On the third floor of the Arlington Park grandstand M. Scott McMannis, the dean of Chicago handicappers, is teaching Warren Weaver, former hunch bettor, how to play the races like a pro.
But McMannis, who’d also taught business administration, still considered himself a teacher, and handicapping seemed like a natural adult-education subject, since you have to be 17 to make a bet. He organized seminars at a Howard Johnson’s across the street from Arlington, charging ten bucks a head. Then the track invited him inside, building him a “Handicapping Center” with 190 seats and overhead projectors. But Arlington burned down in 1987 and was rebuilt without a classroom. These days at the track, McMannis is teaching a class of one.
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“I used to rely on tips,” says Weaver, a 69-year-old retired City Hall employee. “Once I met a guy at bingo who said he won $500 or $600 at the track all the time. Then we went to the track together, and he told me, this horse in the second race. The horse broke down in the stretch. There went my money. There went my hopes. Last summer I hung around the paddock at Arlington and relied on trainers for tips. But the best guy I knew was the shoe-shine guy, Big Red. He knew everybody. I was winning some money, but it was costing me too much, ’cause I’d have to pay for his bets. I figured there had to be a better way.”
“I’ve done three horses in the first race.”
McMannis refrains from betting most races. He has what’s called a bubble gum ass: he can remain stuck to his seat through a nine-race card. A successful stock-market player, he applies risk-reward ratios when investing in the fortunes of a horse: the payoff for a win has to justify a possible loss. He won’t bet a horse unless its odds are at least two to one. One spring at Sportsman’s he went 15 days without a wager. “And then on the 16th day I bet a horse,” he says, “and he won.”
McMannis was disappointed in his student. “Warren, you better go cash that ticket before they run out of money,” he said. “You know, the objective of this game is to make a little money do a lot of work, not the other way around.”
On Sunday teacher and pupil met at the track an hour before post time. McMannis patiently went over the races and the horses’ speed figures. In the fourth race Weaver was sold on a horse named Doughty. McMannis showed him that Sweet Baby Jane had much better numbers. Sweet Baby Jane won, but she’d left the gate at odds of four to five–not worth betting on. Weaver hadn’t bet–he was making progress.
