If you haven’t heard Republican presidential candidate Donald Trump brag about the vastness of his wealth lately, wait five minutes and he’ll remind you.

“I’m proud of my net worth,” he said in June. “I’ve done an amazing job … The total is $8,737,540,000 U.S. I’m not doing that to brag, because you know what, I don’t have to brag.”

No, but that doesn’t stop him.

“I’m not using donors,” he said. “I don’t care. I’m really rich, I’ll show you that in a second. And by the way, I’m not even saying that in a braggadocios …”

Trump’s gold-plated self-promotion isn’t a trait he picked up on the campaign trail. He’s boasted about his financial acumen and empire for decades and was a proverbial Richie Rich character come to life during his days as the casino king of Atlantic City. His obsession with the size of his bankroll borders on the Freudian, but I suppose that’s what his fans and followers find so charming.

Some current and past members of the local bookmaking fraternity remember being less than charmed by Trump’s hyperbole. It was not long after the Nov. 9, 1996, heavyweight fight between Mike Tyson and Evander Holyfield when stories began buzzing in the press about a $1 million bet at 20-to-1 odds Trump said he’d won on the Las Vegas bout.

“He Trumpets $20M win,” the New York Daily News shouted.

“Trump Won $20m On Tyson Fight, He Says,” the Philadelphia Inquirer proclaimed.

Trump briefly basked in the publicity. Then the questions started.

Why hadn’t anyone heard about Trump’s big bet before the bout?

Who would take such a wager and such long odds?

No one, as it turned out.

The match at the MGM Grand officially opened at 20-to-1, but local oddsmakers knew that was only for prefight marquee value. No local bookmaker would take a bet that big at that price. Although there were early bets at 17-to-1, the odds quickly dropped to the true odds 5-to-1 — and no sports book in Nevada (the only state where wide-open sports betting is legal) would take a $1 million wager. With Holyfield the popular underdog, the fight closed with Tyson less than a 2-to-1 favorite.

There was no trace of Trump’s mythical $1 million bet — or even a series of smaller bets from him adding up to $1 million. Like his hairdo, the Trump bet story defied gravity.

The bookmakers of Las Vegas sniffed at the claim, and they are the seismographs of the sports betting world: If it moves, they can measure it. Although books took a beating on the fight when Holyfield stopped Tyson in the 11th round, no gambler made anywhere near the score Trump claimed.

Longtime Las Vegas sports book boss Art Manteris was among the first to smell something malodorous. And nearly 20 years later, former Caesars Palace sports book director Vinny Magliulo recalls the noise surrounding Trump’s big brag. Now the vice president of marketing for Las Vegas Dissemination Co., Magliulo remains skeptical.

“This is the closest-knit fraternity in the gaming industry, and a million-dollar bet at 20-to-1 odds would be well known within the bookmaking fraternity in Nevada,” he said. “As far as a single million-dollar bet, none of us were aware of a single million-dollar bet.”

Of course, it’s always possible that Trump, then a New Jersey casino licensee, could have risked his gaming empire and bet big with an illegal bookmaker. Atlantic City has plenty.

Magliulo declines to speculate. “That would be a call to another Vinny,” he cracked.

Longtime Las Vegas oddsmaker Michael “Roxy” Roxborough still laughs about the Trump claim.

“There’s a couple things that don’t ring true about this Trump bet,” Roxborough said. “He couldn’t have bet it in Nevada. … If the MGM had a million-dollar bet, everyone would have known about it. … That would have shook the world, a million-dollar bet that paid what he claimed.

“… It didn’t happen in Nevada, and it’s hard to believe it happened outside Nevada.”

If The Donald dissembled about something as silly as a bet on a boxing match, just imagine all the hot air he’ll belch if he wins the Republican nomination.

But Trump’s troops can take comfort in the fact that a big lie told with confidence has rarely disqualified a candidate for president.

Some would call it a prerequisite for the job.

John L. Smith’s column appears Sunday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Friday and Saturday. He can be reached at 702-383-0295 or jsmith@reviewjournal.com. Find him On Twitter: @jlnevadasmith