent our lives handicapping sports. The last time an alleged sports bettor received this much nationally televised airtime, CNBC managed to absolutely butcher public perception of sports bettors with a horrific so-called reality show featuring "Steve Stevens." Stevens turned out to be Darin Notaro, a guy with some serious telemarketing scams as part of his resume. The 2014 show, "Money Talks," was a hot mess of bad acting and caricatures. Holzhauer's television presence and comportment should wash the CNBC "Steve Stevens" stench from the public domain, just in time for state-by-state legalization.

Holzhauer, of course, has captured considerable media interest with his run. Some have tried to compare him to Chris Moneymaker, who became famous by winning the 2003 WSOP Main Event. I find this comparison very odd, as Moneymaker wasn't really considered an expert poker player, and his victory supported the premise that anybody off the street could conceivably win the Main Event. Holzhauer, however, is displaying a world class data base, a fantastic memory, and tactical processing speeds far beyond those of mortal men. His abilities should make civilians fear the skill sets of professional sports bettors. When Moneymaker won, it demonstrated that anyone could win. With Holzhauer's abilities on display, however, the caveat against normal folk "trying sports betting at home" is loud and clear.

Speaking of caveats, I'll close with one. Despite Holzhauer's "Jeopardy" success, we have no real idea if he's winning at sports gambling or not. We don't actually know if he's a long term threat to sports books. My warning is simply to be aware of the classic Halo Effect. Just because a guy dominates "Jeopardy" doesn't necessarily mean that he wins betting sports. I strongly suspect that Holzhauer does win, however, partly because the skill set that he's shown on television is wonderfully suited for live betting, which has become increasingly popular.

I've often said that I'm not really smarter than other people. I'm just faster, and faster creates the illusion of smarter. Nobody is faster than James Holzhauer. If I were running a sports book, I wouldn't let him touch the live betting. That would put my whole operation in the direst jeopardy. And I certainly wouldn't want that.


Bob Dietz -- May 30

Winning Gamblers: The Care and Feeding of White Crows

"If you really don't like to gamble, you have a much better chance of winning."  


People often ask me, "How does a person train to become a winning gambler?" "What qualities are needed to win at gambling?" "Are there rules that can help you win?"

These are reasonable questions. Winning gamblers are very, very rare. My own highly speculative subjective estimate is that, in sports betting, about a hundred individuals or teams of people win long term in the United States. I'll explore many of the attributes that separate winning sports bettors from civilians in the months ahead.  Today, however, I'll tackle just a couple of fundamental ideas that I believe can be helpful to both sports bettors and gamblers in general.

First of all, I'll state the obvious. "Gambling" is just a word. The gamut of behaviors and activities that American culture lumps under the umbrella of "gambling" is wide-ranging. Just because a word exists in a culture does not mean that some actual thing neatly and objectively corresponds to that word. If an alien race visited the United States, would it have any compelling reason to label lottery scratch offs and hockey betting with the same word? The fact that so many different behaviors get lumped into the category of "gambling" can create problems for those trying to win. We'll circle back to this in a bit.

"If you really don't like to gamble, you have a much better chance of winning." Yes, I believe that. Here's why.

In American culture, most if not all of the activities that fall under the purview of the word "gambling" have addictive elements. I'm not taking any moral or ethical position on this. I don't really care if 90% or 10% of the activities someone undertakes are addictive. I'm just pointing out that most "gambling" is to some degree addictive for most people. That includes, of course, sports betting.

I'm going to further argue that one cause of the addictive nature is our culture's hyper-commercial emphasis on material resources, income, and the micro-management of both. The culture is saturated with the buying and selling of products and services. Thousands of brand exposures per day literally immerse each person in everything from half-price shakes at Sonic to the latest rebates on half a dozen competing pickup trucks. Elections can be won or lost based on whether the buying powers of families have risen five percent or dropped five percent. Every financial transaction is labeled as significant and something to be analyzed or controlled.

