Teach
01-09-2008, 10:27 AM
She was beautiful. Tall. Thin. Lithe. Blueish-green eyes. She was an enchantress. But the thing about her that immediately caught my attention was her red hair. I’m a sucker for redheads.
With apologies to Secretariat, this story, although about horse racing, has more to do with Vegas, craps and a young woman I’ll call "Big Red."
I was in Vegas. It was the late-1990s. I was expressing my penchant for my two degenerate passions: The Ponies and Craps. I was "flying solo". My wife isn’t much of a gambler. Her idea of gambling is going to go to a department store, checking out an item, seeing if it gets marked down, and then rushing to the store to buy it before anyone else does. Then, invariably, she becomes disenchanted with item and returns it. Only, that’s my job. I return the item. Return-desk clerks from around eastern MA know me on a first-name basis. In fact our credit-card statement has so many returned items listed it looks like gangsters rap sheet.
Well, on this particular visit to "Sin City," I was staying at CircusCircus (don’t ask me why I chose the place; all I remember was walking down one of the corridors and nearly getting trampled by a swarm of kids). I don’t even like to gamble at CircusCircus. I usually go across the street to "The Riv."
During late mornings and early afternoons, I’d usually play the horses in the Riviera’s race book. What a life! I got to tell you. I just love it. I’d wake up, take a hot shower, get dressed and then head downstairs to throw a few coins in one of the slots (they must be using paper, by now). From there, I’d head over to the buffet for a hardy breakfast: OJ, cup o’ Joe, hash browns, made-to-order omelette, sausage, bacon (good thing I’m taking Lipitor). I’d usually skip the fruit – too healthy. As I’m sipping my coffee and munching on my breakfast treats, I’d be playing a bunch of keno tickets. I like to play what are called way tickets. You know: three-ways to make six; four ways to make three, etc.
By this time, the races from back East are about to start. I feel like a kid in a candy store. I gotta tell ya – It’s like heaven. I’m sittin’ at one of the carrels studying the form, sipping a hot coffee, and just chillin’. I’m in my element — and I love it. No worries. No cares. No appointments. Time is meaningless. I’m in another world.
Generally, at about one or two o’clock, I take a break for lunch. I might even take a nap. Then, in the evening, it’s over to the craps tables. I love the game. I call it "the thinking man’s" game. There’s strategy involved in shooting craps. And, if you’re into statistics, it’s one of the best gambling games from an odds standpoint. If you’re simply making pass-line bets and taking full odds, the house’s advantage is minimal.
I vividly remember one of craps sessions at the Riviera. I wasn’t doing all that well. One of the worst kinds of tables you can run into is a choppy one. There’s no direction. Make a pass, then Seven-out. No one can get on a streak. Some people don’t like "cold" tables— I love them. I start betting from the "Don’ts."
Well, just as I’m about to scoop my chips off the rail and head to another table, this luscious redhead takes a spot to my immediate left at SR2 (stick right position two-down). She is "a piece of work." She looks like she’s in her mid-to-late 20s. "Was she one of the showgirls?" I asked myself.
In any event, she’s asking me how to play craps. My first instinct was to say: "I could give you a private tutorial in my room; it’s just across the street." But I knew it was ridiculous. I was old even to be her father, maybe even her grandfather.
Well, I ended up saying something like, just watch how I play and follow my lead. Up to this point I was down well over a "Benjamin." I had bought in for two "yards," but the chips in front of me were disappearing faster than cookies at a kids birthday party.
However, just then, "the worm began to turn." This guy to my right at the top of the table began his roll. Buddabing! "Yo-elelven," the stick calls out. The guy’s next toss is "The Devil.’ But on the "come-out," that’s a winner! I recall he then tossed a number. I believe it was an eight. I put some free odds behind my pass line bet and motioned to the lovely redhead to my left to do the same. Bingo. A couple rolls later the shooter nails the six. We get paid off on the line and behind the line, as well. Again the shooter throws another six. I say to the redhead, "I’m going to take free odds again, but I’m also going to make a prop bet, a "hard six." She follows suit. Wouldn’t you know it, the next thing I hear is "Viagra..hard six," pay the line. I can see that the redhead is warming to the task.
