Florida Sports Betting Lawsuit by Magic City Jai-alai Turned Down by U.S. Supreme Court
If you’re a sports fan that enjoys making sports bets legally in the state of Florida, you can relax – for now. This is the highest court in America, and West Flagler Associates just took a punch to the gut. The United States Supreme Court has refused to upend a 30-year deal giving the tribe total control of sports betting in the state of Florida. America’s highest court did not give a reason for their decision – as they rarely do so – in an eleven (11) page opinion.
This is a huge decision against the company that owns three jai-alai licenses and the Bonita-Fort Myers gambling facility that was once a dog track like Flagler had in Miami. The case dates to 2021 when the Hard Rock had been offering sprots betting for about a month, when a federal district judge halted it. For two years, sports betting had been halted by Flagler Associates until the appeal process unfolded and sports betting has been active since late last year.
There are other options available for them to halt the next 30 years of exclusive rights going the Hard Rock and on your mobile phone. This is in addition to have the rights to slot machines (outside the two south Florida counties), blackjack, roulette, and craps.
The jai-alai operator could file a state challenge in circuit court and other federal legal avenues, all which would likely take several years to pan out, and millions of more dollars in attorney fees.
The big news about this decision by the US Supreme Court could open the pathway to online gambling – such as slot machines, blackjack, craps, and roulette. Expect that to happen by 2026.
When I first started playing amateur Jai-Alai on the Tampa court, I heard Alex Borges, one of the Cuban amateurs, call me a “pakete” every time I missed an easy shot. And that happened often. It became very apparent to me that this was definitely not a compliment. Not knowing much Spanish, I turned to Alex and said, “What does pakete mean?” He replied, “You are a pakete!” “Maybe I am,” I shot back, “but why do you keep calling me that?”
Alex finally explained that “pakete” means package in Spanish. Some Cubans used it as slang for somebody that does something stupid, like me missing so many easy balls. I, also, found it fits so many situations, including the day I walked into the Tampa Tribune to give Tom McEwen, the venerable sports editor, a bottle of Scotch. Indeed, I was a pakete that day, and many days to come.
“Fleischman, don’t walk into the sports department with a bottle of liquor under your arm,” he yelled at me that day in late 1971 as I was passing out Christmas gifts to the media. “People think you are trying to bribe us with Scotch. The Tribune has a policy about that.” He probably should have added, “pakete.” Ernie Larsen failed to tell me about media policies. McEwen finally whispered that he would follow me down to my car later and grudgingly make the transfer.
I, then, sat down in front of his desk and started to discuss the upcoming Jai-Alai season, about how we could get some publicity. Then, I became a “Super Pakete.” Ernie had told me to remind them about how many advertising dollars we spend on the Tampa Tribune each year. That implication should carry some weight. Sure, Ernie!
So, I mentioned that to Mr. McEwen, knowing I was already reeling from the Scotch fiasco. He looked straight at me with his Wauchula dead pan face and sternly said, “Never, ever, think that because you spend money with us, you get anything extra. The Sports Department is completely separate from the Advertising Department! I don’t give a damn what you spend with us!” Now, I’m sure he was actually thinking of doing his next column on “Marty Fleischman – Tampa Jai-Alai’s Biggest Pakete Ever.” Might have won him a Pulitzer.
Later on, he was generous enough to give me a tip. He told me the time between Christmas and New Year’s is the deadest time of year for sports. There are only bowl games, not much else. They actually have space to fill. If I bring them a feature story on a player, they would probably run it. I was extremely grateful for that. But that was nothing compared to what that man, a lifelong media associate and friend of my father, would do for me about nine years later.
Some of you reading this may not be that familiar with Tom McEwen. Media was different then. There was no internet, no Facebook, no Twitter. People actually got their news from television, radio, and newspapers. Tom McEwen’s Morning After column was a must-read every morning by anyone interested in sports in the Tampa Bay area. His influence on this community was astounding. He was instrumental in getting a stadium built. Then, came the Bucs, baseball, hockey, the Yankees, you name it. Tampa would not be a big-time sports town, if not for the support of Tom McEwen.
But his strongest attribute was not just bringing people together or making things happen. It was loyalty! Loyalty to his family, his friends, his city. And, somehow, he showed that loyalty to me, the “pakete” son of his good friend, Salty Sol, my dad. when I needed it most.
I won’t go into detail about it here, (saving it for my tell-all book) only to say that my career was on the line in 1979. No one would help. I was in trouble. My last resort was to call Tom. Without hesitation, he said, “no problem.” He saved me. Without him (and my wonderful lawyer cousin), I would not have had 32 more years of a successful Jai-Alai career. But loyalty runs in his family.
