| I doubt I'll return. I believe in the old "three strikes and you're out" philosophy. I think I'll just go down the street to the Grand, or Magic, even the little New Palace, where I get a reasonably fair game, minimums of $3-$5, entertaining crews, decent restaurants, fair comps and a welcome like a distant relative at a family reunion. The other casinos on the coast seem to recognize that true "Southern hospitality" has little to do with your surroundings and the size of your bankroll. If you have been longing to play craps, by all means do so--man or woman. It's the most exciting game in town, but please prepare yourself by studying a little. It can be a wild ride if you are clueless, and sometimes even if you have a clue. One of my favorite books is Guerrilla Gambling by Frank Scoblete, which gives excellent overviews of almost every casino game. Its main attraction for me, though, is how well it prepared me for the very real psychological challenge of participation in gaming. I have a great time in casinoland, but I take it seriously because I know it's a tough sport. I yuck it up at the tables with the crew and players, wear my lucky shirt and shout prayers to every God of chance you can name. I also keep my head in many good books about craps and other casino games in between battles in casinoland. I believe that I am the master of my fate, not some nebulous thing called "luck." I hope to see you around a craps table someday soon, and you can know the special thrill that comes when the stickman shouts, "New shooter coming out!" I never tire of it. My brain was really jumping in its cage now. It was frantically sending signals about a beam of some kind to someone named Scotty. It seems to have a will of its own sometimes, but I've learned to just ignore it when it starts that stuff. Besides, I was already in enough trouble and the non-gambler just sevened out. It was my turn to roll the dice, and I wanted to see what was going to happen next. I plunked down my pass-line wager and asked the stickman, "Are we gamblin' yet?" He reassured me that we were and passed me the dice. Surprising me again, the guy who didn't gamble put another pass-line wager down for my come-out roll. I told him the stickman had said we were gambling, but I don't think he heard me because he kept his money on the table. I rolled a few numbers, and quickly sevened out myself. Having lost his meager buy-in, the gentleman strolled away from the table, and didn't even say goodbye, but his head was held high. I guess he wasn't upset that he lost his money since he wasn't gambling anyway. The box lady gave me a look that would frost your beer mug, so I apologized, but I wasn't really sorry I had said what I did. I thought that man was scarier than the drunk at the blackjack table doubling down on a hard 12. Quite frankly, I would have more respect for the drunk, because when he woke up in the morning with empty pockets, I'd wager he'd know he had been gambling. Things quickly got back to what is referred to as normal around the craps table, when some rowdy good ol' boys showed up and started having a few productive rolls, and a few Bud Lights to celebrate. Now, THIS is what I call FUN! But I also call it gambling. |
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