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Atlantic City: Every big play brings different emotion for gamblers
ATLANTIC CITY — Summer struggles to survive. The beach is empty. The sun shows no skin. The wind whips rain, and waves, into the glass doors of the newly opened Ocean Resort Casino
Peak season in the seaside town is through. And, finally, Atlantic City can look forward to fall.
After opening the first casinos in the country outside of Nevada four decades ago, New Jersey was again victorious this summer, paving the way for the U.S. Supreme Court’s decision to allow states to legalize sports gambling.
In July, Garden State sportsbooks generated $3.8 million in gross revenue on $40.7 million in wagers. Some projections estimate the state could take in a handle of more than $300 million per month during football season. And I’ll take the over. On Sunday, I visited Atlantic City’s two-highest grossing sportsbooks — Ocean Resort and Borgata — and was challenged to return with more than the $500 given to me by The Post.
In New York, a bookie, or offshore account, remains the quickest way to place bets. But going to a sportsbook isn’t about convenience. It’s about an experience.
“There’s camaraderie, and an electric feel that you can’t get going to a bar,” said Bryan Smith of Cherry Hill, N.J. “Every play feels so huge, like it’s the Super Bowl.”
At 11 a.m., the line extends out of Ocean’s large hall, alongside dozens of slot machines. The high-top chairs have all been claimed. The leather ones are reserved. Novices furiously scribble on their bet sheets. Veterans deride amateurs holding up the line.
“I guarantee you some idiot is up there asking about hockey futures,” an elderly man said to no one in particular.
Another man in a Rutgers shirt proudly boasts about betting big on Ohio State against his alma mater, but was forced to use his “guy,” since betting on in-state college teams is prohibited. The pros are fair game. Rick Gola was here six weeks ago, betting on his Jets to win the Super Bowl (75/1 odds). He laments it’s since gone up to 100/1.
“It’s sunk money anyway,” Gola cracks.
Gola, and his wife, Tracie, spent the previous 16 season-opening Sundays in Las Vegas. Now, the Bridgewater, N.J. natives just needed a car.
“This is like a Vegas Sports book, but it might be even better,” Gola said. “A lot them out there are dated.” Their nephew gambles on an app. Tracie feels younger than him.
“This is just so awesome,” Tracie said. “I feel like a little kid.”
Thirty minutes pass. A teller waves me to his window. I bet $5 on a 15-team parlay contest, which will net me $50,000. It’s a lock.
I put $50 each on the Dolphins (pk), the Bucs (+10), and the Jaguars (-3), plus a $100 three-team, sixpoint tease consisting of the Ravens (-1½), Vikings (+½) and Bengals (+8½). I then pick two Super Bowl winners, at $50 each: Saints (14/1), and Chiefs (30/1).
Most team jerseys are represented. The Giants win by a healthy margin.
As kickoff nears, multiple Beckham and Barkley fans remain on line, out of sight of the numerous TVs. Eagles fan Jerry Belino arrived at 12:15. He is too late for early action.
“I learned a lesson,” Belino said. “I should’ve come earlier, or during the week. You can come any time!” Liam Baron nods behind him. “Gotta pound the 4 o’clocks now,” Baron said.
One o’clock hits. The crowd starts clapping. People check their phones. Others recheck tickets.
The senses are overwhelmed, and disoriented. The numbers keep updating. The scroll never stops. TVs are everywhere, yet games are never where you remember them to be. Eight games are on at once. Tom Brady, Andy Dalton, Ben Roethlisberger and Marcus Mariota all jog to the field at the same time.
A loud, collective gasp comes from behind. I turn to check and collide with someone holding two beers. My shirt soaks up one.
In the span of f ive seconds, Andrew Luck is intercepted, Jacksonville’s Keenan Cole makes a deep catch and the Ravens cross midfield. Expletives fly more than footballs.
The announcer says it’s a “rough start” for Ereck Flowers.
“No s---,” someone wearing a Beckham jersey yells.
Eli Manning overthrows Beckham for a touchdown.
“You f------ suck,” a man wearing a Manning jersey screams.
Tampa’s Ryan Fitzpatrick hits Desean Jackson with a deep bomb. I am a genius. The Titans go up 3-0. I am a moron.
Strangers high-five. Friends mock each other. The swings continue. Everything is personal.
“It sounds stupid, but when you’re here, you almost feel like you can make a difference,” Chris Matthews said. “I don’t know why that is. You’re just so focused, and you think you have a chance you really don’t have. We’re all probably going to lose.”
The Bengals are trailing 23-10 on the road in the second half. The Ravens are up huge. The Vikings are comfortably ahead. Cincy’s loss will kill the entire teaser. I was too arrogant to acknowledge why the name was born.
Halftime hasn’t hit and I’m back in line. I don’t know which bets will cash, and which are trash. I spend the rest of The Post’s money. I put $75 on the Panthers (-3), $50 on the Cardinals, and do a $30, threeteam parlay with the Chiefs (+3½), Seahawks (+3) and Packers (-7). The hot dog/pretzel cart comes next.
Bengals running back Joe Mixon, who was caught on tape punching a women in college, is treated like a hero after scoring a touchdown to give the Bengals a 24-23 lead.
The heavily favored Saints cause the most distress in the room. The Bucs are up 41-24. Fitzmoney. The Saints Super Bowl pick takes a hit. The survivor pick looks even worse.
On the way to the bathroom, a TV above a blackjack table shows Myles Jack’s pick-six putting the Jaguars up 20-7. I return to see Barkley score right back.
“There’s always something happening,” Smith said.
The crowd lets you know when the Vikings ice it with an interception. And when a potential Colts game-winning drive becomes a Bengals fumble return. And especially when a potential Giants game-winning drive is thwarted by a fumbled punt return.
The Bills blow the $50,000 ticket. The Jags and Bucs come through. The tease is complete. I get mad I didn’t parlay it. Nothing is enough.
Josh Gordon sends the Browns to overtime. They line up to pound the 4 o’clocks.
“Why don’t you do something smart this time?” an agitated woman says to her significant other. He relays his plans for a trio of $10 bets. The $1,000 minimum window takes more action.
I step outside. The air is fresh, and violent. Ponchos are omnipresent. A cab comes.
I arrive at the Borgata. I make a left at the poker room. I hear familiar screams.
“Oh my God,” literally, multiple people say.
The Browns miss a field in the final seconds. Still, they’ve already improved last season’s 0-16 squad. They tie, and they cover.
I adjust to the new TV setup. There are 100 individual screens, aside from the big board. All are taken.
“It just made no sense for this not to be here,” Matthews said. “You knew you would get a turnout like this. People have been waiting for this.”
The Dolphins are delayed again. The Cardinals are dead to me. The Yankees load the bases. Novak Djokovic takes the first set.
The Panthers cover. The Seahawks push. The three-team parlay is down to two. The Dolphins finally finish. They were worth the wait.
I press another $100 on the Packers (-6½). Aaron Rodgers is injured in the second quarter. The Bears lead 20-0 when his helmet comes back on.
Nearly 12 hours have passed. I have more than I started with. And even that doesn’t necessarily matter
“At casinos, you’re just betting and betting, over and over,” Matthews said. “Here, I do it, and can watch for hours.”
A long drive awaits. I’ll be back by the first week of February.
I’ll have Chiefs Super Bowl winnings to pick up, then.