Phil said he had two offshore accounts that would take big action from him. In all the decades I’ve worked with partners and beards, Phil had accounts as large as anyone I’d seen. You don’t get those types of accounts without betting millions of dollars.
My reason for partnering with him was simple. Given my reputation in the gambling world, my limits with Phil’s two bookmakers were roughly $20,000 a game on college and $50,000 on the pros. Even after our fifty-fifty split, Phil’s limits of $400,000 on college at offshore sportsbooks and another $400,000 on the NFL enabled me to at least double my limits. Phil also had a $100,000 limit on college over/under bets with each book, twenty times my maximum.
By his own admission, Phil was worth an estimated $250 million during our time betting together (he collected a reported $50 million annually in endorsements alone). We agreed that anytime our winnings or losses reached $3 million, we would settle up. In truth, I was no more worried about Phil paying me $3 million than an average person owing me a thousand bucks.
In the beginning, I didn’t know Phil’s betting habits or background, so I did some research. My strategy was to emulate his betting patterns to disguise the fact that it was Billy Walters, not Phil Mickelson, placing the bets. I followed his patterns, betting at the same time, in similar amounts, dogs or favorites, riding his horses as long as we could.
The first six months of our agreement ran like Secretariat. The offshore bookies failed to detect anything different in the pattern of Phil’s bets other than that he was winning far more often. Despite our best efforts to keep the two accounts alive, it wasn’t long before the offshore bookies closed them. They told Phil the bets were far more disciplined than usual, so they knew they weren’t solely his. He could resume betting, they said, but only if it was on his own. This led Phil to activate a formerly dormant account for our partnership.
As I said, Phil liked to gamble as much as anyone I’ve ever met. Frankly, given Phil’s annual income and net worth at the time, I had no problems with his betting. And still don’t. He’s a big-time gambler, and big-time gamblers make big bets. It’s his money to spend how he wants.
In late September 2012, Phil called me from Medinah Country Club just outside Chicago, site of the 39th Ryder Cup matches between the United States and Europe. He was feeling supremely confident that the American squad led by Tiger Woods, Bubba Watson, and Phil himself was about to reclaim the Cup from the Euros. He was so confident that he asked me to place a $400,000 wager for him on the U.S. team to win.
I could not believe what I was hearing.
“Have you lost your fucking mind?” I told him. “Don’t you remember what happened to Pete Rose?” The former Cincinnati Reds manager was banned from baseball for betting on his own team. “You’re seen as a modern-day Arnold Palmer,” I added. “You’d risk all that for this? I want no part of it.’’
“Alright, alright,” he replied.
I have no idea whether Phil placed the bet elsewhere. Hopefully, he came to his senses, especially considering the “Miracle at Medinah.” Trailing 10-6 going into the final day of singles matches, the Europeans pulled off the greatest comeback in Ryder Cup history. They won eight matches and tied one to beat the Americans by a single point, 14½ to 13½.
Phil’s loss to Justin Rose that Sunday contributed to the stunning defeat.
After my betting partnership with Phil ended in the spring of 2014, I learned a lot more about his sports gambling from two very reliable sources.