Rick McEwen, Tom’s son, has been my friend since facing each other in junior high golf and local junior tournaments. While his dad was working behind the scenes to help me, Rick maintained our friendship when few others would. McEwen Loyalty!
We still laugh to this day about how, when Tom was going through some marital issues, he crashed on my dad’s couch. So, when Rick had the same problems, he found his way to my apartment where a similar sofa awaited him. While Tom and Salty are playing some heavenly rounds of golf together, Rick and I are still close friends to this day.
So, I did bring back my first feature story on a player. I remember writing this beautifully, long, insightful story on frontcourter Renedo. It was filled with beautiful complex sentences, flowing introductory adjective phrases, as poetic as Shakespeare prose. I was so proud of it when I handed it to Mr. McEwen that holiday night.
He quickly picked up his red “editing pen” and….. ripped it apart! Working at warp speed, he marked lines through my beautifully constructed sentences, added simple phrases, deleted words, and tossed it back to me.
“This isn’t English class, Fleischman,” he told me. “You are writing for the general public. They don’t have time. Keep it simple, straightforward, nothing fancy.” He told me to follow his notes and resubmit it to him. I was totally destroyed. It looked nothing like what I handed him. Forget my UF English classes. But it was one of the greatest writing lessons I ever learned.
The next day, I went back to the Tribune sports department and handed it in. I opened the coming Sunday sports section, and a smile came over my face. There was an action shot of Renedo and my first published story, word for word, with no edits. I had “graduated” from the McEwen School of Journalism and was now ready for whatever lay ahead in my new career. Or was I?
I just got a very nice donation from Gary Morton – aka “Bennett” on Tigers site.
As you can see, it is the Tampa Jai-alai Silver Anniversary Commemorative Coin Collection that was given out to fans in 1978 to celebrate the 25th anniversary of Tampa Jai-alai.
The set features 8 coins of players from the roster back then.
Bolivar – Triple Crown Winner 1977
Echeva – Rookie of the Year 1975
Almorza – All time winner at Tampa
Aramayo – Ocala Overall Champion – 1977
Gorrono – Tournament of Champions Winner- 1976
Irigo – Backcourt Champion – 1977
Pablo – Singles and Overall Champion Tampa 1969-1970
Arambarri – Tournament of Champions 1977
That was a great year – the place was packed with an excellent roster led by those 8 players and many, many more. Aramayo and Arambarri have both attended the museum and were well greeted at that incredible reunion party we had. Unfortunately, Arambarri has passed away since then, but his name has frequently been brought up at our court and at gatherings over the past couple of years. Of course, when you talk about the greatest players of all time, Boliver and Gorrono are on that list.
Thanks for the donation, Bennett, who has always been one of my favorite posters on Tigers site for the past 20 years or so. And sorry, he is not the same Gary Morton that was married to Lucille Ball (after her divorce with Desi Arnaz) and was producer of her second hit TV series after “I Love Lucy”.
By the summer of ’71, I had already trained somewhat as Public Relations Director, announced some Jai-Alai games, and made my first trip to Europe with the U.S. Amateur Jai-Alai Association contingent for the world tournament. Now, I was doing what I really loved, playing the sport (to which I was clearly addicted) almost every morning. Serious program advertising selling would not start until September.
Looking back on it, we were nuts! Ernie Larsen, fronton GM, was kind enough to allow amateur play in the mornings, but without court lights and no air conditioning. Also, we actually played WITHOUT HELMETS! (Helmets became mandatory for the pros and amateurs later in the 70’s)
The Tampa Jai-Alai fronton had windows along the sides for available sunlight to shine through illuminating the court somewhat. But a pelota thrown at over 100 m.p.h. was not easy to see, even with court lights. So, we were playing in very dangerous, low light conditions. On cloudy days, forget it. Can you imagine the liability, even though we signed releases before playing?
Some mornings, a few of the pros would stop by and watch us practice. They had American spouses or were now legal residents and did not have to go back to Spain with the rest of the 45-man roster.
I remember how thrilling it was when Tampa star Almorza would hang out and watch us play. Sometimes, he would come with a bushel of oysters and a bottle of scotch. He would sit outside the player’s quarters in the back with a hose and shuck them. He was as adept at a shuck, a swallow, and a swig of scotch as he was at throwing his long carom shot to score.
Some mornings, I saw another player watching us. He was shorter than “Big Al”, stockier and with a round, Basque face. I heard some of the Cuban amateurs call him “Ricky.” I later found out he was feature game frontcourter, #30, Jose Ricardo Solaun.
While Almorza would quickly disappear to his oysters and scotch, Ricky would stay and watch us until we were finished. I tried to talk some with him but quickly found out his English was limited to, “No English” and “What?” He had married a local Tampa girl, Marian Fernandez, and remained in Tampa working some shifts at Wonder Bread in the off season.
