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- How I gamble. With a lot of talking. |
 A Case Of Mojo Lost Jon made her sad. So sad she cried. But not so sad she puked. Lucky Jon." -- In my notebook, Meg deposits her disapproval. Meg did not join us on our trip back to casino, nor did Bethany, a fact we would later attribute our failings to... Bethany wasn't there to suck on the group's behalf. My girlfriend's reason for not going was simple - the stress of the casino, and the urge to throw away hard-earned cash, was too much for her to deal with, and thus made the whole ordeal. I suspect Bethany's not going was more to keep Meg company, something which at least cleared my guilt up a little bit. I'm torn on this subject, as someone who has both won hundreds and lost hundreds on bets over the past few years. In many ways I agree with Meg - as testified to by my being a cheap ass. But at the same time, I look at gambling like investing. Well, I look at sports betting like investing. There's research involved, you pick your spots, buy when the stock is low, and watch it rise. Sometimes your guesses win, sometimes your big research blows up in your face. Casinos are fun for me, undoubtably because I've never walked out of one with less money than I walked in with. But I suspect even if I lost a little, I'd have had a good time, because there's always that chance. One spin could make your night. It could also break your night, but only if you're stupid enough to let it. But I digress. There was something about returning to the 'scene of the crime,' as it were, that didn't sit well with me. Walking out two nights prior, I never had any intention of returning to Casino Taoro, because sooner or later, the odds do catch up to everyone. Being up over 250 Euros as a group, while pittance to a casino... yeah, the downfall comes soon. Right up there on the list of casino thrills is getting comped. It's like when I got the Spanish naturalization card - a feeling of misplaced importance but a huge smile on my face. Because it was our second trip to Taoro, we were treated to a free glass of sparkling wine. As a college student, it's my duty to love all things free. Heaven forbid they been giving out free casino t-shirts... my brain might have exploded. I think it's nervous energy and not wanting to jinx things that always has me chattering while the wheel's spinning. Hey whatever, it works. I'm not gonna change it until I go home empty-handed. There was a lot of chatter tonight, with my catchphrase being the above-mentioned "blaze of glory." I was increasingly convinced I'd go out in one, though it was never as messy as I thought. All night, Meg was in my mind. I saw her face - not the disappointed one I'd left a mile down the road, but the vengeful one waiting for me to come home with my profits paid back to the government in chip form. As a precaution, I cashed only 30 Euro in chips - leaving me a safe 75 Euro profit sitting in my wallet. As the first six spins went round on my table, I split right down the middle. My fears were soon affirmed - I spent the night on the bad side, never clearing 15 Euro in profit, but always ending up around -10. Back when I was a good golfer, and not one struggling in the high 80's each time out, there were two kinds of rounds: those where you're always shooting for birdies, and those where you'll take a string of pars. The former is more fun, as you go out there trying to beat the world and break your own records. I only had two of those: the pair of times I shot one-under 70. The first of those, strangely enough, came in the final round of a local junior tournament and won me second place. However, the latter is the true sign of the better player. Anybody can go out there on a good day, pull some shots out of their ass and post a number. But what separates the great from the good is to go out on a bad day, and still play respectable. Maybe put up an 80 on a day you should be kissing 90. Three times, I bet my last chips and won before dropping off the table down 30. Each time, Jon Rea saved me from returning to the counter with a loan. Each time he loaned me chips, I threw down, won and paid him back. It was the quintessential workman's round - I'd fight my way back to even, then drop below again. The third time, I knew it wasn't my night, and any profit, even just five Euro, was out of reach. Sat ten down, and I let go of one last chip to red, the last bet of the night. That one made me the night's champion... at an uninspiring zero. I think the only reason I exercised ideas of winning for so long was the success of Jon Rea, which only did I realize too late was a success not at all. At the night's start, the Jon's reversed roles. I was shooting blanks, while he was hitting shit from all over the bar. Rea secrets was hedging his bets on two or three squares - red, and the middle dozen, for example. He hit a couple in the middle of the board, and there you go, the kid's up 170 Euro. While Todd, Michelle and I made our way over to indulge in free cava though, that's where, in the words of VH1's 'Behind The Music', it all went so horribly wrong. While we drank and laughed, Rea was dropping oil all over the burgundy carpet. We later found out he was trying to win 500 Euro for the night so he could pay off his trip - which has as much chance of happening as me swimming the English Channel tomorrow. I guess, with 220 in chips in his pocket, he bet 50 on something, lost it, and it all went away. By the time we saw him again, his safety chips were back with the dealer. He'd hit the window twice more before the night was out, but I think we all knew nothing good was going to come of it. Regardless, his spotting me saved my ass that night, and that's not to be forgotten. Jon's one of the few guys I know who'd give you his last meal, if he knew you needed it more. I respect that, even if I'd never do it myself. He went down 100, Todd and Michelle lost 20, I walked out as I'd walked in, up no more than a glass of champagne. Thanks a lot, Bethany! | ||
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AOL IM: JonCoochBU |
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