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#1
06-01-2005, 6:53 PM
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BlackJack: Double Down
I tap a pack of cigarettes against my sweaty palm, liberating its final hostage. I pull it free with my teeth and crumble the empty box into my right hand. Then I draw my Zippo from the cargo pocket of my khakis. Printed on one side of the lighter are the ace, king, queen, jack and ten of spades, respectively. Below the cards is printed, “Las Vegas, Nevada - the luckiest place on earth!” They got that right - for me at least. The words are worn and faded now from the years of faithful service. It feels like only yesterday that I bought it.…
I bought the lighter after being dealt a “royal” on a video poker machine. I had never gambled before then, but I had just turned twenty-one the week before and decided to take a vacation to Las Vegas to see what all the fuss was about. Two days later, I found myself trying to recover in an AM-PM mini-market on the outskirts of town. I had suffered a small string of bad luck that started immediately after disembarking my airplane, and ended with me standing there in the convenience store holding my last dollar bill. I’d lost everything, even my plane ticket home. I made a promise to God that day. If he’d help me get out of trouble, I’d never gamble again as long as I lived. Immediately following that prayer, I took my last buck (which I had earlier planned to use to buy myself a heat-lamp dog and a Coke) and dropped it into a machine - just like I had done to all of its 2,342 other brothers and sisters that once comprised my entire savings account. I took a deep breath, pressed the “deal” button on the front of the machine and watched as the cards turned over in order - ace, king, queen, jack, ten. All spades. That has been my luck ever since. It paid one thousand dollars; more than enough for a heat-lamp dog, a Coke and a new plane ticket home. I paid for my hot dog and coke, and after finishing them, I took the rest of my money back into town and promptly turned it into five grand and some change. I was twenty-one years old back then - that was my baptism. Presently, I’m sitting at a table, surrounded by the familiar sounds of bells ringing and coins dropping into metal troughs; the smell of stale cigarette smoke trapped inside of old worn out carpeting and heavy cologne; the sight of felt and chips, of neon signs and all-you-can-eat buffets. In other words, home. I scratch at the wheel of my Zippo. It produces a spark, which turns into a flame. The glow brightens the blank mask that covers my typically happy face. But that happy face will return - count on it. Just one little streak is all I need. Just one good run and it will return, back firmly planted where it belongs… I am no longer twenty-one years old. I am not so naïve as to think that I can turn every last dollar into thousands. Trust me, I firmly understand and believe in the theory of the “jinx”. I’ve seen it a thousand times. A guy gets on a streak and proclaims that he, “simply cannot lose” - an hour later; he’s in a pawnshop downtown, trying to squeeze the owner out of an extra twenty bucks for his wristwatch - or worse - hanging dead from his ceiling. That being said, I simply cannot lose. I don’t know why that happens to be true, but it is nonetheless. The dealer - a blank-faced, middle aged, Asian man - deals the woman sitting at first base a two of clubs. A small frown darkens what is her otherwise sweet face. Her husband, standing next to her and clearly drunk, receives a ten of diamonds. “Yes!” He exclaims, pumping his fist and nearly spilling his drink over the felt. The seat next to him is open, so the next card - an ace of spades - goes to a man of about fifty. He is wearing a large cowboy hat and he speaks in a thick southern drawl. “Awright! Nah that’sa card partner.” He confirms. The dealer’s stoic expression holds fast. A queen of hearts is dealt to the elderly lady seated next to me. She smiles up at me and then notices I’m intent on smoking and her smile drops. A six of spades glides across the felt and kisses the stack of ten black chips ($1000) sitting in the circle in front of me. An identical stack - my last - sits behind it. There was a little over thirty of these stacks when I started. I‘m not worried… It’s been twenty years since that royal in the mini-market. Between then and now, I’ve had many good streaks - and many bad ones. I’ll lose, I’ll lose, I’ll lose, and then I’ll always win it back again. My face remains steady. I’ve seen thousands of first sixes in my time. I know better than to panic. I have another card coming. Besides, I still have another stack after this one. No problem. “Aww, too bad pal. Bad card.” The drunk at second offers me his condolences. I shoot him a smile that says, “I agree,” then eye my last stack of chips… I guess you can say that I’ve broken that promise to God. Oh well, get in line big guy; I’ve broken many other promises over the passed twenty years. I’ve lost a wife, a daughter, a house, and more jobs than I can remember; all while in pursuit of my thrill. Sad? Not really. During that time, I’ve learned a lot about myself. I guess you can say that I found my true nature. I am not a very good husband. I love my daughter immensely, but I’m definitely not the perfect father. And as for working? Well, let just say that it’s not for me. I was fired from my last job for failing to submit a quarterly report. When my boss brought me into his office to ask me why I‘d missed my deadline, I told him that I had been up the entire night before playing poker. He fired me on the spot. I explained to him that I was on a rush; that I couldn’t very well have left a hot table. He failed to sympathize for me. Oh well, that’s me. I am a gambler. I live inside the shuffle, in between the spinning reels and under the rolling