LAS VEGAS — As Super Bowl LII began unraveling in 2018, Jay Kornegay’s frown sagged by the second in the back room of the Westgate SuperBook.
‘‘Everyone was scoring,’’ the former executive vice president of the property says. ‘‘I remember saying, ‘We’re just getting killed.’ Props were going over on all of these players. One we definitely did not need to score was Nick Foles.’’
Five plays later, the Eagles quarterback hatched the ‘‘Philly Special,’’ a handoff to tight end Trey Burton, who hurled it back to Foles for a one-yard touchdown. The Eagles led the Patriots 22-12.
Foles was the fourth player to score a touchdown, and it wasn’t even halftime. Eight players would score, and Patriots tight end Rob Gronkowski scored twice. Both teams scored in all four quarters.
The Eagles won 41-33. Ramifications were manifold. Nevada sportsbooks won only $1.17 million, their lowest net gain since 2011.
Since the Nevada Gaming Control Board began tracking such figures in 1991, the state’s books have lost money on only two Super Bowls — about $400,000 in 1995 (49ers 49, Chargers 26) and $2.6 million in 2008 (Giants 17, Patriots 14).
Last year, the Silver State’s 182 books collected a record handle (total money wagered) of $185.6 million for the Chiefs’ 25-22 overtime victory against the 49ers.
Of 2018, Kornegay says: ‘‘It was the very first Super Bowl that we actually lost on props. We’d had bad days, but we’d never lost on props . . . until this game.’’
Why not me?
At the Las Vegas Country Club, directly across Joe W. Brown Drive from the SuperBook, Kornegay enjoys a BLT and tomato soup as he reminisces about all the Super Bowls he experienced on the other side of the counter.
Today will be the first Super Sunday that the iconic and influential Vegas sports-betting figure won’t be working in a book since 1986.
In November, Westgate executives asked Kornegay, 61, about underlings who might be interested in taking early retirement. He paused and said, ‘‘Why not me?’’
Kornegay had not been disgruntled; nobody had issues with him. The recent death of a close friend had lingered, though, and he negotiated a way to begin enjoying life in semi-retirement.
Until 2028, he’s the SuperBook’s vice president of marketing, an ambassador available to discuss the business with whomever, at his discretion. He’ll consult with new vice president of race and sports John Murray.
Before we met at the club, Kornegay told the boys at the book that he expects Chiefs-Eagles to be high-scoring.
‘‘Which is a little concerning for us when props go over,’’ Kornegay says. ‘‘We know a majority of people like to play things over, like things to happen.’’
Keep that in mind, he advised Murray and crew, when concocting the numbers.
The start
An Air Force brat who has lived all over, Kornegay, a Colorado State graduate, considers Colorado home. Planning a spring-break trip with college pals, only he pined for sand, sun and suds — in California or Mexico.
He was unanimously outvoted, as everyone else wanted to visit Vegas and bet sports. It was serendipity for him.
‘‘We had just started dating,” says the former Pam Dean, Kornegay’s then-girlfriend who would become his wife. ‘‘He comes back and says, ‘I think I want to try that.’ Pretty crazy. I’d never even been in a casino.’’
They landed at Harrah’s in Lake Tahoe, where Kornegay eased from making change for slot-loving patrons to hand-writing sports tickets. On Harrah’s paper, consisting of two carbons, he would write the bet, the odds and the amount.
‘‘Dodgers to win the 1987 World Series at 10-to-1 odds. ‘How much, sir? Five dollars? OK.’ Terrible.’’
A chance to see his beloved Broncos in Super Bowl XXII, to play Washington in San Diego, evaporated when his boss wouldn’t let him and someone else switch workdays. The Redskins won 42-10.
‘‘I felt fortunate that I didn’t pay all that money and lose my job,’’ Kornegay says, ‘‘just to see my team get killed.’’
Roller-coaster games
Kornegay barely had situated a group of VIPs inside the Westgate ballroom.
‘‘And I hear this roar,’’ he says. ‘‘I look up, see the hike from center sail over Peyton Manning’s head. ‘Oh, my God!’ The loss was six figures. On that one play!’’
Super Bowl XLVIII, in 2014, had produced the unfathomable — not only a safety, with typical plus-700 odds, but a safety as the first scoring play of the game by the Seahawks, those last two qualifiers fetching 30-1 odds and upward.
