During my most recent visit, I had cause to be walking through Harrahs, I had met some of my mates in the poker room, had a few beers, railing one of them as he got taken apart heads up against a Deep South old timer who was conservatively 200 years old, and claimed this was his first ever poker tournament. He had a tell that was as obvious as a man looking hard at a little “poker hand ranking card” and running his finger up and down it, stopping on the hand he had got…as that was exactly what he was doing. However my friend, let’s call him “Nick” because that is his name, had been taking full advantage of the cocktail waitress service and was consuming his 20th or so bottle of Bud by this time, and frankly wouldn’t have noticed if Mr Alabama Whirly Snr was turning his cards over and playing them face up. Anyway, Nick got beaten, but still ended the evening some $400 up on where he’d started it. Which is always nice.
I headed out of the casino towards the exit, when, as I passed the Roulette table, I remembered I’d got a $25 Harrahs chip in my pocket, the profit of a little side bet I’d had with a fellow observer that Nick would indeed get beaten, so I decided to put it on the table.
Red or Black, I opted for Red. And it came in, so I now had $50. I slide it across to Evens, and again it came in. $100 now. Should I leave with my $75 profit or carry on? Carry on, obviously, so I shifted it back to Red. The dealer gave me a cursory glance as if to say “pillock”. 32 Red, thanks for the game, up to $200 now. I left it where it was and after a moment of panic as the ball bounced towards 0, we hit Red again and I had $400. The dealer looked impressed. She nodded and gave a little smile, a little smile that said “take it now and pass me my tip, before you lose the lot and I get nothing”. I smiled and moved the stack to Odd. She seemed excited. Or annoyed. I am not sure which.
Clackety clack, the ball bobbled about as the roulette wheel slowed. Bingo. 3. Odd. $800. Now I got nervous. Even this idiot couldn’t leave $800 on the table, I took away $500 and left $300 on. I moved the lot to the “3rd 12” bet, which pays out 2 to 1 rather than Even money. If this little beauty came in, I’d have turned $25 into $1400. I couldn’t watch. Which is a lie, my eyes were fixed on that ball so hard I reckon I could see the rotation of it rolling round the wheel. That lovely shiny wheel.
It fell in a first graceful then chaos filled arc, towards the beds, bouncing, jumping like it was alive, alive I tell you. Until.
Boom. The dealer reached out and put the dolly on Black, 29, final 12. the 3rd 12 bet had won. I waited patiently for my new best friend, the woman who wanted to marry me and have oodles of little Aussie/American kids, who was doing her best to break the world smile record, to add two more $300 stacks next to my $300 bet. She did. Happily and I scooped up $900. I was only actually holding about 20 little clay discs, totalling $1400, and those little discs felt very heavy. I plucked out a $100 chip and lobbed it with the panache of James Bond towards Cindy, she collected with glee, and dropped it into her top pocket. I left the table very happy. She watched me leave the table…and was even happier I suspect.
I tried the repeat the magic later that evening in Caesars, and the outcome was very different. But for 4 or 5 hours, I was on cloud 9. I was James Bond, played by George Clooney with Brad Pitt playing my younger self, I was invincible.