Wired

Addiction

Addiction
By Tony Cohen

“Place your bets!” the dealer yells. I shuffle the chips in my hands. The maximum for this table is five hundred dollars, which is the average maximum for casinos.

Ah, the heck with it, I think as I place two one hundred-dollar chips on the space in front of me.

The dealer calls for the betting to stop and deals everyone two cards: one face up and one face down. We’re playing blackjack and the object of the game is to beat the dealer’s hand. Everyone is playing against the dealer. As my brother explained it, you’re all on the same team. The second objective is to come close to twenty-one points without going over. These “points” are the numerical values of the cards. All face cards are worth ten points and aces can be worth one point or eleven points.

I glance down at my cards and notice that I have an ace and a seven.

Eighteen or eight, I think.

“Hit me,” I say and the dealer instinctively gives me another card—a six.

Thirteen, I think (the ace now counts as one point).

“Hit,” I say, hoping against the odds that I’ll get a seven or an eight.

The dealer gives me a six and I say, “Stand.” Now my hand is nineteen and I’m done for this round. The guy next to me pulls his cards up too far and I see that he has soft twenty, or, in normal terms, an ace and a nine.

“Stand,” he says.

The next guy is too far away for me to see what he has, but he says, “Hit, please.” The dealer hands out a ten and the poor guy turns up all his cards to reveal that he went over twenty-one by two points.

The fourth and final player has a five showing on top and says, “Hit.” He is also dealt a ten and turns his other card over so we see that he had fifteen and then received his ten, putting him over by four points.

It’s finally time for the moment of truth.

The dealer turns over his cards and is revealed to have eleven. He takes a hit and receives a king. Twenty-one. He takes my two hundred and the other man’s bet and prepares for the next round.

I use the old blackjack principal referred to as “doubling up”. The theory behind this is that if you lose one hundred dollars, you double your bet and might win two hundred. Dr. Edward O. Thorp disproved this theory in the 1960s.

I put four one hundred dollar chips on the table and wait for the dealer to deal. Everyone around me is betting around one hundred dollars.

The dealer deals quickly to everyone at the table and I receive a natural—once again, an ace and a jack. Because this is twenty-one, I automatically win. Unfortunately, no one has time to take cards. The dealer turns over both of his to reveal a natural as well.
I didn’t win. I tied the dealer.

The deck is going bad. It’s time to leave the table.

Another dealer yells, “Place your bets!” I walk over to him and put fifty on the table. The cards are dealt and I receive another lucky natural. And this time the dealer doesn’t turn his cards over! Everyone at the table takes hits. By the end, only one player is left standing.

The dealer turns over his cards and has eleven. He takes a hit and gets a six. He must stand. I finally win blackjack.

“Winner, winner, chicken dinner,” the dealer says. I don’t know how that was started, but now whenever a natural is dealt, the dealer always proclaims that phrase.

Winner, winner, chicken dinner.

I walk away from the table again. The security probably thinks that I’m playing a system. I’m not. Even after adding my winnings into the picture, I’m still in the hole one thousand dollars. The first rule of gambling is to never play with money you can’t afford to lose.

I never was a fan of rules.

And now I’m in debt.

Winner, winner, chicken dinner.

I searched the Internet for the chances of beating a slot machine. It was calculated at 1 in 32,768. The worst part about slots is that there’s no system to play. You’re on your own.

I’m not in the books for playing a system.

I’m in the books for the list of people that can be fleeced.

I try leaving the casino undetected and it works. For now, at least. I’m in the hole $1,762 dollars and that is still the beginning of the story.

My name is Sig Edgar Wilson and I’m a compulsive gambler.

II

Beating the system. Beating the dealer. Beating the casino. Beating the house. Beating the game. No matter how you say it, it means the same thing. I wanted to beat the game, the house, and the dealer, but I couldn’t.

Somehow, I found myself in the casino again the next day.

I began by betting thirty dollars in slots—ten dollars per row. I pulled the lever and the symbols spun…and spun…and spun. The first column comes to a halt, displaying the famous “BAR”. The second column stops next, displaying “BAR” as well. Everything’s looking up, but the third column still has to come to a stop. I already know what will happen. The third column stops abruptly, displaying a cherry. I lose.

“Grit your teeth and place your bets,” is a saying from a famous gambling book. I use this principal and bet thirty again.

Again, each column, each row, abruptly stops. I lose again, getting deeper and deeper in the hole. I now owe approximately $1,852.

Winner, winner, chicken dinner.

