ONLINE GAMBLING AND CASINO GUIDE

Today was race day yet again.  It was the Preakness, and it was a historic race because a female horse won for the first time in 85 years.

It was also another golden opportunity to put my “can’t miss” parimutuel master plan into action.

At about 1pm this afternoon, I headed Downtown to place my bets.  Before I could make my fortune, however, I needed nourishment.

I walked past Binion’s, eyeballed the cowgirl dealers (yes again), snapped some photos (yes again), and considered where to get my grub on.

Being hungry, and being on Fremont Street, I did what any red-blooded, cheap-ass Downtowner would do.  I walked over to the Golden Gate, purchased two shrimp cocktails for 99 cents, and then proceeded to eat them both.  Yes, I got looks as I huddled over my dual cocktails while shoveling them into my pie hole, but screw them all.  It was my two bucks.

I came to the realization today that I am a cheap mofo.  Why?  Because the reason I “only” bought two cocktails … was because that was the limit.  I was still hungry when I was done, but there’s no way in hell I was going to pay the full retail price of $1.99 for this delicacy.

That’s not all.

Truth be told, the only reason I even have a Golden Gate Player’s Card in the first place is to get the discount on the shrimp cocktail.

I really don’t think I need to present any further evidence.  I can once again hold out my 99 cent pair of shoes as proof, but the jury is back and the verdict is that I am one cheap ass honky.

Most people are familiar with this particular shrimp cocktail.  It is a Vegas institution which frequently receives “Best Value in Las Vegas” awards from numerous periodicals.  I personally eat it a couple of times a month.

While the shrimp is not terribly large, and they are literally swimming in cocktail sauce, this is absolutely a great deal.  There are probably a solid 30 shrimp in each cup (maybe more), and yes, they are real shrimp and not giant cockroaches as some people opine. This is why it’s such a popular meal Downtown.  The line can get quite long, and even today during non-peak hours, it took me a solid 15 minutes to get my food.

Anyway, after consuming two full shrimp concoctions, I headed over to the Golden Nugget to get my wagers in for the Preakness.

The Golden Nugget has a nice, modern sports book.  I grabbed a wager sheet, grabbed a seat, and penciled out my bets.

This is where things got a tiny bit ugly.

I’m usually good about calculating the cost of my bets ahead of time, and I pride myself for arriving at the window with the exact amount of the wager.  I try not to have the tellers make change.  I will often increase or decrease my bet slightly just to make it an even exchange of tickets for cash.  This speeds things along and makes it easier for everyone.

I made several combination bets on several horses, and as I read my bets off, I heard the guy punching my wagers into the machine.  So far so good.

After I had finished reading off my picks, I heard him stop punching and I looked up at the machine.  It displayed a total dollar amount.  It was ten dollars less than I expected, so I assumed that I had calculated wrong.  It happens.

I yanked $10 out of my bet money, and handed the rest to the teller.

Then this happened.

Teller: “Do you need another drink?”

Me: “Excuse me?”

Teller: “You must be drunk to take ten dollars out of your bet like that thinking I wouldn’t notice.”

Me: “I was handing you the total on the register.”

Teller: “It takes the machine awhile to update.  Why don’t you wait until it is done?”

I handed him the ten dollars I had “stolen” and said, “Please except my apologies.  By the way,  I have another $20 in my pocket.  I was going to pay extra for you to be a dick, but it looks like I’ve been comped. It must be my lucky day.”

He seemed to be taken aback as if “Where did that come from?” and he shoved my tickets across the counter without saying anything else.

This is not an uncommon problem for me in this town.

Few people would believe this, but I often get accused of being “too nice”.  I’m actually very polite (perhaps overly) to people until I am given a reason not to be.  I defer to people, I smile and nod at them even when I know they are completely wrong.  I don’t feel the need to correct people, prove my knowledge, or get the last word in.

Hell, I even apologize when someone else screws up simply to spare their feelings and to avoid awkwardness.  I can’t count the number of times some waddling tourist has not been paying attention,  walked into me, and I responded “sorry” to them immediately even though it was their wide-load fault.

Unfortunately, this often gets mistaken for weakness or lack of knowing what I am doing … when the fact is, I’m just f’ing polite.

I’m not Jesus, though.  I have a terrible batting average and I drop to the ground and cover my head if someone hits a line drive toward me.  I also don’t speak Spanish.

Unlike our heavenly father the shortstop, I actually have bad days.  I’m also slightly less patient when it is hot.

Back when I was a bicycle messenger and someone cut me off, it was not uncommon for me to grab my U-lock and lay it across their windshield or dent their hood or make their rear-view mirror disappear.  Especially during the summer when it was 95 degrees with 70% humidity, and especially if they had out of state plates.  I’m not proud of it, but my being less tolerant in the heat is nothing new.

I’ve greatly mellowed with age, and I would never think of dinging someone’s car now (well, I might think about it) … but I still think it’s reasonable to get the benefit of the doubt.  Especially when there are so many places to wager in this town.

As everyone who has read my “reviews” can probably attest, I’m not really a nitpicker.  I bend over backward to find the good in places.  I gave Criss Angel props when it was de rigueur to drop trough and blast a deuce in his general direction. Hell, I’ll overlook a dead body in a bathroom stall if the cocktail waitresses are hot and the dealers are friendly.

I kind of draw the line at attitude, though.  I have to put up with it at the DMV.  I have to put up with it when I call Nevada Power.  I have to put up with it when a cop pulls me over.

At a casino in Las Vegas … I don’t want a crap attitude.  That really makes or breaks the deal for me.  There’s just too much competition, the economy is too bad, and I am trying too hard to find the good in various establishments to overlook being called a cheater.  It’s simply not cool.

While I really like the Golden Nugget … I like the pool, I like the casino, I like the waitresses, I like the location … the sports book pissed in my Cheerios today.  I know it was only one person in the book, but I probably won’t bet that book in the near future.  I don’t have to.  There are just too many alternatives.

Enough griping.

Back to my “can’t miss” professional horse wagering strategy.  I will outline the horses I picked, why I picked them, and offer an in-depth and detailed analysis of my wagering outcome complete with a statistical analysis and value differential for each bet.

It happened like this.

I got a copy of the racing sheet this morning and after carefully weighing the odds and probability of each horse I decide Look, boobs!

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