The Hall of Fame Series will be the cream of the crop, the most ridiculous of the absolute ridiculous or even the best of the worst. You can count on the Casino Guy Reviews HoF to represent only the top of the food chain in gaming. At the end of the year, we will ask you to vote on who will get in and who will have to get back in line with Barry Bonds and the other rejects. And without further ado, Casino Guy Reviews presents another nominee for the prestigious CGR Hall of Fame:
The scene was The Aladdin Casino Resort in Las Vegas. It was one of the many random long weekend trips that Casino Guy took before he had Casino Kid 1 & 2. Along side was Wingman #2, “Jason” (an extraordinarily handsome and burly man) and Ichiro (nickname he got by being the fastest human on the base paths as well as having the biggest hose – his throwing arm you perv – on any outfielder on any planet). Casino Guy got his first offer for a comped room in the desert and these three jackasses were the perfect travel partners to take advantage.
Sitting at one table with all your buddies is awesome, especially if the cards are going your way. Dealer busts, everyone wins. Waitress comes by, everyone wins. Blackjack here, successful double there and everyone is hooting and hollering, having a great time and living life. You need to do everything in your power to keep this run going. That means putting your chips in the same spot as the previous hand. That means ordering the same drink as the last one. That means in no way shape or form can you mess up the flow.
The beer flows like wine in Las Vegas, as Lloyd Christmas once decreed about Aspen. So what that means, even with the largest most seasoned bladders on the planet, you will need relief. Problem is if you are on a heater you never leave.
But the dealer will run out of cards, right? The dealer will have to shuffle those cards and the dealer will need to get approval on the shuffle check. There is a window of time to for you to hit the head and make it back but you are going to have to hustle. As Lloyd Christmas also said, “So you are saying there is a chance.”
For me and my band of merry men, this meant an approximate 120 foot speed walk both ways for a temporary reprieve from the pain associated with 36 ounces of fluid sloshing around below the waist. Leave too soon, you fuck up the table. Leave too late, you won’t make it back in time and you fuck the table.
Carol, our lovely dealer for most of the night from the fine city of Henderson, NV by way of Hangzhou, China, was perfect in every way that night. She busted a lot. She cracked jokes and laughed at our shitty ones. She held up when the waitresses showed up. She dealt fast. She dealt faster when you could see someone at the table getting antsy. As soon as she dealt that last card and gave out the cut card, we all were racing towards the bathroom like a greyhound shot out of the gate trying to track down Yankee (shout out to those of you who know what the hell meant). Walks soon broke into jogs. Jogs got a little faster until at some point we all looked like OJ Simpson flying through the airport trying to rent a car:
There was one shoe where I got a late start on my way to the restroom. It was a lengthy stay at the ole hole in the wall. I was huffing and puffing from running from the table and navigating through the crowd of douchebags from the University of Arkansas (I will never forget the sweaters and hats) and also from being incredibly out of shape.
Let’s be honest, Casino Guy is not about to run a marathon anytime soon. This is why over time, weeknight hoops have been replaced with folding laundry. Weekend softball has been replaced with raking leaves. Shit, I still have a case of plantar fasciitis from raking said leaves in October. That is hard to admit but feels good to get off my chest.
Back to the Aladdin. As I come out of the bathroom, I see “Jason” waving his burly handsome arm suggesting that Carol is about to start dealing. I get on my giddy-up and start to “sprint” towards our table. The Arkansas D-Bag Posse must have spilled a little of their Long Island Ice Teas on the tile because when I turned the corner to head for home, I slipped a little and my next step was a full on severe hamstring pull.
Let’s let that sink in. A grown man, running to the bathroom and back from a Blackjack table pulls his hamstring between shoes of said hot table because he and his jackass friends want to ensure Carol the Magic Chinese Dealer from Henderson doesn’t waste her magic busting powers on anyone else. When I say it felt like I was shot would be an understatement. As I limped my broken body back to the table, I got a ration of shit that spread to the pit bosses, waitresses and any random watching our table unfold. I could barely sit now. I was too embarrassed to look anyone in the eye. Even Magic Carol felt bad and couldn’t look at me. Forget about going to take a leak between shoes now. What a shit show.
The next day, me and my black and blue left hamstring was limping around the strip with very little dignity left but thanks to Carol the Magic Chinese Dealer from Henderson I at least had a pocket full of money. I would venture a guess that less than .001% of gamblers have pulled a hammy while on a heater. Because of this rarity, we hereby nominate my left hamstring for induction into CGR Hall of Fame.
HoF Resume (Scale of 1 to 10, 10 being the highest):
- Situational Greatness: 4 – This is the opposite of greatness. Only saved by the agility shown getting around those red sweater squids
- Absurdity: 9.5 – Do we have to explain?
- Statistical Excellence: 9 – We won big. I did make 6 previous successful trips without a devastating injury….so there’s that.
- Uniqueness: 10 – Again, do we need to explain? Who the f has this happen to them except me?
- “It” factor: 9 – if you saw my face when it happened or the table’s reaction when it happened you would say the “it” factor was 20. It gets dropped to a 9 because of the infinite sadness it brings me to know how far the mighty have fallen.
Hall of Fame Score: 41.5
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