Late 1970’s
Northern Nevada
It had been a terrible run. All the money I had won from Vegas was quickly disappearing in the casinos of Reno. I had played for two weeks and my luck was the getting worse. Being a card counter I fully understood that the math behind such a long run of poor results was getting lopsided in my favor – but it wouldn’t change.
I decided to change the game. There was a limousine service that would run you up to Tahoe for a $150.00 and there was room at the Cal Neva at Stateline. So I packed up and headed for the Lake.
The nice lady who was driving did not blink an eye when I asked her to pull into the 7-11 to get at bottle of champagne. My mood was sour and I was hell bent on changing both my luck and my disposition.
I slammed the bottle in the back of the limo as we drove up the hill and I was starting to feel just a little better.
After offloading at valet I checked the luggage and got my room keys, but because it was early afternoon I decided to play a bit. This would violate one of my most sacred rules (learned in the long years of losing). My entire bankroll was in my safari jacket. This is a huge no-no.
You only carry a session bank on your person, you never spend more than your daily bank on any given day and you must have 20 daily banks in your bankroll to play full time.
But here I was - a large roll of 100s in my right pocket and a room key in my left. I went to the men’s room and washed up. I was getting serious and I had absolutely no desire to start back over building my big bankroll by grinding out weeks of play.
Showtime.
I started on Friday night and sometime about 10:00 in the morning on Saturday I went to take a comfort break in the men’s room and happened to break the trance long enough to look into the mirror.
What I saw was not pleasant. My eyes looked like a Texas road map with all the little red lines, and I was wrinkled, unshaven and very rough on all accounts.
It made me tired.
I had played all night without stopping. Because I never drink alcohol while counting cards, I must have drank 20 glasses of orange juice, coffee and club soda.
I had a bad case of Casino Ass and it was all but impossible to sit down anymore.
I had been winning. How much I wasn’t even sure. There is a game we play to keep the amount of money you are winning uncertain to the pit boss. They do know exactly when they do the count, but for short spans it confuses the issue.
It is the safari jacket. It must have ten different pockets, so every time my chip stack gets a little too large I will pocket a handful of green or black chips.
The jacket felt heavy and full so it had to be good. In the early hours I had been on an absolute stone cold run of great cards. The count on the single deck was often +5 or more and I had flooded the table with money.
Time to go. This is the part where the casino realizes you are going to take their money and leave - gets just a little colder in the room.
I went back and asked to be colored up for what was on the table, the Pit Boss asked if I would like to color up the chips in my pockets and I declined.
With a couple of pinks and a fist full of black I went to the cage and began stacking chips.
$23,000 to the good. I couldn’t believe it. What a great run. I returned to the table and tipped the dealers very heavy and the little oriental waitress even heavier - then called for a cab.
Now flush with cash and in the danger zone (where you are subject to give it back), I made a cabbies day and went back to Reno.