SUPER BOWL XXI : LAS VEGAS SCENE : You Bet, the Super Bowl Is Big Hit in Las Vegas, Especially to Winners

Sunday afternoon, as John Elway went down hard in his own end zone under the weight of a New York Giant, more than a little bit of Lou D’Amico went down with him.

“Safety,” he said, bolting upright behind his desk in a back room at Caesars Palace.

“I don’t believe it.”

D’Amico ran his hands through his dark hair. His 39-year-old face registered real pain. This safety would mean nothing in the final analysis of the lopsided game, but it was easily the worst thing that would happen to D’Amico all day, an object lesson in the vagaries of gambling on the Super Bowl, Las Vegas style.

D’Amico manages the casino’s Sports Book. It occupies a large corner of Caesar’s, and is a cavernous place equipped with enough scoreboards and television screens to allow interested gamblers to watch and wager on seemingly every sports contest of significance in the nation.

One of the ways the operation and others around town like it make life more interesting for their customers is by allowing them to make side bets on the Super Bowl. In casino parlance, these side bets are called propositions, and they can be fairly exotic. One sports book this year offered bettors the opportunity to gamble on whether television analyst Jimmy (The Greek) Snyder would pick the game wrong. It also was possible to place bets on who would win the opening coin flip, and football purists were at a loss to explain why Denver was the favorite for this proposition.

One of the several propositions that D’Amico had placed before bettors was that there would be no safety recorded in the Super Bowl this year. Significant numbers of gamblers had chosen to differ, and had been given odds ranging from 7-1 to 2-1. The odds were decreased as more and more people took the bet.

“I thought that was a real sucker bet,” D’Amico was saying as Denver prepared to kick from its own 20-yard-line.

An aide stuck his head in D’Amico’s office and told him what he already knew.

“Louie,” the aide said, “that safety just cost us thirty-four grand.”

“I can’t believe it,” D’Amico said again. “A safety. Who would take a bet like that?”

Now the telephone buzzed. D’Amico knew who was calling. “They don’t waste any time, do they?” he said. He pushed aside a heap of computer printouts and picked up the phone.

They in this instance meant D’Amico’s employers. The safety apparently had aroused their curiosity as to how much the proposition had cost the house. D’Amico did not beat around the bush.

“Thirty-four thousand dollars,” was the first thing he said into the telephone.

What was said back could not be heard, but it took a little while to get out.

“Yes sir,” was the next thing D’Amico said, then he listened a while more.

“Oh well,” he ventured finally. “It doesn’t hurt us that much. It hurts, but it doesn’t hurt us that much. We can get it back.”

It is hard to imagine a more fitting place to watch a Super Bowl than Las Vegas. The Super Bowl is an “event,” and Las Vegas loves events. Super Bowls, designated by Roman numerals and advanced by media with a fondness for combat metaphors, is all about hyperbole, and so is Las Vegas. The Super Bowl, with its build-up often mocked by blow outs, can leave spectators feeling a bit cheated. And certainly so can Las Vegas.

In the past decade, the Super Bowl has come to rival New Year’s as the most active weekend in Las Vegas. Officials at the Las Vegas Convention and Visitors Authority estimated last week that the Super Bowl would bring about 100,000 visitors into the city, filling hotels to 90% capacity and leaving behind about $41 million in additional income.

“The phenomenon rises to a real peak when the game is played in the west,” said one casino marketing expert. “It’s a natural stopover. People come in here, place their bets and then fly on to the game.

“Lots of times,” he added, “when they get here they get so swept up in the momentum of Las Vegas that they don’t even get to the game.”

The reason for the love affair between Las Vegas and the Super Bowl is obvious. Nevada is the only place in the nation where it is legal to place sports bets. Not even Atlantic City allows it.

There are dozens of the so-called sports books at casinos around town. They range in grandeur from plastique opulent to extreme funky. Bets can be placed almost anything having to do with sport, from horse races to college basketball to the Super Bowl.

“I don’t think there is an industry around today proliferating as fast,” said Sonny Reisner, one of the deans of the sports book field. “We’ve gone from 70 million a year 10 years ago to $1 billion today. It’s like the patriotic thing to do in America these days--bet sports.”

Las Vegas and smaller Nevada gambling cities allows professional sports bettors an opportunity to come out of the closet and, in some cases, be treated like high rollers.

Several casinos held parties for their more special Super Bowl visitors the night before the game. Professional football coaches and players spoke at some of these parties, offering their analyses of how the game would unfold.

At Caesars, a few hundred people were invited to the Super Bowl party and were rewarded by listening to several players drone on about the game by a visit from the two headliners at the casino this week--Sammy Davis Jr. and Bill Cosby.

