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“I admire those who have attained the skill of counting cards. Anyone who can beat a casino, fairly and squarely, is accomplishing an amazing feat. There is nothing more satisfying than playing by the house rules and beating the casinos at their own game.”
DV Cellini,
The Card Counter’s Guide to Casino Surveillance
I wasn’t sure if I’d ever find myself as good at something as I was at blackjack so I was grateful for the role that the game had played in my life. But the time had come to shut it down and move on.
Blackjack provided me the opportunity of a lifetime and I squeezed all I could out of it. I stepped out of my comfort zone and grew as a person. The game helped me gain confidence, friendships, and money. It provided luxuries and experiences that I never dreamt would be available to me, but my energy had waned and I wasn’t excited about it anymore. Friends made day trips to Foxwoods and I had no interest in going, though I continued to receive regular comp offers in the mail. The couple of times I did go to Vegas with friends, I just played low-limit craps and roulette, but the fun for me was gone. It wasn’t the same. I’d once bet thousands of dollars a hand, but on trips with friends now, wagering even $10 on the spin of the roulette wheel felt like a waste of money. With the double-zero wheels found at most casinos, I knew I would be playing at serious disadvantage to the house. Even playing the pass line at craps with full odds, I would never have the edge. I fully understood that the odds were against me, and I had no interest in trying to beat an unbeatable game. I was once a gambler, then an advantage player, and now I was retired from that world. I had no interest in having to rely on luck.
D.A. and I kept in touch over the next year. I married Celeste, and D.A. and his wife came to our wedding. We still discussed financial planning, family, and sports, but not blackjack. Blackjack was our past, not our present. The stock market had improved and I was settling nicely into marriage. All the names and faces along my journey had become faded memories.
Once in a while my friends would ask me about blackjack. Most knew that I’d ended my run and moved on from the game, but they would still ask me to share some of the stories or insights. Usually, I left out the discounted car rentals, the cheap motels, the back-offs, the back rooms, and the agony of a wildly fluctuating bankroll. I gave them the good stuff—the things they wanted to hear about. I knew both the good and the bad that came with it all, but they just wanted the sizzle.
It was 2010 and more than a year since our final weekend the previous April. A friend of mine was visiting from New York and he asked me about blackjack. I started to reminisce about the experiences I’d had with the game. Something about it inspired me to take out my green felt from storage and dust off my chips and cards. My friend wanted to better understand the game, so I happily showed him some of the basic concepts of counting cards. To my surprise, I kept a fairly accurate count while playing through shoe after shoe. I was a little bit rusty, but it felt good, almost liberating in a way.
A couple of weeks later, D.A. called me. I hadn’t spoken to him in a few months, so it was good to catch up. I told him about how I’d played through a few shoes and that, even after my friend left that weekend, I continued to play through a shoe or two by myself now and then.
“Actually, I’ve been doing the same,” D.A. said, “My wife thinks I’m crazy playing blackjack by myself, but I can’t help it.”
“Oh yeah? What, do you have the itch or something?” I asked.
“Ha ha. Why? Do you?”
There was silence on the phone for a few seconds.
“I think I might,” I confessed.
“Me too. I wasn’t sure if it was worth mentioning to you since we’re both so busy these days.”
“Well, I could come up with a little bit of scratch if you could. Maybe twenty-five to forty. A few buddies said that if I ever got back into it they’d want a piece.”
“Well, with the economy getting better I’ve been able to save a little lately and I could probably start with about the same.”
I recognized what it was we were contemplating. It wasn’t just about playing the game of blackjack again. It was about something bigger. It would mean flights, hotels, and bankroll swings. And it would mean a commitment—an immersion of the soul into a game that I loved. Five years earlier I’d taken some risks. I’d stepped out of my comfort zone and attended Semyon’s seminar. And when a virtual stranger posed the idea of getting together for practice, something inside of me responded in the affirmative. Perhaps it had something to do with the saying, “We can’t run from who we are. Our destiny chooses us.”
I paused for another second before responding.
“What’s your schedule look like?”
We weren’t athletes coming out of retirement and there were no press conferences to announce it, but after the year-long break our fervor had returned. For years we played without ever really taking a break, so the time we took off was a much-needed chance to recharge our batteries.
Our skills were still there and the opportunities had multiplied since we last played. Table games became legal in several new states and more casinos were opening. We didn’t know that we’d needed a break from the game until we took one, but now our bodies and minds were refreshed and rejuvenated.
“I’ll book the travel,” I offered.
“I’ll create the schedule and spreadsheets,” D.A. responded.
The odds had been that our lives as blackjack advantage players were over and that we would forever return to a normal life. We should’ve known better than to doubt that we could turn the odds upside down. After all, we’d done it for years. Beyond the amazing opportunities blackjack had given me, it had changed who I was on the inside. I gained a deeper appreciation for disciplined processes, more awareness of what it meant to be a teammate and a friend, and a greater understanding of who I was as a person. It wasn’t always glamorous. In fact, the stories that have been written and the movies that have been made are far from reality. It’s no different from any other serious undertaking—the rewards come only to those who put in work, dedicate themselves, and learn to bounce back after difficult times. I’ve used the many lessons I learned from blackjack in my everyday life, at work, with my family and friends, and with myself.
Somewhere today, we might still be out there burning the tables.
Perhaps you may even see us, but not know who we are. We might be at your table as tourists, businessmen, Internet millionaires, or average Joes. We might be gregarious or keep to ourselves. We might be playing alongside a friend or grinding through shoes alone. We might be in Las Vegas or Atlantic City or a small casino on some Indian reservation in middle America. We might bet small, or big, or all over the place. You might not like the playing decisions we make. We might stand when you think we should hit, or hit when you think we should stand. We might encourage you to sit down at our table or ask you to wait until the shoe is over. We might play for a few hands or stay for an hour. We might blend in with the others or draw the attention of a crowd. And when you least expect it, you might see us get a tap on the shoulder from an angry casino executive.
But one thing’s for sure, if you do happen to see us, we’ll be living the blackjack life.