The behaviors under the aegis of "gambling" acquire significance for the individual due to the perceived consequences of winning or losing money and the physiological effects from that winning or losing. The way our culture frames gambling impedes our ability to objectively evaluate whether we know what we're doing. For example, most people who are introduced to gambling think that it is indeed about "winning money" as if "winning money" is some kind of skill. Civilians look at poker tournaments or sports bets and see winning or losing of money as the primary defining components. This is not at all helpful in the pursuit of actually winning at gambling.

Chris "Jesus" Ferguson, the 2000 WSOP Main Event winner, said that he could be beaten, but he couldn't be outplayed. Basically, he was explaining that he has control of the proximate (his play), and that the ultimate (the tournament financial result) is not the most direct measure of his expertise. All gambling activities involve an eventual financial result. Most people who attempt to gamble mistake the end financial result for the task at hand. This is not a useful perspective, but it's the perspective native to our culture. It can be a real albatross around one's neck.

Because individuals who begin gambling always, upon immediate failure, have the option to increase stakes in a Martingale fashion, "winning money" can be achieved again and again at greater and greater bankroll/indebtedness risk. Defining success or failure in the short term by "money won" can therefore be antithetical to achieving real expertise while also being extremely hazardous to one's bankroll. Short term winning or losing is no indication of much of anything. Civilians tend to conflate short term winning with proficiency. This emphasis on short term "money won" is not only an inappropriate way of evaluating expertise, it suckers the person who has won in one type of gambling into thinking that he should be able to apply himself to other types. In part, this error is due to what I mentioned earlier. Many dissimilar activities get lumped under the term "gambling." This serves casinos well.

Here's another reason I think that, in terms of learning to win, a person who dislikes gambling has an advantage over someone who likes it. Simply put, those who dislike the risking of money are less likely to get the addiction bug. People are much more likely to become addicted to winning or losing money than they are to lengthy decision-making processes. Money-as-goal should be secondary, maybe even irrelevant. In sports betting, what's important is that one enjoys the gathering and prioritization of data, relentless shopping for numbers, and timely decision-making. Those are building blocks to winning. The person who devotes himself to process, and each sport has its own particular process, has a chance to win. Gambling on each sport has a markedly different process, and different casino games clearly have enormously different processes. People need to acknowledge that rather than buying into the idea that it's all "gambling" with "winning money" as some kind of global skill. A devotion to simply "winning money" has no more practical application than the proverbial "thoughts and prayers."

Since each sports requires its own individual process, becoming obsessive with one type of preparation should rarely result in obsessiveness regarding completely different types of preparation for other sports. A focus on process gives gamblers a chance, at least, to sidestep the addictive effects of gambling. Process, for example, has rules that set limits on what odds one is allowed to try to overcome.

The goal of winning money is in fact not some magical magnet that will draw people to it if they put in the hours and have some talent. Proper preparation and proper process are the only goals that can truly give players a fighting chance.

We'll return to the attributes of winning gamblers in future "White Crow" posts. As I obliquely touched on several times, I consider "staying in your lane" a key. The next time we discuss white crows, we'll tackle the issue of why it's crucial to stay in your lane, and also why most gamblers find it so difficult.


Bob Dietz -- May 26

Commenting on Comments

I've never understood the utility of a comments section following an article. The people commenting are usually anonymous, with no established reputation or credentials regarding the topic concerned. The writer's friends can pad the comments section with positive feedback. The writer's foes can pepper it with negative feedback. Unless the comments are made by non-anonymous people whose reputations or experience mean something, what is the point?

The answer, in most cases, has something to do with creating views or clicks to generate income. Comments add repeat views as folks tune in to respond, to see responses to their responses, and to respond again. If you're not trying to generate income or views, why activate a comments section? Not only does the generally anonymous back-and-forth serve little purpose; it wastes the time and energy of all concerned. In addition, enough initial research has been done to suggest this kind of interaction is an addictive process with little to recommend it.

One can argue that the author misses the opportunity to learn from the readers, and the readers lose out on further interaction with the author. That, however, is why people have emails, phone numbers, and real names. For example, any verifiably real person is welcome to contact me at integritysports@aol.com.

My first option for the comments section of this blog was to allow all commentary, which would include anonymous sources. I'll pass on that. A second was to allow designated commentary. I'll pass on that for the moment, since those same people can reach me via email. I don't really care how many views or reads this blog and my associated sites accrue. Call me non-commercial. What I care about is having a couple of dozen targeted people check in occasionally and provide some feedback. To that end, I repeat, my email address is integritysports@aol.com.

