How to properly manage your bankroll
Chad Millman
ESPN INSIDER
Sal Selvaggio will never forget the first time he went bust. It was 12 years ago, late spring, back before he was Sal from madduxsports.com, back when he was working as an electrician outside Chicago. He wanted to be a professional sports bettor, the kind of guy betting 10 dimes a game, spending all day power ranking, analyzing data, finding an edge. He wanted his life to be full of electricity, not his job.
The man worked hard, saving his money, slowly building a bankroll that would let him take a bet out for a spin every once in a while if he happened to like it. Eventually, he had a nut of $5,000. It wasn't quit-your-job money, but it was enough to test out some theories.
"I started out real smart, being conservative. It was baseball season, and I was betting $100 or $200 a game," he says. "And I was winning; that's when I got overconfident."
Gambling 2 to 4 percent of his bankroll on a game wasn't good enough anymore. Why take it slow, like you would a still fragile and growing relationship, when he could double his bets and get wherever he was going a little faster?
Sal decided to start betting $300 to $400 a game instead. <offer>
"And, like everyone who does this … I hit a losing streak. Now I had basically given back all my profits in these losses. I started feeling a little desperate. I saw a game and said to myself, 'this is a lock.' So I bet $1,000 on it. Of course it lost. Then it just got stupid. I probably lost my entire bankroll in a matter of 10 more bets. I remember the last one. It was $2,000 on hockey. I had never bet hockey. It was the first time. It was the playoffs, I think. You get to that sick point where you have given up on yourself, so you are reading things online and following what people say in forums. You say this is the one and fall for all that crap that people who are new to this do. You learn there are no locks. I lost."
Sal stopped moonlighting as a sports bettor. Now he was just an electrician, albeit one who lived like a monk. He stopped going out to the bars. Didn't go out to dinner. "I wanted to bet again so badly, but I wanted to do it the right way," he says. He read a lot about money management. He played with data he downloaded and built a database of stats.
It's hard to imagine how different the betting world was in 2000 than it is today. There were edges to be found that lasted for full seasons, not for half an hour after the posting of a line. Having a good database was a revolutionary advantage, like when old-time sharps hung out in airport lounges to pick up travelers' discarded newspapers. For several months, he didn't make a single bet. "Finally, after I had saved about $4,000, I started up again. I had such an itch to do it, not because I needed to gamble, but because I wanted to do it right, because I thought I could do it."
Sal's not an electrician anymore.
And Bryan Leonard doesn't work four jobs anymore, either. When he was a kid in Cleveland, still learning about the betting racket, he wanted in so badly he took gigs that allowed him to sit in his car and listen to ballgames all day. "That is what I was going to do at home," he says. "So I figured I'd might as well get paid for it."
He worked as a courier, he delivered pizzas. He was an accountant, and he started his handicapping business. Leonard is a numbers guy and eventually made it out to Vegas. One NBA season he had a great run. But despite winning at a higher rate than normal, he wasn't banking any savings. His roll wasn't growing. "I was betting too much, 10 percent of my bankroll on some games. You can't get rich that way; the swings will kill you. Your bankroll and your psyche."
So Leonard found his way to the same place every newbie in Vegas eventually gets to: Gambler's Book Club. This wasn't just a bookstore; this was a piece of history, the kind of place the FBI shopped at to learn about how to take down the mob. Before it moved from a near-downtown spot into a bigger space a couple miles from The Strip, its shelves nearly toppled over from the weight of books about how to beat the house to obscure poker rags to long-forgotten tales of when the mafia ruled Vegas. "I just looked for any book I could find about managing my bankroll," Leonard said.
He doesn't remember what he read back then. But the book most people will tell you to buy today is "Conquering Risk," by Elihu Feustel. Feustel didn't respond to my email for an interview request, but you can listen to a smart podcast that Gill Alexander, The Betting Dork, did with Feustel here. The book is great, although incredibly wonky and filled with more math formulas than my high school algebra textbook, as it takes you through bankroll management, treating games like derivatives and how to bet teasers.
What Leonard does remember is a theory he has subscribed to ever since. It's what Sal learned and what Dr. Bob has learned and Krackman has learned and Fezzik has learned and what every wiseguy through time who lasted more than a first half understands: Don't overbet, don't chase, don't play bigger than you can. Most guys will bet 1 to 3 percent of their bankroll on a single game, although Sal and Leonard both say they go as high as 5 percent for games they feel strongly about.
"Once I figured that out, it made everything better," Leonard says. "You don't have swings, you don't sweat the games as much."
And your bankroll lasts a little bit longer.
