Blackjack Hit And Run Part2
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Foxwoods Casino. Never again, thank you. If Foxwoods was the only casino around, I'd hang up my hiking boots and quit gambling. But don't get me wrong: I have nothing against Foxwoods or Native Americans. It's just that if I'm limited to gambling in only one casino, I am fated to join the swelling ranks of losers. When Foxwoods was the only casino in all of the northeastern section of the country, it was the most profitable casino in America—and I don't find that coincidental. When the word got around about the roaring success of Foxwoods, a rival tribe down the road in Connecticut decided they also wanted to get in on a good thing. So now there are two Indian casinos in that neck of the woods. Not to be left out, a New York State Indian tribe has also set up shop near Syracuse. So competition may bring better odds to Foxwoods.
My only chance of winning is to keep putting mileage on my hiking shoes. I have to be able to pick up my chips and hightail it over to the next casino at a moment's notice.
All my hit-and-run trips to Vegas and Atlantic City were carefully time-controlled. I always had one eye on the dice or the blackjack hand and the other eye on my wristwatch. I always made absolutely sure I allowed myself enough time to make that plane or bus.
I never ever, on my Lone Wolf prowls, missed my return mode of transportation, but I must admit there were squeakers. One time in particular was just too close for comfort. It was the end of a one-day raid on the Las Vegas casinos for a specific goal— I needed some quick cash for the next day. I had taken my ever-faithful TWA Flight #57 at 5:30 from Kennedy to McCarran, with a return flight on the last plane out to New York that midnight. I had done well so far on my hit-and-run journey up the Strip from the Sahara, and now I was at the Aladdin, my final casino before cabbing to the airport. (This was in the 1970s, when both blackjack and craps limits were in the hundreds, and purple ($500) chips were only seen on the baccarat table.) Nicely ahead for the evening, I cashed a couple of thousand in seed money at the blackjack table as the dice came around to me. Playing the front line with, of course, full odds—along with placing the 6 and 8, I took control of the dice. This was going to be my Grand Finale for the evening, a quick win at the table and a quicker exit out the door and off to the airport.
My point was 10. I wound up like Sandy Koufax, and sent the cubes hurtling down the table, bouncing smartly against the back wall.
The number was 3. Again I rolled them cubes, and again it was a no-decision (for me) 12.
And I rolled again. And again. And still again.
Still no decision. I was nowhere near my needed 10.
Time was ticking away, and I was getting nervous. 1 started to roll faster. In fact, for the first time in my casino career I asked the stickman to please speed up the action. Now it was getting hairy. I took down my two place bets, and even picked up my odds bet just to show the stickman my urgency and sincerity in trying to finish the roll as soon as possible. Three more rolls and still no decision.
In desperation I pleaded, "Look, I gotta make a plane. Any way that I can just cede the hand and split?"
The table went into an uproar. My notion that I could escape was an impossible dream. To make matters worse, the other players at the table became menacing.
"Roll them cubes, shithead."
"Finish off the hand and buzz off. We don't want you around here either."
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Blackjack Hit And Run
Author: admin
✓ How to Hit and Run
✓ The Rules of Hit and Run
✓ My Biggest Win
✓ You Ain't Dead 'Til Your Ass Is (old
✓ "Won't" Power
✓ The (autionary Tale of Joe E. Lewis
How to Hit and Run
Thumb through any of the gambling magazines that have proliferated in recent years and you'll see page after page of ads from self-proclaimed experts who, for a fee of anything from ten bucks to a thousand, will sell you the in-secrets of beating the table games, or beating the slots.
Now take a deep breath and reread the above paragraph. Do you really believe in your heart-of-hearts that, if these advertisers really knew any sure-fire ways to consistently win money from the casinos, they would let you in on their secrets? Believe me, pal, if any alleged know-it-all hotshot actually stumbled upon a way to beat the casinos at their own games, you could hang him by his thumbs and shove a hot poker up his ass and he still wouldn't tell you!
After forty years of casino gambling the only way I know to beat 'em is to hit and run, always wary of "staying too long at the fair."
Make sure your goal is to Quit Winners and, dammit to stick to your predetermined win figure. Yes ! know: You're on a "streak" and you're raking in the chips. Sure, it's hard as hell to tear your-self away from the table. But you have set a limit on what you want to win, and now you have to be man or woman enough to stick to it. Having reached your predetermined goal, simply pick up your chips, cash them in, and head directly out the door, off to the next casino. If you overstay your welcome, you are in dire peril not only of losing what you won, but also your table stakes as well.
Once at the Stardust in Las Vegas, before the prevalence of purple or white ($500) and orange or yellow ($1,000) chips, black chips ($100) were generally the top unit of wagering at the tables. Gamblers strolled the casino with the wooden racks now used for dollar slot machine tokens. I was doing very nicely, thank you, with my tray almost completely filled with blacks. Two more steps away from the cashier's cage, I decided, what the hell, I needed to win just two more blacks to fill it up and make it a neat $5,000.
Twenty minutes later I put the empty wooden tray on top of a slot machine and sadly shuffled out the door. Had I stuck to my guns and not tried to get those extra two chips, I would have quit winners. Learn from me: If you've got your projected squeeze from the udder of the casino cash-cow, leave with their money. Don't overstay your welcome, else you'll be dumping your empty wooden tray on top of a slot machine as you drag-ass out of the casino door, a loser just like me.
When I go to the casinos, I play a nibble-away game. As I write, there are twelve licensed casinos in Atlantic City, but actually thirteen operating casinos. One of the licensees, Bally's, finessed the Casino Control Commission by appending a satellite casino to an operating casino, thus having two casinos working on one license. (Trump tried it, and tacked the old Playboy, then the Atlantis, onto his Plaza, but went bust.) Bally's Park Place erected a brand-new casino, the Wild West, and built a connecting passageway between the two.
For me, the more casinos on the block, the merrier. Once I went to Connecticut and tried my luck at the Native American.
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