Casino – You Aint Dead Til Your Ass Is Cold Part2
Emboldened by the windfall of quarters, I decided to upgrade my play and resolutely headed directly to the dollar machines. A couple of $500 hits and a spectacular $1,000 jackpot later, I was suddenly a player with a bankroll, ready for action again at the blackjack tables.
I wish I could give this casino Cinderella story a happy ending, but it turned out that my late financial resurgence that day was all for naught. 1 ended up sadly replaying my earlier misfortunes at the tables, back where I started from, only now $10 poorer with my last roll of quarters gone too. 1 sadly shuffled over to the bus terminal with my return ticket and just enough pocket money to see me safely back to my Manhattan apartment. Though this foray was a two-act loser, it does show that you’re not dead ’til your ass is cold.
On the flip side, you should never count your chickens before they hatch, especially in a casino. Once in the late 1960s, my early freewheeling days, I gambled through two tumultuous days and nights, storming in and out of Las Vegas casinos, and I ended up with $24,000 of the casinos’ money. Up in my Sahara suite, $100 bills piled high on the table, I soberly reviewed the situation. I realized 1 was too hopped up for my own good, so, after a much-needed night’s sleep, 1 dumped most of the money in a casino safe-deposit box and wisely decided to plane out to San Francisco for the day. I always wanted to sample their King Crab claws on Fisherman’s Wharf. I really dig those King Crab claws!
Refreshed and well crab-clawed, I took an early-evening flight back to Las Vegas and the green-felt tables. Dame Fortune can be fickle, and with me she was then at her worst. Almost as soon as I started betting once again-and this was at my darling, always-profitable Sahara-I found myself on a tail-spinning losing streak that I just couldn’t buck. To “change my luck,” as the saying goes, I even took a $22 cab ride up from the bottom of the Strip all the way over to the other end of the world-The Hacienda, the first casino at the top of the Strip.
You think that did it? Sadly it did not, as my losing streak continued, relentlessly on-course, whatever casino I went to, whatever 1 bet, whether at blackjack or at craps. I couldn’t even coax more than a couple of coins at a time out of the damn slot machines!
The only reason I returned to New York with my seed money still intact and with $3,300 of the casinos’ cash, was that 1 had bragged to one of my girl friends that I would win enough money on this trip to be able to fly her out the following week to Vegas to see Sinatra at the Sands. I sure as hell would’ve felt like a horse’s ass to have to tell her we’re going by subway to Coney Island instead, only to fill up on hot dogs and beer. Just my ego kept me from losing that last $3,300.
Sure, looking back on my trip in retrospect, I can bemoan the fact that my post-San Francisco casino-hopping cost me more than $20,000. But I don’t. I quote Harold of Harolds Club in Reno, and only see the trip positively. “I quit winners!”
What you can learn from all this is to make sure that you leave the casinos with at least some of their money. This way, when you’re on the bus or plane, you can say, “Yes, I quit winners!”
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