I never intended for there to be a Part Two to this article. However, a couple of days after Part One happened to me at Bally’s Wild West Casino in Atlantic City, Part Two transpired.
That aging look-alike version of folk-singer Dan Hill was once again at the same table as I was. Surprisingly, the table wasn’t very full at such an early (5:30 am) hour. I managed to string together quite a number of good hands. The shortest one was 12-rolls and the longest ones were in the low-40 range. There was one particular hand when I made 9 straight points, all in fairly quick succession.
My nemesis was on the Don’t Pass Line for almost the entire time. One particular Come-Out roll somehow made him stop his kamikaze plunge into casino oblivion. On that particular hand, I shot five straight 7-winners, which unashamedly kicked his DP bets in the ever-loving testicles. Ouch, that has GOT to hurt!
Anyway, I ran into him a while later near the coffee-shop. He said, “You know, you just might be on to something with the way that you shoot.” My reply was a simple, “Naw, I’m just lucky sometimes.” He said, “No, no, I really mean that. You fix the dice, and you really know what you’re doing. You could probably make a good living off of throwing the dice the way that you do.” I tilted my head to one side like the RCA dog, and said, “Do you really think so?” I was tempted to add an “Aw shucks” to that statement, but I thought it might be facetious overkill.
He talked a little further about craps and the way it is SO random in it’s outcomes that he had long ago decided that since the dice are numerically drawn to the “7”, why not bet that way on the Don’t Pass and Don’t Come Lines. I said that I knew what he meant, but I had a somewhat more positive outlook on the game in that there were sometimes unexplainable streaks in the game. I added that some people were consistently “lucky” when it came to shooting the dice, and I considered myself one of them. He nodded his head in agreement, then added that he was going to keep a look out for players like me from now on. I told him to be careful about going overboard on trading upon someone’s apparent luck, as, just like the “7”, you never know when it is about to either appear or take an extended holiday.
Breakfast was surprisingly satisfying that morning. It hadn’t taken one-million fully-documented Arthur Anderson-certified rolls. It hadn’t taken a non-stop, no-win, blue-faced screaming match with an “unbeliever”. It had simply taken a formerly closed-mind, a decent Precision-Shooter, and a former full wallet of cash to convert the unconvertible into a new “faith” and a new profit opportunity.
Good Luck & Good Skill at the Tables…and in Life.
The Mad Professor