</offer>
Chad Millman
ESPN INSIDER
Sal Selvaggio will never forget the first time he went bust. It was 12 years ago, late spring, back before he was Sal from madduxsports.com, back when he was working as an electrician outside Chicago. He wanted to be a professional sports bettor, the kind of guy betting 10 dimes a game, spending all day power ranking, analyzing data, finding an edge. He wanted his life to be full of electricity, not his job.
The man worked hard, saving his money, slowly building a bankroll that would let him take a bet out for a spin every once in a while if he happened to like it. Eventually, he had a nut of $5,000. It wasn't quit-your-job money, but it was enough to test out some theories.
"I started out real smart, being conservative. It was baseball season, and I was betting $100 or $200 a game," he says. "And I was winning; that's when I got overconfident."
Gambling 2 to 4 percent of his bankroll on a game wasn't good enough anymore. Why take it slow, like you would a still fragile and growing relationship, when he could double his bets and get wherever he was going a little faster?
Sal decided to start betting $300 to $400 a game instead. <offer>
"And, like everyone who does this … I hit a losing streak. Now I had basically given back all my profits in these losses. I started feeling a little desperate. I saw a game and said to myself, 'this is a lock.' So I bet $1,000 on it. Of course it lost. Then it just got stupid. I probably lost my entire bankroll in a matter of 10 more bets. I remember the last one. It was $2,000 on hockey. I had never bet hockey. It was the first time. It was the playoffs, I think. You get to that sick point where you have given up on yourself, so you are reading things online and following what people say in forums. You say this is the one and fall for all that crap that people who are new to this do. You learn there are no locks. I lost."
Sal stopped moonlighting as a sports bettor. Now he was just an electrician, albeit one who lived like a monk. He stopped going out to the bars. Didn't go out to dinner. "I wanted to bet again so badly, but I wanted to do it the right way," he says. He read a lot about money management. He played with data he downloaded and built a database of stats.
It's hard to imagine how different the betting world was in 2000 than it is today. There were edges to be found that lasted for full seasons, not for half an hour after the posting of a line. Having a good database was a revolutionary advantage, like when old-time sharps hung out in airport lounges to pick up travelers' discarded newspapers. For several months, he didn't make a single bet. "Finally, after I had saved about $4,000, I started up again. I had such an itch to do it, not because I needed to gamble, but because I wanted to do it right, because I thought I could do it."
Sal's not an electrician anymore.
And Bryan Leonard doesn't work four jobs anymore, either. When he was a kid in Cleveland, still learning about the betting racket, he wanted in so badly he took gigs that allowed him to sit in his car and listen to ballgames all day. "That is what I was going to do at home," he says. "So I figured I'd might as well get paid for it."
He worked as a courier, he delivered pizzas. He was an accountant, and he started his handicapping business. Leonard is a numbers guy and eventually made it out to Vegas. One NBA season he had a great run. But despite winning at a higher rate than normal, he wasn't banking any savings. His roll wasn't growing. "I was betting too much, 10 percent of my bankroll on some games. You can't get rich that way; the swings will kill you. Your bankroll and your psyche."
So Leonard found his way to the same place every newbie in Vegas eventually gets to: Gambler's Book Club. This wasn't just a bookstore; this was a piece of history, the kind of place the FBI shopped at to learn about how to take down the mob. Before it moved from a near-downtown spot into a bigger space a couple miles from The Strip, its shelves nearly toppled over from the weight of books about how to beat the house to obscure poker rags to long-forgotten tales of when the mafia ruled Vegas. "I just looked for any book I could find about managing my bankroll," Leonard said.
He doesn't remember what he read back then. But the book most people will tell you to buy today is "Conquering Risk," by Elihu Feustel. Feustel didn't respond to my email for an interview request, but you can listen to a smart podcast that Gill Alexander, The Betting Dork, did with Feustel here. The book is great, although incredibly wonky and filled with more math formulas than my high school algebra textbook, as it takes you through bankroll management, treating games like derivatives and how to bet teasers.
What Leonard does remember is a theory he has subscribed to ever since. It's what Sal learned and what Dr. Bob has learned and Krackman has learned and Fezzik has learned and what every wiseguy through time who lasted more than a first half understands: Don't overbet, don't chase, don't play bigger than you can. Most guys will bet 1 to 3 percent of their bankroll on a single game, although Sal and Leonard both say they go as high as 5 percent for games they feel strongly about.
"Once I figured that out, it made everything better," Leonard says. "You don't have swings, you don't sweat the games as much."
And your bankroll lasts a little bit longer.
</offer>