Five-card poker is next. I walk over to the table and place the minimum on the table—two dollars. The cards are dealt and each player receives five. The first round of betting now begins. I’m in the last seat, which gives me a slight advantage.

“Slight” is the key word.

The brief rules of this game are fairly simple. Everyone is dealt five cards. You look at your hand and can choose as many cards as you want to throw away. You are then dealt that amount of cards from the unused deck, which is like rearranging your poker hand.

First up is a woman wearing a red dress. She places two cards on the table, which indicates that she wants two new cards. I can’t see what she receives from my position, but everyone will soon know.

The second player is also a woman. She places four cards on the table, wishing against the odds that she will receive a flush is my guess.

The third player is a man wearing a leather jacket. He puts his whole hand on the table and receives five new cards.

Now it’s my turn.

“Nothing,” I say. My hand is everything I could want. A straight, which means I have a three, four, five, six, and a seven. My chances of winning are very high. Everyone bets. I bet five hundred, the usual maximum. My new strategy is to drive the others away by betting as much as I possibly can. Those who think I’m bluffing will soon be sadly mistaken. After the only round of betting is finally finished, it’s down to the first woman and me. I turn my cards over revealing my straight.

In five-card poker, you’re playing against the other players, not the dealer.
She turns her cards over.

And she’s smiling.

She has a straight flush. All in spades, she has nine, ten, jack, queen, king.
Winner, winner, chicken dinner.

The odds of being dealt a straight flush are forty over 2,598,960. In English, about 0.0015%.

Beat the game. Beat the odds. Beat the system. Beat the house. Beat the dealer.
So close and yet so far. I’m now in the hole approximately $2,652, after spending eight hundred dollars on one round of poker. When you’re as addicted to gambling as I am, you learn new ways of cheating. For example, you always try to sit in the last chair. The worst possible scenario is the first chair. The last seat allows you to see everyone’s cards and you can build your hand off that.

Second, play a game that gives you a chance. In short, play blackjack. You can beat it by paying attention to the game. Because the cards used in a round of blackjack are placed on the bottom of the deck, they cannot turn up again. If you see all the fives on one round of play, the fives won’t appear throughout the rest of the game. The deck has a memory, use it to your advantage.

The slots, as I said before, can be forgotten. Your chances of winning aren’t high. When you do win, you’re already in the hole over sixty dollars. Winning only helps a little. It’s first grade math and anyone can see that. Unfortunately, very few people do.
The day I lost eight hundred dollars in one round, I didn’t notice the fine print. I kept playing, knowing that very few good cards were left in the deck. After a straight and a straight flush, there was almost no chance of getting another great hand.
Placing two dollars on the table in front of me, the dealer closed betting and dealt everyone five cards. I looked at my five and noticed nothing. I had no pairs, no consecutive numbers, absolutely nothing. I had to trade everything in for a new hand.
The woman with the straight flush had left, which was the smart thing to do. Take the money and leave. Drive it like you stole it.

Winner, winner, chicken dinner.

The first player was the woman from the previous round. She stands with her current hand. That thought crosses my mind. If I could convince everyone that I had a great hand, maybe they would all leave the game.

The second player is the man wearing the leather jacket. He takes two cards and then is forced to stand. You can only exchange once.

Then it’s my turn. I trade in everything and put it all on the line. The dealer gives me five new cards. I have one pair, which has only a small chance against the other two. Next is betting and I have a few decisions to make.

The first woman bets twenty dollars. The second man puts twenty dollars on the table to stay in and raises it fifteen. Now I have the honor to finish the round of betting. It’s thirty-five dollars to stay in the game. Looking at my hand and noticing the pair of twos, I realize that it would be an advantage to myself—and my bank account—to quit. I say, “I’m folding,” and turn my cards over.

I could have walked away. There was nothing holding me at the table. But I needed to know the outcome. The dealer announced that betting had officially ended and then called for everyone to turn his or her cards over.

The first woman’s hand was nothing more than I had. All she was privileged to have was a pair of twos. So far I’m glad that I quit.

The second player turns over his cards and has nothing. He just has five cards thrown together that don’t amount to anything. He was bluffing. That was his move.
In the hole to date: $2,654.

III

By this point, I knew I needed help.

Las Vegas had clubs all over the city for gambling addicts like me. I chose one that reminded me of my parent’s house. Hopefully I would feel at home.

Upon entering the building, there was a long hallway filled with doors on both walls. A sign on each door read “Therapy in Session”.

I walked to the front desk and talked to the receptionist.

“I’m Sig Wilson,” I said, “and I would like to attend a therapy session.”

