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“Among the flamboyant group of men and women recruited was Ken Uston, who would shed his suits on the weekends for flashy high roller outfits and the job of Big Player. His seemingly crazed dashes from table to table and his erratic betting patterns (a blend of team rules and cover plays) dazzled spectators, dealers, and casino pit bosses.”
The Big Player
The elevator ride was quiet. Although the Marriott Hotel was just a few minutes from my home, adjacent to the nearby MIT campus, it felt as if D.A. and I were a world away.
The doors opened and we made our way down the long hallway that was complete with carpeting that reminded us of casinos we’d been in. Busy and tacky. They were meant to stimulate the brain and keep you playing cards, betting roulette, or rolling the dice until the final chip in your pocket was gone.
Room 973. +1.
I raised my hand to knock on the big wooden door.
Moments later, Mike stood in front of us. We’d seen pictures on his website, but he was slightly shorter than we’d imagined, muscular, without an ounce of fat. We read stories online that Mike lifted weights for several hours each day. He’d played football growing up but playing sports gave way in college when he learned to play cards.
He was less taciturn than we expected, open to sharing stories of his personal experiences. He was portrayed in Bringing Down the House as a bit of a jerk, but he seemed nothing like that brash young college kid that we’d read about. He was confident—arguably one of the most intelligent blackjack players in the world—and he had a right to his swagger.
He wasted no time in getting started. The felt had already been draped over the hotel room desk, which was repositioned in the center of the room. There were two chairs on one side and one chair on the other side in the position of the dealer.
“Have a seat, guys. Let’s play a couple of shoes.”
Mike taught us quickly that it was important to stack the deck when practicing. He would overload the beginning of the shoe with small, low cards, so that the running count would shoot up and require immediate calculations. After all, the objective was to sit down at tables where the counts were favorable. If they were low, or negative, those weren’t tables we’d be playing anyway.
The counts rose quickly. At first, we realized he was making sure that our basic strategy skills had been honed. We proved ourselves quite proficient. After a brief portion of the shoe had been played, Mike threw out his first pop quiz.
“What do you guys have for the running count?” he asked in his soft mild-mannered way. It sounded harmless enough, but there was a hint in his voice that he expected us to fail. He’d been conducting private seminars on a regular basis and assumed that we might be just another set of aspiring counters who thought we were more skilled than we actually were. We soon learned that that was just who Mike was. He liked to push players to their limits. He didn’t want us to fail, nor did he want us to pass. He just wanted to gauge our ability and then help make us better.
“Eighteen,” we both immediately replied in unison.
Taken aback slightly, he wasn’t about to give up.
“How many decks have been played?”
Again, together we replied, “three and three-quarters.”
Quickly, “Decks remaining?”
“Two and a quarter.”
Finally, “True count?”
“Eight.”
“Then what?”
“Well,” I said, “we were taught to subtract one for the offset.”
Inside, I took a deep breath, awaiting the guru’s verdict. But it never came in, at least not in words. He continued dealing.
A sense of relief and a growing confidence overwhelmed my body. I was sitting in front of another legendary blackjack player. Like an All-Star pitcher squaring off against a rookie hitter, he’d thrown us a 95-mile-an-hour fastball down the middle of the plate and we’d connected. The silence meant we passed his initial test and we could see that his brain was beginning to churn. In time, we’d come to learn that Mike was more than capable of throwing curve balls, too. But for now, our focus was on learning from one of the best blackjack minds out there.
Hours passed. Shoe after shoe. Quiz after quiz. Lesson after lesson. We took small breaks now and then to get to know him personally. He seemed anxious to share his blackjack experiences with us, clarify stories from the books we’d read, and share his insight into the truth behind Semyon’s strategies. He gave us an update on his former teammates and shared his own life story since being out of the game.
The day was growing late and we only had a couple hours left. We’d been playing quite well even though we’d each made occasional mistakes along the way. That was to be expected of any rookie in that situation. What wasn’t expected was what came next.
Just barely into a new shoe, I doubled my 8 against Mike’s 6. He stopped and put down the cards.
“What is your count?” he said to me directly.
“Eleven?” I responded with a question.
“Decks played?”
“One.”
“Decks remaining?”
“Five.”
“True count?”
“Two point two.”
“Nathaniel, your hand has a five and a three for a total of eight. My upcard as the dealer is a six. Basic strategy says to hit, why did you just double?”
Nervously, I responded, “Because that’s the correct index play. At a true count of two or higher, the correct play is a double.”
“But you hadn’t used index plays yet today,” he said.
“Well, I wasn’t sure you wanted us to. I knew you were watching our basic strategy ability but I couldn’t help myself. I knew it was the right play.”
“I’m glad you did. Do you know all the numbers?”
“We know the Illustrious eighteen,” D.A. chimed in.
He sat quietly for a moment. D.A. and I slightly looked in each other’s direction as if to ask, “What is going on here?”
“You guys are among the better players that I’ve seen come through my teaching sessions. I get a lot of people who are interested in the game, but not willing to work at it. Or I get guys who put in just a little time and then get the itch to go out and play. You’re saying it’s been months and you haven’t wanted to hit the casinos until you were ready. I admire that. And I think you both have real talent. It’s a little bit raw at this point but it’s clearly there. I’d like to offer to mentor you guys. Would you be open for that?”
Our outside demeanor was but a fraction of what was going on inside of us. This was the break we’d been looking for and we weren’t about to let it pass.
“Of course, yes,” I replied.
“Absolutely,” D.A. concurred.
“But you should understand, I don’t mentor people to be good. I mentor them to be great. So I know you are proficient with the Illustrious Eighteen. If you want my help, you’ll learn them all. There’s one correct decision for each situation, and you need to know what it is. The Illustrious eighteen is for people who are okay with mediocrity. That doesn’t seem like your modus operandi.”
“But are we ever really going to use them all? I mean, we’re never going to split tens or anything like that, right?” D.A. replied.
The look on Mike’s face answered the question, but he obliged Dave with the words that would become gospel to us for a very long time.
“As I said, there’s only one correct decision for each situation. Every edge possible. Every—edge—possible,” Mike said with conviction.
“No problem,” I said with a deferential tone.
“Whatever you want us to do, we’ll do,” Dave added, a bit sheepishly.
“Now let’s spend our final hours going over a way that the two of you can work together to beat the game. You’ve come a long way with the fundamentals, but let me show you how to play as a twosome. Then let’s go get some dinner. I know this great restaurant in downtown Boston that we used to go to during my playing days at MIT. Do you guys like sushi?”