All rights reserved. He believed in the odds. In the numbers. In probability. In the math.
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All rights reserved. He believed in the odds. In the numbers. In probability. In the math. In the fractions of data he had accumulated copying team statistics onto index cards.
He believed that games were fixed and that referees and zebras could be bought. He knew some basketball players who practiced the art of missing basketball rim shots for hours every day, and he knew players who bet the middles between the odds spread and got a return of 10 percent on their money.
He believed that some athletes played lazy and some of them played hurt. He believed in winning and losing streaks; he believed in point spreads and no-limit bets and card mechanics so good they could deal out cards without breaking the cellophane on the deck.
In other words, where gambling was concerned, Lefty believed in everything but luck. Luck was the potential enemy. Luck was the temptress, the seductive whisperer taking you away from the data.
Lefty learned early that if he was ever to master the skill and become a professional player, he had to take even the remotest possibility of chance out of the process. Frank "Lefty" Rosenthal was born on June 12, , just a few months before the stock market crash.
Good with numbers. My mother was a housewife. I grew up reading the racing form. I used to tear it apart. I knew everything there was to know about the form. I used to read it in class. I was a tall, skinny, shy kid. I was six foot one when I was a teenager and I was kind of withdrawn. I was sort of a loner, and horse racing was my challenge.
I lived at the track. I was a groom. A hot walker. I hung around the backstretch. I mucked out. I became a part of the barn. Everybody left me alone. I loved going over the charts, the past performances, jockeys, post positions. I used to copy all that material onto my own eight-by-ten-inch file cards in my room late into the night. I went with two pals.
Smart guys. We stayed for eight races and I punched out seven winners. My pals thought I was the messiah. My dad turned away when he spotted me there. He was pissed that I had cut school.
The next day I cut school again and went back to the track and lost it all. There were about two hundred guys up there every game and they bet on everything. Every pitch. Every swing. Everything had a price. There were guys shouting numbers at you.
It was great. It was an open-air casino. Constant action. There was a guy named Stacy; he was in his fifties and he had a pocket full of cash. Stacy always got you to make a price.
Or hit a home run to win the game. Or a double or a triple or a flyout. Just like that. A fly ball was twenty to one. If you wanted the action, you made the bet and he gave you his odds. And so forth. After a while, I started making proposition bets out there on my own. Over the years, Stacy made a little fortune in the bleachers. He cleaned up. He was terrific at getting everybody all around him to start betting.
He was a great showman. So I started reading everything. My father got me a shortwave radio, and I remember spending hours listening to the play-by-play of out-of-town teams I was thinking of betting.
I began subscribing to different papers from all around the country. He was a legendary professional. Hymie the Ace was a legend. He would be there at the same newsstand buying dozens of papers, just like me. I had a bike. After a while we got to know each other. He knew what I was doing. I was still a kid, but they saw that I was serious and I had an aptitude, and they were willing to help me. They were very kind. They allowed me into their circle. I felt great. There was a Northwestern-Michigan basketball game that was coming up.
I had people at both schools feeding me information and I felt really strong. I liked Northwestern. That I was a fan. That I had their pennant in my room. I mean I liked them as a bet.
So I bet Northwestern to beat Michigan State. It was a sellout crowd. I walked in and I saw Hymie the Ace. Hymie knows more about basketball than any man alive. We say hello.
It was as far as I could go with my bankroll. A single play for me at the time was like two hundred, a double play was five hundred, and a triple was two thousand. It turned out he had suddenly become eligible a couple of days before the game. Get rid of them. Balance some of the action. I watch Green. Just like Ace said, he controlled both backboards. At halftime I had seen enough. Michigan annihilated Northwestern. Green went on to be an All-American and top pro player.
I had depended upon people for too much. I had given them the power to make up my mind for me. I realized that if I wanted to spend my life gambling, pitting myself against the best bookmakers, there was no such thing as listening to people.
If I was going to make a living doing this, I was going to have to figure it out for myself and do it all myself.
Casino Book By Nicholas Pileggi
Casino The Book Nicholas Pileggi casino the book nicholas pileggi I have enjoyed watching Casino 5 or 6 times, no one would argue it is a masterpiece, however, Pileggis book discloses so much more, fleshing out the characters, revealing their true natures and interrelationships. Dessen gleichnamiges Buch diente als Vorlage. Its based on a book by Nicholas Pileggi, who had full access to a man who once ran four casinos for the mob, and whose true story inspires the movies plot.. Like The Godfather, it makes us feel like eavesdroppers in a secret place. The movie opens with a car bombing, and the figure of
Start your review of Casino Write a review Shelves: movie , true-crime , reading-rush , april , non-fic Reading Rush: Read a book set someplace you wish you could go. Also I remember the men wearing a lot of terrible loud suits. Casino is pitched as being an action packed tale of love death and betrayal Casino actually spends the majority of its time explaining how the mob and our main character because despite being a real person Lefty Rosenthal is a character skim money from Vegas casinos. And let me tell you its not a fun read.
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