Well, finally, the dude to my right finally goes "cinco, dos and adios." It’s my turn. I’m what is called a "controlled shooter" — a "setter." Casinos don’t like us. They think we’re cheaters. Personally, I never read anything in the rules that says you can’t grasp the acrylic cubes the way you want, as long as you hit the back wall. As an aside, I try to avoid "heat" by betting two-way bets. I put "the boyz" in the game.
Well, as I recall, I also had a very good roll. Not spectacular, but good. I think the thing that finally did me in was that one of the dies I had tossed glanced off a chip at the other end of the table and took a strange bounce. In an event, at this juncture I’m back to even and heading in the right direction.
Now it was time for "Big Red." I asked her as you she grabbed "the bones" if she had ever shot craps before. "No, she said. "Virgin roll," I called out. As an aside, in craps there’s a superstition that if someone is shooting craps for the very first time, it’s a lucky sign. It’s like there are a whole bunch of winners locked inside those dice that are waiting to come out. Well, I can tell you, she didn’t disappoint All the while she’s giggling and laughing like a young, schoolgirl.
Meanwhile, the rail in from of me is turning into a veritable vegetable garden. There are radishes ($5 chips), plus a whole bunch of zucchini and broccoli ($25 chips). I got more "greenies" in front of me than there are sports star popping "uppers."
Well, the lovely redhead to my left is stroking away. She must have held "the galloping dominoes" for over fifteen minutes. When all was said and done, in the span of about a half-hour, I went from down over one hundred to up over three "bones."
I figured at that moment that I wouldn’t press my luck. I was tired. Besides, I wanted to get over to the race book to buy the DRF so I could scope out tomorrow’s races. I said good-bye to "Big Red" and wished her well. When I finally reached my hotel room, I got to thinking, "What an irony; here’s a lovely, young redheaded woman whom I’ve called 'Big Red' who’s brought me all kinds of luck at the craps table." You see "Big Red" is the name craps players assign to the dreaded number 7; the number no one ever utters at the craps table (if they value their life). The irony here was that on this evening this "Big Red" -- the substitute expression for the despised number 7 -- had brought me all kinds of luck.
Good luck to you "Big Red," wherever you are.
With apologies to Secretariat, this story, although about horse racing, has more to do with Vegas, craps and a young woman I’ll call "Big Red."
I was in Vegas. It was the late-1990s. I was expressing my penchant for my two degenerate passions: The Ponies and Craps. I was "flying solo". My wife isn’t much of a gambler. Her idea of gambling is going to go to a department store, checking out an item, seeing if it gets marked down, and then rushing to the store to buy it before anyone else does. Then, invariably, she becomes disenchanted with item and returns it. Only, that’s my job. I return the item. Return-desk clerks from around eastern MA know me on a first-name basis. In fact our credit-card statement has so many returned items listed it looks like gangsters rap sheet.
Well, on this particular visit to "Sin City," I was staying at CircusCircus (don’t ask me why I chose the place; all I remember was walking down one of the corridors and nearly getting trampled by a swarm of kids). I don’t even like to gamble at CircusCircus. I usually go across the street to "The Riv."
During late mornings and early afternoons, I’d usually play the horses in the Riviera’s race book. What a life! I got to tell you. I just love it. I’d wake up, take a hot shower, get dressed and then head downstairs to throw a few coins in one of the slots (they must be using paper, by now). From there, I’d head over to the buffet for a hardy breakfast: OJ, cup o’ Joe, hash browns, made-to-order omelette, sausage, bacon (good thing I’m taking Lipitor). I’d usually skip the fruit – too healthy. As I’m sipping my coffee and munching on my breakfast treats, I’d be playing a bunch of keno tickets. I like to play what are called way tickets. You know: three-ways to make six; four ways to make three, etc.
By this time, the races from back East are about to start. I feel like a kid in a candy store. I gotta tell ya – It’s like heaven. I’m sittin’ at one of the carrels studying the form, sipping a hot coffee, and just chillin’. I’m in my element — and I love it. No worries. No cares. No appointments. Time is meaningless. I’m in another world.