dice. I am the pitch and toss. …The dealer deals himself one card - face down… I’ve lost a little over forty-three grand this weekend. Make no mistake about it, that’s a lot of money even for me - the most I’ve ever been down actually. I’d be lying to you if I said that I wasn’t a wee bit nervous. But that’s what I do. I lose, I lose, I lose, and then I always win it back. My ex-wife, Michelle, never understood that. It’s like that for most people I guess. They just don’t understand the thrill. Michelle certainly didn’t understand it, which meant that she certainly didn’t understand me. That’s what it boils down to. Some people understand it and some do not. Those that do, will forever, and those that do not, never will. The two paths shall never cross - at least not for long. Michelle took my daughter to live with her and her new husband Craig. That was about ten years ago. It was probably for the best. Craig’s turned out to be a pretty decent guy and he treats both of them wonderfully. He’s stable, and that’s what they both need. I’d tried to explain to her, just before we tied the knot, that marrying me was the biggest gamble of them all. She said I was crazy. Ten years later, she lovingly jokes that I was her one and only long shot, and that she wasted eight years of her life waiting for me to come in. I’ve always loved that joke. I touch the flame of my Zippo to the tip of my cigarette and inhale sharply. My lungs fill with the second-hand smoke of hundreds of other’s cigarettes and the first-hand smoke of my own. I expel the smoke in one long, slow sigh. My head swims a bit, and then adjusts to the sudden onslaught of nicotine and poison. The elderly woman seated next to me offers a feeble scowl. I shrug “sorry”, with my shoulders and return my attention to the game. The woman seated at first base receives an eight of diamonds to go with her two of clubs. Her face brightens slightly. Her husband adds a four of hearts to his ten of diamonds. “F_ck me!” he shouts, in a voice loud enough to cause those seated at the table across from us to turn with disapproving glances. The expressionless dealer motions toward the pit boss who looks up from his business of jotting down chip totals, then quickly returns to his work. The gesture is not wasted on the man at second base and he offers the table a rather meager apology, “sorry.” “No problem pal. It's not as bad as my six,” I say through a big stupid smile. This gets him to laugh a little and the tense mood at the table quickly loosens. He raises his glass to me, “here’s to bad cards,” he says, and then he takes a sip and returns it to its plastic holder. I raise my own glass and nod in return. The dealer skips the vacant third spot, and then deals the cowboy a ten of hearts - blackjack. “Yeehaw!” he cries, “S’bout time partner!” Next, the dealer introduces the elderly woman’s queen of hearts to her twin sister. The table makes quick note of the tremendous odds in this. Then, the dealer silently adds a five of clubs to the six of spades that is still making time with my second-to-last stack of chips. My face remains steady. I’ve seen thousands of second fives after first sixes in my time. I know better than to celebrate. I have another card coming. Besides, I still have another stack after this one. No problem. The dealer deals himself one card face up - a ten of spades - then robotically pays off the cowboy‘s blackjack… I don’t know how I’m going to replace the forty-three large if I actually lose this time. I’m not worried. ...An ice cube’s edge melts just enough, causing it to readjust its position in second base’s drink. “T-ink.” I look up from my last stack of chips, locate the glass, and then quickly disregard it. “Captain Morgan and Coke,” I think to myself. I know this because this particular casino places a tiny plastic pirate sword in the cocktails that contain Captain Morgan rum. I’m not sure why I know this - I drink “Jack”, neat - but I do nevertheless… Maybe I can borrow some money from Michelle and Craig. I can bring it back here next weekend and double it. We’ll see. …the woman at first base sits contemplating her two of clubs and eight of diamonds. Meanwhile, I take a slow drag on my cigarette and blow the smoke to my left, away from the elderly lady seated next to me. I try not to look like I’m paying much attention - but I am. “You’d better double that down baby,” instructs her husband. “Just worry about your own damn cards David,” she snaps back. The table quiets. She goes to double her bet like David instructed, but at the last second pulls the chips back. Then, she taps the felt in front of her and asks the dealer for a hit. Immediately he slides her a jack of hearts - twenty. “I told you should’ve doubled that,” chides David. She just sneers in return and says nothing. David looks over to me, shakes his head and says, “She can never take a piece of advice.” “Pieces of advice are like assholes David,” I think to myself, “everybody‘s got one, and no one wants to hear it.” “It’s OK; you’re still in good shape with twenty.” I reassure her. She smiles. “She still should’ve doubled it,” David mutters under his breath. I just shrug my shoulders, “maybe.” David turns back to the game and taps the felt with his fingers, “hit me - small!” He demands. The dealer adds an ace to David’s fourteen. “Damn! Too small! Hit me again.” David taps at the felt angrily. The dealer shoots him a fourth card - another ace. “Christ!” shouts David, “you’re killing me!” The people from the table across from us, as well as the pit boss look over again. He quiets and waves off the dealer. Then he takes an exaggerated swallow of his rum and Coke. “Should hit that Dave,” I think to myself, “dealer’s showing ten against your sixteen.” But what was that I said earlier about advice and assholes? So I remain silent. The dealer skips the empty third spot and the cowboy and