Now, I cursed having taken Latin in school instead of Spanish. I realized that this was definitely going to be a problem for me I needed to communicate with the players and most spoke little English.
But what I didn’t realize was fate had just introduced me to my second brother. I already had an older brother, Sol Fleischman, Jr. Jose Ricardo Solaun would be and still is an integral part of my life. Much more about Ricky later.
September arrives, I have Bob’s Cheese Shop ad contract safely in my folder (no briefcase) and I’m ready to conquer the retail world armed with my “You get two FREE V.I.P. Tickets if you buy an ad” spiel. Dressed in black bell-bottom jeans, Nik-Nik polyester shirt, and platform shoes, I stopped at Ernie Larsen’s office at the fronton before venturing out.
He told me, “Don’t worry about the International House of Pancakes (not yet known as IHOP) ad. There is this nut-case lady, Brandy Primak, in Miami from their agency that places it. She renews every year.”
He, also, warned me not to touch the back cover. That was Budweiser’s and “Buddy will take care of that one. I am not even in the room,” he went on with a nod and a wink. “Of course, you don’t get any commission on that.”
His implication was something nefarious was going on. I later found out that it was just part of the total package between Miami and Tampa using Budweiser products in the fronton. I think Buddy figured Ernie would probably screw up the negotiations, so he would ask him to leave. Smart man.
So, I visited the easy ones first, the vendors we used. I knew they felt obligated to show their support. There was Fonte Cleaners, St. Pete Printing, and others like our office supply company. Then, I went to the places where the players hung after the games: Lamas Club, The Pad, Big Daddy’s. Restaurants were next, like The Sweden House (the owner loved to gamble on Jai-Alai), Zichex, and even McDonalds. I might have sold two that were not renewals, including Bob Cohn’s.
It’s now December, and we are approaching opening day. This is the most exciting time of year for all involved in pari-mutuels. It’s like opening day for baseball, football, or even a Broadway play. Seasonal employees (which are almost all) have to be hired and licensed, the facility and new construction has to be ready and the players arrive from Spain. There are practice sessions attended by fans and, yes, groupies.
All pre-season publicity has to be planned, sports departments contacted, teletype machines in place, interviews completed, and most importantly, a bottle of Cutty Sark delivered to the area media as a Christmas “gift” from Tampa Jai-Alai.
That, so-called, Christmas gift almost got me bodily thrown out of Tom McEwen’s office when I naively walked into the Tampa Tribune Sports Editor’s office grinning with a gift-wrapped bottle of Scotch under my arm. “Fleischman, get the hell outta here with that,” he screamed. I wonder what would have happened to me if he had not been a such close friend of my dad’s. But this was only the beginning for me and Mr. McEwen.
Joey Cornblit’s parents immigrated from Israel to Montreal. They soon moved to the warmth of Miami, shortly after Joey was born.
Charlie Hernandez’s parents immigrated from Cuba to Miami to search for the American dream. They were now living it. The Hernandez’s had traveled to France to watch their son play in the World Olympics for the sport of Jai-Alai. But, would they?
As the entire U.S. contingent, still feeling the exhilaration of the win by Kirby and Nick over the French team the night before, met for coffee and croissants the next morning, you could see trouble was brewing. In fact, it was already brewed. Rudy Hernandez, Charlie’s father, was threatening Piston from withdrawing his son from the tournament to an actual lawsuit against the U.S. Amateur Association. After two matches, his son Charlie was still on the bench.
You could see the pain on Piston’s face. Having never won a single match in past world competitions, the Americans were now 2-0. But he knew it was only fair to give Joey and Charlie their shot against the talented Spanish team of Uriarte and Mirapege. Still, what if this costs the team a gold medal?
Uriarte (played under the name Cachin later in his pro career) was the top amateur player in Europe and was certain to get a future contract in the U.S. (probably Miami). Mirapege was one of two brothers who played for Spain. He was the top backcourter, who would have had a phenomenal professional career, but for the fact his parents emphasized going to college. He was one of those rare athletes that would always remain an amateur.
The decision was made. Joey and Charlie would face Spain. Kirby and Nick would head to the bench. We all ordered more French coffee and extra croissants as it appeared harmony was once again restored with Piston’s decision.
Joey, being only 15 years-old, was cool and relaxed, at least outwardly. Charlie warmed up prior to the match with his parents cheering from our section. Understandably, they were extremely nervous as the four players did the traditional march out prior to the start of the 35-point, head to head partido.
Joey and Charlie had trained under the tutelage of Epifanio, the amazing Jai-Alai instructor at North Miami. Joey, not particularly overpowering in the frontcourt, had perfect form on his right side (forehand) and reverse (backhand). You barely heard the ball strike the cesta as he made a catch, signifying almost flawless style. But Joey’s major asset was this amazing backhand two-wall shot known as a “remate” or “costado.”