Generally, at about one or two o’clock, I take a break for lunch. I might even take a nap. Then, in the evening, it’s over to the craps tables. I love the game. I call it "the thinking man’s" game. There’s strategy involved in shooting craps. And, if you’re into statistics, it’s one of the best gambling games from an odds standpoint. If you’re simply making pass-line bets and taking full odds, the house’s advantage is minimal.
I vividly remember one of craps sessions at the Riviera. I wasn’t doing all that well. One of the worst kinds of tables you can run into is a choppy one. There’s no direction. Make a pass, then Seven-out. No one can get on a streak. Some people don’t like "cold" tables— I love them. I start betting from the "Don’ts."
Well, just as I’m about to scoop my chips off the rail and head to another table, this luscious redhead takes a spot to my immediate left at SR2 (stick right position two-down). She is "a piece of work." She looks like she’s in her mid-to-late 20s. "Was she one of the showgirls?" I asked myself.
In any event, she’s asking me how to play craps. My first instinct was to say: "I could give you a private tutorial in my room; it’s just across the street." But I knew it was ridiculous. I was old even to be her father, maybe even her grandfather.
Well, I ended up saying something like, just watch how I play and follow my lead. Up to this point I was down well over a "Benjamin." I had bought in for two "yards," but the chips in front of me were disappearing faster than cookies at a kids birthday party.
However, just then, "the worm began to turn." This guy to my right at the top of the table began his roll. Buddabing! "Yo-elelven," the stick calls out. The guy’s next toss is "The Devil.’ But on the "come-out," that’s a winner! I recall he then tossed a number. I believe it was an eight. I put some free odds behind my pass line bet and motioned to the lovely redhead to my left to do the same. Bingo. A couple rolls later the shooter nails the six. We get paid off on the line and behind the line, as well. Again the shooter throws another six. I say to the redhead, "I’m going to take free odds again, but I’m also going to make a prop bet, a "hard six." She follows suit. Wouldn’t you know it, the next thing I hear is "Viagra..hard six," pay the line. I can see that the redhead is warming to the task.
Well, finally, the dude to my right finally goes "cinco, dos and adios." It’s my turn. I’m what is called a "controlled shooter" — a "setter." Casinos don’t like us. They think we’re cheaters. Personally, I never read anything in the rules that says you can’t grasp the acrylic cubes the way you want, as long as you hit the back wall. As an aside, I try to avoid "heat" by betting two-way bets. I put "the boyz" in the game.
Well, as I recall, I also had a very good roll. Not spectacular, but good. I think the thing that finally did me in was that one of the dies I had tossed glanced off a chip at the other end of the table and took a strange bounce. In an event, at this juncture I’m back to even and heading in the right direction.
Now it was time for "Big Red." I asked her as you she grabbed "the bones" if she had ever shot craps before. "No, she said. "Virgin roll," I called out. As an aside, in craps there’s a superstition that if someone is shooting craps for the very first time, it’s a lucky sign. It’s like there are a whole bunch of winners locked inside those dice that are waiting to come out. Well, I can tell you, she didn’t disappoint All the while she’s giggling and laughing like a young, schoolgirl.
Meanwhile, the rail in from of me is turning into a veritable vegetable garden. There are radishes ($5 chips), plus a whole bunch of zucchini and broccoli ($25 chips). I got more "greenies" in front of me than there are sports star popping "uppers."
Well, the lovely redhead to my left is stroking away. She must have held "the galloping dominoes" for over fifteen minutes. When all was said and done, in the span of about a half-hour, I went from down over one hundred to up over three "bones."
I figured at that moment that I wouldn’t press my luck. I was tired. Besides, I wanted to get over to the race book to buy the DRF so I could scope out tomorrow’s races. I said good-bye to "Big Red" and wished her well. When I finally reached my hotel room, I got to thinking, "What an irony; here’s a lovely, young redheaded woman whom I’ve called 'Big Red' who’s brought me all kinds of luck at the craps table." You see "Big Red" is the name craps players assign to the dreaded number 7; the number no one ever utters at the craps table (if they value their life). The irony here was that on this evening this "Big Red" -- the substitute expression for the despised number 7 -- had brought me all kinds of luck.
Good luck to you "Big Red," wherever you are.