The only, and I mean, only time I made any real money on football….
….was in 1985-86, when I rode the Patriots relentless underdogness for everything it was worth. The Pats went something like 14-6 against the spread, including 12 in a row through the middle of the regular season to the playoffs and up to Super Bowl XX, where they were gutted by the Bears, 46-10 (Settle down. I had the over and kept the Green River rolling). When my older brother Tom came up from North Carolina, I introduced him to my bookie, who used to come into “Catch a Rising Star” frequently. “How’s he doing?” my brother asked. “Kid?” my bookie said, “he’s one of the few who’s really tagged me this year.” I’ll put that assessment right up there with Albert Brooks telling me I was funny.
“Kid” was my phone nickname. The shortened version. You couldn’t use your real name to make plays over the phone. So, I went with “Kid Colon.” My stomach was a constant source of woe back then, a combination of a punishing disregard for dietary laws, a complete disrespect for the power of alcohol, tobacco and pills and the unwavering inability to process feelings, let alone dinner. My bookie truncated it to “Kid.” Adrianne used to say, “He doesn’t get the nickname. He thinks you’re a punctuation freak.” A few years later, my bookie’s business was, ahem, acquired by larger gentlemen with the subtlely of a reorganization by Bain Capital and I became “Kid for Video,” which identified me as one of his clients.
But that’s not why you’re hear. There were two Patriots fans who worked at “Catch a Rising Star.” Me, and one of the bartenders, Jeff, an aspiring actor (he played a paramedic in a Year 2 episode of “Seinfeld”) and superior guy who when I was a tiny do-gooder day student at the private boarding school Fessenden attended our arch-rival, Fay.
Jeff would take a piece of my action every week, and we were rolling along as the Pats grabbed the AFC wild card and scored improbable victories on the road over the Jets and the Raiders. Before the AFC championship in Miami, the word got out that the mob had heavy heavy heavy money on the Dolphins, and like all saavy businesses, had taken out insurance on their investment by paying some key players to throw the game. The circumstancial evidence was rampant. No one expected the Patriots to win three straight road games. Not only that, New England had not won in Miami since 1969. 16 years. So, really, what’s a dump job between friends?
Jeff decided he would use the money he’d normally play on the game to send a telegram to legendary Patriots guard John Hannah. This thing was 400 words long and begged Hannah to find out who was on the take and kick their ass. And play hard. And make us proud. And whatever other delusional crackpottery we fans think has sway. I proofed it and thought it was note-perfect. Jeff took all the extra fees for the vague guarantee that some stranger would walk into the Patriots locker room before kick off and hand it to Hannah. All of which seems positively quaint in the Age of Twitter. All except the price. I think it ran him $300. $300 for a telegram.
I was still spooked enough by the threat of spread shenanigans to go off the line and bet the over.
Final: New England 31, Miami 14. Assist: Western Union. It was never close. I didn’t collect my winnings, leaving them in my account. The Super Bowl was in two weeks, but I would be in Australia by then for the three-month “New York Stand-Up Comedy” tour with Kelley Rodgers and the late Richard Jeni. Before I boarded my flight, Kid Colon left specific instructions for the over (37 1/2), and six-point teaser, over 37 1/2 with the Pats +10. I wasn’t gonna call from Australia. Back then, that would have cost, what, $300?
