Everyone and everything has an adversary that just plain has their number. The New England Patriots had the NFC East when it comes to the Super Bowl. The Iron Sheik had Hulk Hogan. Wile E. Coyote had the Road Runner. These assholes had gravity…
The Casino Guy has Mohegan Sun in Uncasvlle, CT.
It’s big. It’s shiny. It’s a nice place (formal review coming soon). It’s also the black angel of death when it comes to gambling. You can play in the Casino of the Earth and get throttled just as easily as you can play at the Casino of the Sky and get battered. And trust me, I have given this place enough chances the turn this fact around. Aside from the beautiful son of a bitch who gave me my first time, I know NO ONE who has won here. The Sky Tower went up faster than any hotel in the history of man made structures and I guarantee they paid for it in record time off the hard earned money of dopes like me. I am pretty sure I lost my glasses case, a credit card and my favorite belt here one time. I one time closed the closet door on my blackjack hit and stay hand so bad I thought I needed to go to the hospital. One time, I burnt the collar on my nice dress shirt using the hotel iron. That same night, I had cigar ash burn a hole in my khaki pants. Another time, my good friend Red tried to fight Wing Man 1, Allen and me in a sleep walking fury after the Travelers Championship Pairing Party where the only beers they served were fucking Amstel Light and Heineken!!!!!!! That same night, we met some man known only as the Transient that ensured I would sleep with one eye opened for every one my hotel stays for the rest of my life. That is not a coincidence. That is a curse.
If I wasn’t interested in getting rated and collecting all the awesome free shit Mohegan gives away, I would just show up and light my money on fire. I would probably have a better of a chance of walking away a winner. Try different games – screw you, you lose. Try different pits – suck it, you lose. Try different parts of the property – eat shit. You. Lose.
I would love to love this place. But it hates my fucking guts. There is no magic bullet. There are no rabbits feet or horseshoes to summons. No Voodoo Anti-Curses to place. What can you do when the ghosts of the gamblers past have possessed a place so bad, you would rather sit through Two Girls, One Cup on a loop then to actually sit and gamble? You just grab the grease, take it like a champ and hereby declare it the unluckiest place on the planet.
Update – I had this post in the tank for a long time and wouldn’t you know it, I recently went down to Mohegan for a free concert and I cleaned up playing light blackjack before the show and Mississippi Stud after. And right before bed, I said to myself “Hey CasinoGuy, let’s go double this white meat by playing some heavy blackjack”. Four hands later, I was down five units and tucking my tail up to my room. Fuck me. Such is the life of a gambler.
P.S. If you remember the Hot Summer Fun at Mohegan Sun radio jingle, have fun getting that shit out of your head now. You are welcome.