Mad Professor's Mini-Table Craps Tour with the Vegas Ghost- Part XI
Our first session started out innocently enough. I got the dice and threw a passable hand. I made my first PL-Point of 9, but couldnt repeat it for the third time after the second Come-Out roll.
Our four table-mates didnt do ANYTHING to make the situation any better. Their throwing didnt produce a single hand that went beyond five rolls. Mel was waffling about whether or not he was going to shoot. He was still carrying on a protracted conversation with a cute little early 20-something waitress who looked healthier and more wholesome than any of the three daughters on Petticoat Junction.
Even though Mel is married, he still dates, and I can tell you that he dates VERY attractive women. Im not talking about ones who when you first meet them, say stuff like, Okay, guess which one of my legs is real? For some reason, he attracts arm-candy that is second to none in the looks-department. Although he is virtually at the age of retirement, he shows no signs of slowing down in a Paul Newman, I may be 70, but I still get the broads and I still win championship car races sort of way.
In any event, Mel passed the dice. Im pretty sure he was willing to forego scoring at the dice table in the fervent hope of scoring with Miss Budweiser.
I got the dice for the second time and redeemed myself again quite nicely. The first PL-winner came quicker than anyone envisioned. I set the Point of 9 (again) and brought it right back on the very next roll. My next new Point was 6, and again, I brought it right back. HELLLLLLO! Even at the cheap table minimum of $2 (and with only 2x odds) my fellow crapsters were in their glory. This was good, but none of my heavier Place-bet action had seen ANY activity at all.
My third PL-Point fortunately took much, much longer to repeat. I was into my 32nd roll before it finally showed up for a payout. By then, my Place bets were generating plenty of profit-activity. I had taken an early box-number regression to lock-up some income, then I had pressed them in an aggressive fashion ever since. Mel was missing out on a great roll, but the two love-birds were so engrossed in their fawning conversation, that even a 9.2 earthquake wouldnt have shaken them back to reality.
At this point, the gleeful players were squealing like pigs in a Chicago Stockyard, while the Pit Supervisors growing concern was making him squirm like a priest at recess.
The fun didnt last too much longer. I set the Point of 6 (again) for my fourth Point, but eleven rolls later, the Red Devil Seven showed up to tell us that this particular hootenanny was over.
Mel had missed out on a great hand, but by this time, he and Miss Thing were exchanging touches that were on the far side of a PG-13 intimacy rating.
By the time the dice cycled back around to me, I had made a couple of bucks off of three random-rollers at the other end of the table. Now, Im not talking about a lot of money here. The couple of shekels that I made here and there on those random-rollers didnt make me rich, but it was enough to fill up the Silver Spur Centenarys oversized 40-gallon gas tank even with ultra-premium prices approaching $2.50 per gallon.
Mel had abandoned the table in pursuit of his latest two-legged trophy. She had neglected to take my order, and I knew that there was no chance that she would somehow telepathically know what I wanted to drink. Having extra sense was not something this girl was burdened with, and that was perfectly fine with Mel.
Nevertheless, I began my third hand with much optimism and much greater thirst. I didnt let it distract me, although the thought was nevertheless rattling around somewhere in my mid-conscious. When I established the 6 as my PL-Point, I added more money to the Pass Line so that I could pump up the volume on my 2x-Odds. I felt confident about making the 6, but I was in no hurry, as I hoped I could pull off a decent number of Place-bet winners again before returning with a front-line payer.
My plan was semi-successful. I hit the box-numbers a dozen or so times before returning the 6. I threw some coinage to the dealer in appreciation of the good service and patience in handling the hyper-aggressive betting that nearly everyone at the table was now involved in. In addition, the tokes were also a silent thank-you for permitting my Precision-Shooting efforts to be carried out on a table and in a casino that sometimes does not permit such activity.
My second Come-Out took exactly eight rolls before I established my PL-Point. I started going great-guns hitting my Place-numbers with disturbing frequency until I felt Mel wedge himself back in between myself and the next nearest player. As soon as the dice left my hand, I silently, but assuredly called the 7-Out result even though the dice were barely midway through the air.
I gave Mel an, I cant believe you arent a little more considerate, you asshole look. He just stood there like an open-mouthed tourist with an, Ive never played this game before. Did I do something wrong? bewilderment. To make matters even worst, he was the only player at the table that was armed with a cold drink. I just said, Lets go, as I shook my head and headed for the exit. I figured this was a good point to call this particular day to an end. The other mini-tubs would have to wait until I was in a better, less blood-thirsty mood.
Until next time,
Good Luck & Good Skill at those mini-tables, and in Life.
The Mad Professor