‘‘People just throw $5 or $10 on that,” he says, ‘‘which adds up quickly.’’
The Seahawks rolled 43-8. A minute or two of early anguish, however, had snowballed into prodigious SuperBook profits.
Nevada books netted a record $19.7 million on that game. The 16.5 hold percentage also set a new benchmark.
‘‘Everybody in the world was betting the Broncos,’’ Kornegay says, ‘‘and almost every key position player for Denver went under [projected totals]. They were the top offense in the league, so everyone bet them.
‘‘And almost all of [Manning’s] numbers went under. So we did really well on the props and did great on the game. That was the best game that I’ve ever booked, as far as working.’’
In several hours, from the basement to the penthouse.
‘‘Amazing,’’ he says. ‘‘That’s how lopsided the betting was. But on the first play, a ‘Whoa!’ low, to a big high. The best.’’
Cheers!
Kornegay relocated to Vegas and ran the Imperial Palace book, becoming known as The Prop Shop because of its deep Super Bowl prop menus.
He and his team, including Jeff Sherman and Ed Salmons, didn’t invent the side props. Expanding on them, to offset potential losses on the game’s side or total bets, earned them recognition.
In 1997, one inebriated patron accused Kornegay of having a direct line to Broncos offensive coordinator Gary Kubiak.
Carousing customers can exacerbate the drama.
In 2000, the result was especially painful when Titans receiver Kevin Dyson fell an arm’s length from the end zone against the Rams, who won 23-16. They had opened as seven-point favorites, and the line didn’t budge.
‘‘A refund for everybody,’’ Kornegay says. “A nightmare. Normally, we just pay half the crowd. In this one, we had to pay them all back since it landed on the number. The cashing line went all the way back, around the corner.
‘‘Everybody was irritated. People had been drinking, and now you gotta stand in this long line. I was impressed with our skill level handling a lot of impatient people.’’
Kornegay left the Imperial Palace for the Hilton — today’s Westgate — in 2004, bringing Salmons, Sherman and those Super Bowl props with him.
‘‘The timing was great for him,’’ Pam Kornegay says. ‘‘Everything just kind of worked out in his favor.’’
The sweat
In 2017, with in-game wagering in vogue, the Falcons fashioned a 21-3 halftime lead on Tom Brady and the Patriots in Houston.
Everyone had loaded up on the Patriots and kept doing so throughout the game. And Brady pulled off the comeback, winning 34-28 in overtime.
For 2½ quarters, the Falcons were poised to make it one of the all-time super hauls for the SuperBook. But it went the other way.
‘‘You could see it happening,’’ Kornegay says. ‘‘We all know what happened. I’ve never seen our team that low. Emotionally and results-wise, it was the worst ever.’’
Two years later, midway through the third quarter in Atlanta, it was Pats 3, Rams 3. He thought all props were going under.
‘‘But there was a prop we take every year: no TD scored in the game,’’ Kornegay says. ‘‘It’s anywhere from 300-1 to 500-1. We didn’t look at it until halfway through the third quarter. ‘Oh, yeah. How do we stand on that?’
‘‘Almost all of us fell on the floor. There was nearly a seven-figure liability attached just to that one prop. We were really sweating for nearly an hour. The whole room felt it, not just me. My whole team in shock.’’
With seven minutes left, Patriots tailback Sony Michel scored from two yards out for the lone touchdown of the game. The Patriots won 13-3.
‘‘One of our best Super Bowls,’’ Kornegay says. ‘‘Everyone has [that no-TD] prop, and they take care of themselves. It’s a lottery ticket, but the betting public loves lottery tickets. How about that?’’
Pass on the casserole
Kornegay has eased into a new life. Daughter Cara got married in October, and son Nick has been back in Vegas for a while after six years in Steamboat Springs, Colorado.
Projects have been completed around the house, and Kornegay got into cooking. The chicken casserole topped with stuffing? Pass. But the garlic-butter steak bites were delicacies. He plays golf weekly at the Las Vegas Country Club.
Nearly 40 years ago, as a Colorado State senior, Kornegay sought spring-break warmth on the Pacific Coast. His pals, though, ruled on the destination, and he wound up with a career.
How about that?