motions to the elderly lady next to me. “I think I’m going to split these,” she tells him. For those of you unfamiliar with the game, let me explain. Splitting tens is the cardinal sin of blackjack - especially when the dealer's showing a ten. Two tens is a twenty - almost a sure winner in other words. At worst it's a push. Upon hearing the elderly woman’s decision, David mutters under his breath. Something like, “that’s why I’m losing; I’m playing with f_cking idiots!” But it was so low that I can’t be 100% positive. The elderly lady ignores him, doubles her bet and splits her queens. She then taps the felt in front of the first card. The dealer slides her a five of spades. “F_ck!” mutters David in my direction - somehow he has fallen under the impression we‘re on the same side. “That would’ve been my card!” I just shrug my shoulders at him and draw in on my cigarette. By rights that would’ve been my five (sixteen), so I don’t mind. “I’ll stand,” says the elderly woman. “You have fifteen, mam,” informs the dealer. “I know what I have,” she replies. I just smile and watch what is playing out before me. The dealer says nothing more and deals her second hand a ten of diamonds - twenty. “Could’ve used that one,” I think to myself. “Oh well, She giveth, and she taketh away.” “My stars!” Says the elderly woman through a large grin, “I’ll stand.” Now it’s my turn. I look from the dealers up card - a ten of spades - to my last stack of chips. I take a long, slow drag on my cigarette and blow the smoke to my left, away from the elderly lady seated next to me, who may have just helped me - or cursed me. I glance down at my Jack Daniels and contemplate a sip, but decide against it. Finally, after a last peek at the dealer’s up card, I calmly take my last stack of chips and slide them next to the stack already bet. “I’d like to double down,” I inform him. The dealer nods unceremoniously and tosses me a solitary card. It’s a three of diamonds - fourteen… I was in Atlantic City about fours ago. I sat at a table next to a guy named “lucky”, who doubled down on nine consecutive hands - nines against the dealer’s tens, eights against his nines, even an eight against an ace! He won them all. On his tenth, eleventh and twelfth hands he blackjacked. “I simply cannot lose,” announced Lucky. On his thirteenth hand, he was dealt a twenty. The dealer drew out a six card 21 to beat him. He went on to lose twenty of his next twenty-one hands. That’s gambling. …My face remains steady. I’ve seen thousands of thirteen’s win in my time. I know better than to panic. Besides, Michelle will lend me some money and I’ll win it back again. The dealer turns over his down card - a two of spades - twelve… After Lucky lost his thirteenth hand, others at the table congratulated him on his phenomenal streak. All agreed that they’d never before seen anything quite like it. The crowd that had gathered to watch as the seemingly impossible came to pass, began to break up and disperse. Lucky watched them all leave. Then, he turned to me and said, “I guess that was my fifteen minutes of fame, huh?” I nodded in silent agreement. After he’d lost the next eleven hands in a row, the crowd began to reassemble. Some of the players at the table began to hint around to him that maybe he should take what was left of his winnings and go. I said nothing. On the next hand he blackjacked and the crowd roared. “Now we’re going to turn this streak back around in the proper direction,” he predicted. The crowd roared louder. I remained silent. Within his next eight losses he had three hands of eighteen, two of nineteen, and one twenty, which he lost to a dealer’s blackjack. He left the table broke and beaten. The size of the crowd that witnessed his winning streak was half the size of that which witnessed his demise. I guess Andy Worhol should’ve counted Lucky twice. …The dealer draws - an ace of hearts - thirteen… Before he left the table, Lucky turned to me and said, “well, I must admit the first fifteen minutes were much more fun.” then, he winked at me, patted me on the back, offered me good luck and left the table. …The dealer draws - a three of diamonds - sixteen… The next morning I was having breakfast in the casino coffee shop. I overheard two waitresses talking behind the counter. Apparently some guy last night had won over $75,000 playing blackjack. Then he lost it all back, along with another fifty. Housekeeping had found him about an hour before my breakfast, hanging from the ceiling by his necktie. “How very un-Lucky,” I thought. …the dealer draws - a six of hearts - twenty-two. Bust. Everyone at the table wins… Like I said, I’ll lose, I’ll lose, I’ll lose, and then I’ll always win it back again. Written and Contributed By Gabe Benson Copyright ©2004 - 2005. |
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#2
02-03-2005, 5:02 PM
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It isn't just now some help for playing cards, but a very good story
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#3
04-04-2005, 11:12 AM
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Dear Gabe,
Just thought Í would drop you a line to say I liked the story - and so did my wife. |
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#4
06-04-2005, 11:30 PM
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I know splitting tens is frowned upon, but I have no reservations splitting them if the dealer is showing 4-6 and I know there are more tens that little cards left in the deck.
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#5
07-05-2005, 4:53 PM
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anyone look into the MIT system...it works, just take patience
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#6
10-05-2005, 4:58 PM
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good story
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