Davis offered no predictions, but said he was rooting for whichever team “had the most black players.”

Cosby gave the crowd a pep talk which went to the heart of why casinos are willing to shell out all sorts of money to bring in Super Bowl gamblers.

“I think the best thing to do,” Cosby, who wore a set of Philadelphia Eagles’ sweats and chomped a cigar, roared into the microphone, “is to go out there and hit those tables tonight. Hard. Win it your own way, rather than waiting for (Phil) Simms or Elway to throw it in the toilet for you . . .

“So forget all this cheese and ice. Forget KENO. We’re gamblers, and we’re gonna go out there and we’re going to hit them. Yeah.”

The money bet on the Super Bowl, while it would reach easily into the tens of millions, is considered mere change compared to all the cash dropped on the card and dice tables, or pumped into slot machines, by fans waiting for the big game to begin.

In the hours before the Super Bowl, it was impossible to avoid conversations about point spreads, and how Joe Morris was going to perform on grass, and about why it was reasonable to wager significant amounts of money that John Elway would be the first quarterback to complete seven passes.

It was a predominately Denver crowd, and all the talk around town was how severe snowstorms in the East kept “the big New York money” from making it here.

At the Stardust casino, a small crowd of gamblers was gathered in the sports book shortly before midnight Saturday. Many of these guys wore plaid jackets and pale complexions. It seemed an older and more wiser, if less flashy, collection than those found at the fancier casinos.

A radio station was broadcasting a talk show live from the casino, offering these gamblers a chance to share their wisdom over the air waves.

One man was particularly reasonable and articulate in his support of the Giants’ cause, citing no less than a dozen keys to the game. He complained however that he himself was not able to follow his advice.

“I’m a member of Gambler’s Anonymous,” he said, “and I can’t bet.”

Old heads bobbed sympathetically all around, and one of the talk show hosts was moved to award this man a free dinner at a nearby restaurant. Everyone applauded the gesture.

Another sage, distressed when a few of the gamblers expressed enthusiasm for Denver, took the microphone and repeated something his father had told him:

“He said, ‘Son, always bet like you are holding a gun to your head.’ And I would like to see all these Denver people hold a gun to their head and bet against the Giants.”

To watch the game with the gamblers was to understand there is more to it than who wins or loses. It is also how to play the propositions.

The coin flip, for instance, received an unusually vocal cheer at Caesars Palace, where about 1,600 people were jammed together in front of no less than five giant screens, including one that seemed as big as the average backyard swimming pool.

The professional gamblers, called “wise guys” around town, shun the proposition bets. They are considered “suckered bets.” Nonetheless, oddsmakers estimated as much as 25% of the handle is wagered on such exotica as which team will turn the ball over first.

“I just lost a bet there,” a Giants’ fan was saying as he studied a sheaf of betting cards. I bet the first quarterback to complete seven passes would be Elway. Now I need a safety.”

This was in the first quarter, before Louie D’Amico, ensconced in his office on the other side of the television screen, was about to witness the safety he believed had only a 1-in-30 chance of happening.

Of course the game was a blowout, and what had been a loud Denver crowd in the first half shrunk steadily. Now it was mostly loud Giant fans mixed among sullen people in orange T-shirts. The last cheer came when the “over bet”--that the total game score would exceed 40 points--was settled.

Bill Parcells, the Giants’ coach, had not even been doused with Gatorade when the lines began to form. One line was for people waiting to collect winnings and get out of town. The other was for the losers headed for the quarter slot machines.

At the front of the collections window was Jim Barthman, a 38-year-old cable television company owner from a small town in southern Colorado. He won more than $3,500 betting against the home state team.

“At times I can be a Broncos’ fan,” he said, “but this game was a steal for betting. The Giants have been so strong. I don’t bet my emotions.”

The reason he has come to Vegas for the last four Super Bowls, Barthman said, was that gambling on the game makes him feel “like I’m in the game. I can make a judgment. It’s a sport to me. I can’t play football but I can do this.

“What’s better than all that,” he went on merrily, “is winning.”

The opposite end of the post game spectrum could be found at the other end of the room. One of those Denver fans who had bet his emotions was being assisted from the bar. He wore an orange Bronco T-shirt and a half-empty smile. Two people in Giants apparel were held him upright as he staggered for the door.

It was uncannily reminiscent of Joe Montana being helped to wobble out of the Meadowlands after he was knocked silly by the Giants in the playoffs. So this fellow, too, was getting a feel for what it is like to be a part of professional football.

“Hey,” said one of the groggy man’s helpmates, “this is the best Denver fan here.”