'look Up And He's Got Your Money'

He says he prefers football; then, in order, boxing, golf, baseball and finally basketball. Hockey is "out," and the horses "never interested me." He says he "coulda made a living just betting golf. I traveled the tour for two or three years. I'd walk 30 or 40 holes a day, then go to the big board and see if somebody's score mighta been influenced by a bad hole or two, maybe by hitting a rock, and who was coming on, finishing strong, and who was fading. What a guy does on the last few holes tells you a lot about how to bet the next day. I won a lot of money on Hubert Green and John Mahaffey doing that. Calvin Peete, too."

Baxter has two color television sets flickering in the den to monitor the day's games. Through the window at his back, the Nevada sun glistens off a large, stark-white $10,000 satellite dish he purchased for that purpose. "I cannot be blacked out. If you're up there," he says, pointing to the heavens, "I'll get you." He says he often sits around in his pajamas the entire day, watching games, making bets, first before the games and then when the football lines "adjust" at halftime.

Julie is in and out of the adjoining dining room, overseeing lunch. She is blonde and quite beautiful, and the house is a reflection of her elegance, which falls just short of being overstated. The house has every convenience known to American man and has carved and gilded moldings, outsize doors and windows, a baby grand, a spiral staircase, hand-painted bathroom fixtures, etc. Nathan, Tiffany and Ashley occupy quarters fit for royalty, and the master bedroom has spacious His and Hers baths. Julie says the only thing they don't have is a place apart for Billy's work, where the kids don't have to see him suffer. "But he'd still want to be in the living room."

The phone rings. "Yeah, what you got?" says Baxter. He scribbles the line on a bet sheet that lists the day's games. He stabs at another button and starts reciting his selections: "Florida plus two-and-a-half, Texas A&M minus a half, Kansas minus seven, Southern Miss minus seven-and-a-half....

"At the half of football games, the sports books keep me on open lines because I guarantee 'em another bet, but it's to my advantage as well as theirs. A one-point mistake in the line can make the difference. You gotta be quick 'cause they'll change on you," he says, cupping his hand over the receiver and punching another button. "You gotta get down before they can think about it too much. You're always looking to find a team that's overrated by five or six; then it's easy. But that doesn't happen much. Over the year, a point or a half point can mean lots of money.

"It's my handicapping ability against theirs. For me to justify betting $11 in order to win $10 [the $1 difference is the book's 'vigorish,' or handling fee], I've got to think my line is better." He rattles off nine bets to a second house, varying them in size from $10,000 to $15,000. "This is peanuts, really. On football, I might bet $400,000 a week, six or seven million a year—it's on my tax returns. In a good year I'd hope to net three or four hundred thousand from that. I do, usually. But this boxing thing has shifted my priorities. I've gotten lazy."

The phone rings, but the call is for one of the children. He says he has been betting by phone for nine years, or since it became legal in Nevada, so he's no longer seen going in and out of the grubby little sports books on the strip.

"We're never seen anywhere, except at the boxing matches," says Julie.

"We go to restaurants, we go to the shows," says Billy, slightly wounded.

"Yes, but outside of that, what can you do in Las Vegas? I like tennis, but Billy doesn't bet tennis, so we don't go. We really don't go anywhere much. I've never even been to New England."