How I came to loathe mythical betting

Right off the bat, I didn't like the call from my editor. Could I go to Las Vegas to cover the Daily Racing Form/NTRA Handicapping Contest on January 12-13 and to also compete in a separate media division for charity representing Thoroughbred Times?

What, and miss a weekend in Albany, New York, in the middle of January?

"That's asking an awful lot," I said.

"I know, Bill," he said. "Sometimes, we just have to make sacrifices."

"Okay, okay."

So I bit the bullet and went, never revealing the dark memories that flooded what's left of my mind; yes, I know, it was a small flood. You see, the contest consisted of making a series of mythical bets. And mythical bets and I have a long, painful history together. How could I not shudder at the thought of competing in the handicapping tournament?

I remember my first mythical bankroll. I was handicapping the Saratoga meet for the Albany Times Union in the '70s. I started with $500. I had $123 heading into the final day and lost three $40 win bets. My final total in the paper was $3. Hey, back in the '70s, you could do a lot with $3.

I figured that, given my nose dive, they would never ask me to do it again. I was right. They didn't ask me; they told me I had to do it. So, I asked the managing editor to let me start with $1,000 because $500 was not enough for an entire meet. He said, "No." I think I was the first person ever denied a mythical raise.

Well, I've made a lot of mythical bets since then and lost a lot of mythical money. I have changed newspapers. I now do a Saratoga bankroll for the Daily Gazette in Schenectady. They let me start with $1,000, and, last summer, I managed to finish as the leading public handicapper for the meet, while reporting a hefty profit of $1.65. This was after my best Saratoga meet in 25 years.

If there was a Money Management 101 for racetrack bettors somewhere, I'd be the first person to enroll.

So, how could I compete with the greatest handicapping minds in America? Wait a minute, I thought, I wasn't competing with them. Those people were in the real handicapping contest. I was in the media contest. I was competing with people as clever as me. Yeah, I had a chance. And, besides, it was for charity.

I asked, but they said they would not consider my son Bubba's college tuition as a legitimate charity of choice if I won.

Regardless, I was mythically on my way.

The contest consisted of 15 $2 win and 15 $2 place bets at eight different tracks over the course of two days. It took all of two races to paint an ugly mythical picture. My first bet at Aqueduct was on an over-bet entry. The horse I didn't like won a photo for second by a hair to return a whopping $3.20. The action shifted to Fair Grounds for the second race, and, on the backstretch, my horse was pulled up.

Then, things got worse.

I was awful, picking only four winners from 30 races and finishing 17th out of 20 in the media contest.

Unfortunately, the folks at the racebook and card tables, as well as those insidious video poker machines, declined to take mythical money. Three friends and I pooled our real money to play a video poker machine in the "high limit slots" part of the casino. While we reached zero almost instantaneously, we did get a glimpse of the lifestyle of the "whales"-the high rollers. In a secluded dining room were free pretzels and bottles of soda. Imagine that! They must have been Rold Gold pretzels, well worth the hundreds of dollars we collectively lost. And, gee, it's always so tough to get a free soda in Vegas.

It never got better. By the time I left town, I couldn't even afford to buy Bubba a pair of dice on a keychain.

I promise: Never again with this mythical stuff. Because where would it end?

So I'm prepared if I do get another call from my editor.

"What, a trip to Honolulu at the end of February? Enough is enough."

Mythically.