HEAD GAMES

By “Hollywood” Dave Stan

– One From The Vaults

DID YOU GUYS REALLY THINK IT WOULD BE that easy to get rid of me? Sure, ALL IN may have axed the blackjack side of the magazine, but Hollywood Dave lives on, bitches! Thanks to all the readers who demanded it—and publisher Kasey Thompson’s state of extreme inebriation during contract negotiations the other day—yours truly is here to stay. So strap on your seatbelts, fuckers, cuz it’s story time!
In keeping with the whole exotic-locations theme set down by my last few columns, I’ve decided to dust off one of the more elaborate backoffs I’ve experienced as a professional blackjack player and spill the tale here in ALL IN. Hey, it’s either that or make up some bullshit checklist using a trite masturbation analogy to describe the most effective ways of palming casino chips. And Lord knows we don’t need any more of that.
So this month I’ll revisit my doomed 2006 trip to Australia—specifically, the super-awesome way in which it fell apart. And yes, by “super-awesome,” I most certainly do mean, “tossed out on my ass by heartless bastard casinos.” Bonus points go out to those of you who’ve already picked up on the ever-so-slight sense of disdain toward the hypocritical casino empire starting to creep into this article. You guys are good. More to come …

Koala Conundrum
Everything was set—more than two glorious weeks to plunder the Australian casino coastline, a trip that would take me from Melbourne’s exquisite Crowne and Sydney’s shitty Star in the south, to a confidential casino location up north (sorry, but I gotta keep some secrets), and finally ending in conservative Brisbane’s gestapo-run Treasury Casino on the east coast. The plane tickets had been purchased, accommodations set, and bank money wired to the respective casino cages. Nothing could possibly go wrong. Right?
God bless the Crowne. Melbourne’s glittering jewel, home to the southern hemisphere’s most expensive poker tournaments, but apparently a complete clusterfuck when it comes to playing blackjack. I had spoken to a host there several times over the past few weeks to set up my money transfer and to select a cashback program (like comps in Vegas), so one would think the fact that I was coming to play a little blackjack wouldn’t exactly be a surprise.

Nothing could be farther from the truth. Let’s just say that after the provided limo ride from the airport, I checked in but never even made it out of the hotel lobby before the casino manager pulled me aside to notify me that due to my status as a professional player, I would regretfully not be permitted to play blackjack during my stay in Melbourne. Damn, I’d been backed off before, but getting the boot before even setting foot in the casino itself takes some serious talent!
“No problem,” I replied coolly, “I’m just here to relax anyway. Which way to the nearest kangaroo petting zoo?” Inside, of course, was another story. Despite not wanting to piss anyone off enough for them to alert all the other Australian casinos to my presence, I was pretty livid about the timing of this particular proclamation. Don’t want me to raid your blackjack tables? Fine. Waiting until I fly across the fucking ocean to tell me? Priceless.

Reef-er Madness
After my forced exile in Melbourne and aborted trip to Sydney (let’s just say that the Star Casino there might as well own stock in Shufflemaster CSMs), things got back on track. I headed up north to the Great Barrier Reef, one of the seven natural Wonders of the World, and a sleepy little casino (which shall remain nameless) operating well off the beaten path. Time to introduce them to one more Wonder: card counting!

Needless to say, between SCUBA diving trips and koala-hugging adventures, I managed to squeeze out enough action from that tiny outpost casino to fund the entire trip, and then some. I blended in as just another American tourist come to experience the joys of the outback, and before I knew it the time had come for the final leg of my journey: the fabled Treasury Casino in Brisbane.

Occupying a refurbished historical government building in downtown Brisbane, this casino sports a breathtaking exterior and immaculately detailed interior. The suite I stayed in was a huge converted turret, and the casino itself was divided up into a series of exclusive gaming salons accessible only by private keycard.
Surrounded by a superstitious hoard of upscale Asian clientele, I went to work. After picking up a few grand in the first shoe, I made the mistake of joking, “How do you guys stay in business?” Well, that was to be my last joke of the evening, because four hours later I had improbably pissed away $50,000 (that’s Australian money; about $35K American) and was quite literally sick to my stomach. So much for that big win up north!
Fate had some interesting plans in store for me, however, as the next day I just as quickly made back nearly every penny I had lost the night before. Stopping just shy of the $50,000 mark, I called it quits to revel in my remarkable comeback (and get drunk on that famous Australian wine). Unfortunately, the most bizarre event of all was yet to come.

Outback Surprise
The next day, the Treasury provided a car service to take me down to their sister casino, Jupiters, on the Gold Coast an hour or so away. My host set up a room for me there for the overnight trip, as well as the electronic transfer of my funds to the other cage. Halfway to Jupiters, however, the kangaroo shit really hit the fan.
Someone from the Treasury called on my driver’s cell phone to inform me there had been a major overbooking that evening, and consequently, they needed to give my room at the Treasury to another guest since I wouldn’t be using it for the night. “No problem,” I told her. “Let me just have the driver bring me back so I can pack up my stuff, since I only have an overnight bag with me.” Imagine my surprise when I was told they had already taken care of that, and someone from the “housekeeping staff” was already en route to my room to pack it for me.

Alarm bells went off in my head, and as I immediately made the driver turn around, I emphatically told the Treasury drone to wait until I arrived so I could pack myself. The last thing I needed was a bunch of casino goons rifling through my shit to find whatever information they could find on me. That, and the fact that my suite was filled with plenty of final edits from the nearly completed Hollywood Blackjack (what can I say, it was a working vacation). Well, it was about to be a case of too little, too fucking late …

Arriving back in Brisbane, I sprinted to the elevator to find the casino manager waiting there for me. He humorlessly told me that after reviewing my play, they were going to have to enforce certain restrictions. No more blackjack in the private rooms—only on the CSMs downstairs (which, like in Sydney, make the game unplayable). I did the usual protest song-and-dance shtick, but to no avail. There were a few hotel guests nearby, so I did my best to loudly announce how the casino sure as s— didn’t have a problem with my play the day I lost $50,000, but as soon as I won it back, I was no longer welcome. Needless to say, he wasn’t moved. Fuckin’ prick.
Eventually I made it to my room to find it deserted, but quite obviously tampered with. Clothes strewn on the bed, and just as I had guessed, my blackjack notes clearly examined. So I packed hastily and left, my invasion of privacy rants falling on deaf ears. After all, they had only sent “housekeeping” into my room to “pack” for me—while I was conveniently trapped in a company car half an hour away. Sheer genius!

Happy Trails
Hey, don’t let my negativity sway you—Australia is one beautiful country, and I’d go back in a heartbeat. It just so happens that out of all the backwater casinos I’ve been to in the world, Australian surveillance departments are definitely up to snuff when it comes to thwarting the rising tide of the advantage player menace.

So I learned the hard way to stick to the Caribbean, Europe, and a couple other hidden gems for all my illicit card-counting needs. At least along the way, I got to snap some cool underwater pictures of sea turtles and hug that really cute baby koala. Life could be worse.
My only real regret? That somewhere out there right now, a casino executive is reading this article with a big, fat grin on his face, pleased as punch at my misfortune Down Under. Hey buddy, don’t smile too hard—your casino is next on my list!

Hollywood Dave is a two-time UBT Champion and a WSOB runner-up and has appeared in over 60 episodes of gambling TV. His first book, Hollywood Blackjack, was just released and he can always be found at HollywoodDave.com.