An additional and major issue with comments sections is that they take time. Just 10 minutes of daily comment organization for each of a handful of blogs and sites turns into 150-200 hours a year that could be better spent.

My current attitudes regarding comments and such have been recently influenced by Tom Nichols' The Death of Expertise. The conflation of popularity and expertise is one topic touched on by Nichols, and it's an important and pervasive issue in 2019.


Bob Dietz -- May 21, 2019

Kentucky Derby Postscript

I discussed the 2019 Kentucky Derby with people who have 30-year histories of betting significant amounts (and have managed some six figure paydays), some folks who own and race thoroughbreds, and people who regularly qualify for the NTRA World Handicapping Championships, the NHC.

Now that Luis Saez, Maximum Security's jockey, has been suspended for 15 race days, one would think we'd have a sense of Derby clarity. I'm not sure that is the case.

"I've seen worse," is a routine response regarding the Saez ride that resulted in Derby disqualification. One owner added, "I've seen worse, and been taken down for less." A general consensus of owners, trainers, and jockeys seems to be that Maximum Security did enough wrong to be taken down. The 2019 context probably plays into this for a couple of reasons. The spate of horse deaths at Santa Anita has resulted in an amplified sensitivity to safety concerns for all of horse racing. In fact, the pre-Derby Friday USA Today feature story -- for the entire paper, not the sports section -- was a report on racehorse safety and what could be done. This piece, straddling the weekend USA Today edition, ran the day before the Derby. It was unlikely that any jockey, including Saez (who has a history of grey area riding), would be allowed any kind of high risk, bumper car trip.

American racing is also trying to appeal to the Chinese and Japanese racing demographics. Racing in those countries, where the pools can dwarf American pools, is very clean. Rough riding is not allowed. Neither are race fixing and most pharmaceuticals, but those are discussions for another day. Bettors in China and Japan are used to a certain clean style of racing, and would be alienated by too much weaving and banging.

It was a really bad public relations context in which to rough ride. Had War of Will gone down, American racing would have suffered a true disaster, as any number of other horses would also have gone down.

Although a horse racing civilian, I must report that I immediately suspected Maximum Security and Saez were in trouble. When the horseback interviewer trotted up to Saez after the finish, Saez's demeanor strongly suggested a problem. And when the first words out of Saez and owner Gary West's mouths had an apologist/explanatory spin, I figured that there was a real issue.

Interestingly, the Japanese pools, which are separate from American pools, had an enormous amount of Maximum Security money, knocking him down to a 2-1 favorite. The Japanese were right...until they weren't.


Bob Dietz -- May 15

A Brief Introduction

First of all, I have a request. If you ever catch me referring to my life as a "journey," please take a page from the cornfield scene in the movie Casino, and do unto me as Nicky Santoro had done to him on that last, really bad day.

I've lived a little bit, done a few unusual things, and done many more of the usual, banal things. I've learned along the way, and it's probably time to share some of what I've learned. After all, there may be a Louisville Slugger around the next corner.

I started working as a sports gambling consultant back in 1979. Rather than address my 40 years of immersion in gambling subcultures in this opening intro, let me just share a few of my favorite things as a way of saying hello.

Favorite Authors:  Hunter Thompson; James Randi
Favorite Movies:  Blade Runner; Village of the Damned
Religion:  Church of the Nethilim Rite

I was an English (writing option) major from Penn State (minor in general science). I had started in journalism, but switched majors because I found journalism a bit restrictive. So of course I wound up in the world of gambling. It all makes perfect sense.

Eventually, I'll attempt blog spinoffs -- monographs about various topics, a college football vodcast, and some other projects. This, however, is the kickoff.

Some people might say that a journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step, but they don't have to worry about Louisville Sluggers. I'll just start with "Every trip begins with a single microdose."

My next entry will address the May 4th, 2019 Kentucky Derby. I know absolutely nothing about horse racing, but I know some people who do. I'll pass along a few of their observations.


Bob Dietz -- May 5, 2019