When most frontcourters in the sport catch a ball on their reverse, they merely throw it deep to the backcourt, a more defensive shot. But Epifanio trained Joey to throw this sharp breaking two-wall remate that hit the side wall, front wall, and the edge of the court shooting straight to the screen. The shot was almost unreturnable. Joey could score nearly at will while catching the ball on his reverse.
Charlie, being a young, slim backcourt amateur did not possess much power, but was extremely consistent. His job was to catch the deep balls and try to throw it beyond the awaiting opposing frontcourter, keeping them on the defense. His hope was for Joey to be able to catch one in the front and put them away with his remate.
Joey had another major asset. Having trained on the short Miami Amateur court where many balls rebounded off the back wall, he developed a fantastic “rebote” shot… a ball that comes off the back wall. He rarely missed those and placed it in such a way that it became an offensive shot, too.
So, the partido began… this long, physically challenging 35-point match. Joey and Charlie were smooth and patient. Uriarte and Mirapege were throwing all their shots, moving on the court with familiarity and ease. But our team stayed with them, as Joey amazed the French aficionados with his remate, scoring time after time.
But it soon became obvious that Charlie’s consistency would not erase his weak throws. The Spanish team would take advantage of it and keep the ball deep, away from Joey. Where Nickerson’s power and awkward throws were an advantage, Charlie’s throws were predictable and began to cost the American duo.
The partido ended with a 35-33 win for the Spanish team in what was a gutsy, hard fought loss for us. Joey and Charlie had nothing to be ashamed of, they fought their hearts out. They lost the match, but the youngsters won the respect of all the fans that night. After all, they actually lost by only two points to the best team in the world.
In the end, the U.S. team took home 3rd place, a bronze medal as Spain won gold and France took silver. It was the first medal a United States team ever won in world competition for the sport, and we were all very proud.
At breakfast the morning after the conclusion of the competition, Katie Harrington representing Dania Jai-Alai pulled out a professional contract an offered it to Kirby. He signed it quickly with us all proudly witnessing the event. Remember, at that time, very few Americans were playing professional Jai-Alai. Joey was too young and had to wait. Nick was looking for his next wave to surf in Daytona.
Shortly after returning to Miami, Joey, now 16, was in Buddy Berenson’s office accompanied by his parents. He was offered his first pro contract, while still attending Carol City High School. He was too young to sign it without his parent’s co-signing. (I will be discussing Joey’s career in more detail in later articles, as he was one of the most important and impactful figures in the sport).
Nick Nickerson did make it back home to the U.S. and subsequently played at his home fronton of Daytona Beach. Charlie Hernandez would get a chance to play for World Jai-Alai in later years.
Upon my return home, I still had no actual job until December when I would actually do my first pre-season prep. I took the film footage over to WTVT and gave my Dad back that heavy Bell and Howell camera. He edited the footage and had me on, as promised, narrating the grainy, sometimes out of focus, black and white footage of our victories and defeats in St. Jean-de-Luz. It, indeed, was great publicity for Tampa Jai-Alai and the entire sport. I’m sure Ernie Larsen was glad I did not include any footage of La Palanca.
I spent the next few weeks playing amateur Jai-Alai in the mornings at the fronton. Since I had no money, my mother was nice enough to let me live with her in her apartment near West Shore. I was like George Costanza, no money, no job, and living with my mother.
But life was great. Ernie told me my first duty was to sell the program ads starting in September. He told me this would carry me through without a paycheck until the end of December. But he didn’t tell me that I wouldn’t get the 20% commission check until after the season started. So, I was still pretty broke all those months.
I absolutely hated selling anything, especially advertising. It just seemed difficult to measure whether an ad under the game lineup in the program actually delivered customers to the advertiser. But Ernie told me as an incentive, I could tell buyers that they got on our VIP ticket list for two free seats any performance for the season. So, I pushed that as the bonus worth more than the cost of the ad.
My first call and “sale” went to one of my best friends, my college roommate Bob Cohn, who had opened up “The Cheese Shop” on S. Dale Mabry. I still owe him big-time because he said, “Flash, for you I’ll buy an ad.”
I knew Bob had just opened and was struggling. This was before wine, and cheese was a big deal. But he bought one without hesitation. I designed the hokiest ad with a graphic of a piece of Swiss Cheese that looked like a mouse had taken a bite. And I told him we could do it in “reverse,” making it black on white so it would stand out. I was an advertising genius. Bob probably lost business from that ad.
But, with a sale under my hat, I was on my way. I could not wait to write my first feature story on a player for the Tampa Tribune. I certainly did not know what awaited me the first time I brought one to the revered, renowned, Sports Editor of the Tampa Tribune, Tom McEwen. But, when I left there, I felt like I should look for a new job.
