I find it curious that certain of my daily blogs (this is number 948) will occasionally strike a chord with some of my readers.
Once, I had mentioned a place, and several responded about it. Lately, my successful run at the Las Vegas casino craps tables in the late-seventies-early eighties brought forth a common question:
What did I bet on (in other words, what were my place bets) on the craps table?
The ONE THING that saved me from going bat-shit crazy and dying one breath at a time in a dingy shack with only memories of past glory days at the tables to keep the cold from biting my dirty, brittle bones: I knew before I stepped foot into my very first casino I could lose.
The people that take too long to learn that simple fact will not save much money in the bank during their learning curve.
Since strategy is so malleable, let me instead give you what a successful night for a young person with no expenses and a nightly bankroll of five hundred.
I found which table on the floor I would be playing at. I watched it first, from the bar, and then up as part of the non-throwers around the table. I got in the rotation to throw, and I already had an idea on the players throwing at the table, so I would mirror those I thought had a better-than-average chance of throwing winning numbers, and basically bet against the "loser" (every table has one).
Sometimes I didn't win using this strategy, but I never lost any amount, either.
Now the dice are in my hands.
What do I bet?
Since I am throwing, I place a one-hundred dollar bet on the Pass Line, hoping for numbers.
Any number but two, three, twelve, or seven.
If the number is a six or eight, I place behind the Pass line the MAXIMUM amount of odds at the table.
Here is where I basically" take my shot" on the table.
I place 240 on the eight, and 20 on the four, five, nine, and ten.
A seven sends me home, and I won't say it never happened, but less than rarely.
Now I just hope for numbers.
On the nights when you are "feeling it" I was calling my bets "off" and damn, if a seven didn't pop up, saving about three thousand in place bets. More often than not, however, you will leave your placed money for one too many rolls.
"Seven-out!"
But when the chips are stacking up on every roll, because you are blanketing the table, and Mr. Seven is nowhere to be found, it's like the movie Cocoon. You don't think you'll ever get old or sick. You'll stay good-looking. You'll always win.
Forever.
And the very instant that you start believing that, you are as predictable as a Greek tragedy.
Some washed-out, dirty man, not very much older than myself, was drinking out of a wrinkled, greasy brown bag. He smelled of urine and MD-20/20.
I had just filled my belly with a huge breakfast at the Rexall drug store counter, and encountered this dude lounging rather gracefully, I thought, at the foot of the newspaper machines, all chained together outside the restaurant.
Five bucks and I'll tell you how to avoid all this, he said, as if revealing a beautiful sculpture, spreading his filthy hands out over his "domain."
He snatched the five before it was all the way out of my wallet.
"Thanks", he said.
"Whores and alcohol don't forget. Whores and alcohol."
"Oh yeah. Craps, too."
Stay well.
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