“We have one starting in about ten minutes. It’s down the hallway in the last room on the right.”

“Thank you,” I said.

I walked down the hallway toward the door described and walked inside.

The chairs were arranged in a circle, with a total of ten. I took my seat among the other eight people in the room. Vegas is probably the worst place to be if you have a problem with gambling. The window on the far side of the room had the curtains pulled, so we wouldn’t feel any pressure.

We waited about another ten minutes while waiting for the instructor to arrive. When she did, it was about 1:30pm.

She was around thirty with brown hair and blue eyes. She was dressed casually, but not too casually.

She first began by having us recite the serenity prayer, which was on a sheet of paper we were handed.

After that, we began with introductions.

“The first step to overcoming your addiction,” she said, “is admitting that you have a problem. Thankfully, you have all passed that step because you are here with us today. Next you must admit that you are powerless against your fear and that nothing you can do can possibly fix that. What I want you to do is state your name, that you are an addict, and that no one can help you escape your addiction.”

I’m thinking, Maybe this was a mistake.

I wanted help, not negative monologues.

We went around the circle while introducing ourselves. If you’ve ever seen a movie with a support group, you’ll know the experience.

The first person said, “My name is Amy and I’m a gambling addict. I admit that there is nothing I or anyone else can do to fix my condition.”

“Let’s greet Amy, everyone,” the instructor said.

“Hi, Amy,” we all said.

The next said, “My name is Barry and I’m a gambling addict. I admit that there is nothing I or anyone else can do to fix my condition.”

“Hi, Barry,” we said.

Everyone else said the same and then it was my turn. I was sitting in the last chair, the best possible gambling move.

“My name,” I said, “is Sig Wilson and I’m a gambling addict. I admit that there is nothing I or anyone else can do to fix my condition.”

“Hi, Sig,” everyone said.

After a pause, the instructor continued. “Good,” she said. “Now that we know each other’s names, we can focus on why we’re here. Everyone in this room has now admitted that there is nothing they or anyone else can do to fix their condition. I know what you’re going through. I was an addict for five years and sought help after reaching the $500,000 mark.”

Five hundred thousand dollars.

Winner, winner, chicken dinner!

She continued, “I am a living example that, yes, there is help and everyone in this building is willing to provide that help. Everyone in this group should be willing to help each other.”

She looked around the room at the faces that were once filled with excitement at the idea of visiting Las Vegas and visiting the casinos. Now they were cold and filled with experience.

Too much experience.

“There is a way out,” she said, “and it is a tried-and-proven method. For decades thousands of people have been exposed to this method and many of them were healed. Compulsive gambling is a disease, but we can heal that disease. What we are asking you to believe in is something above yourself. It has been phrased as ‘a power greater than your own’. Some people call it God, some Buddha, some believe in the Universe, and some simply cannot name it. They just know that it works and it works for good.”

Barry speaks up: “Are you saying we should find religion?”

“Not at all,” the instructor says. “If that is what you decide to do and it works, then go ahead. But what we are asking is that you believe that there is a power higher than your abilities. A power that can cure you of your gambling addiction and fix that mindset for now and forever. If you want to become religious, that’s fine, but it is not required. Simply believe that you are not the highest power on earth.”

She looks at each individual while saying, “If you can do that, you can become free again.”


About an hour later, everyone left the building with a new idea in their head. It seemed so simple and so obvious. It was one of the all-too-familiar situations when you know there’s something more to learn, but no one will tell you what that is.

The fact is that there was something more to learn, but that only came with experience. The easy part was believing in this force above our abilities. The hard part was sticking to that when temptations developed.

Before we left, our instructor gave us more wisdom on what to do if we felt a sudden urge to run to the casinos and lay money on the table.

“You must have something to do that will change your mindset,” she had said. “Whether that is going to the computer and writing a journal, listening to the radio, watching television, taking a bath, or cleaning the house is up to you. Another experiment we are currently trying is online gambling with no risk. It’s all a game where you use fake money, but still play the game. We haven’t determined whether that fixes the urge or encourages it, but time will hopefully tell.”

Now I had an entire list of ideas that could be called “fixes” or “quick fixes”. The part I wasn’t looking forward to was trying them under fire. If I discovered that none of them worked, I could have a relapse and add another thousand dollars to my debt.

IV

“Place your bets!” the dealer yells.

You shouldn’t be here, I tell myself.

Another voice is my head says, Who cares?

The dealer asks me if I want to play.

Who cares? I care!

I put twenty dollars on the slot in front of me and the dealer gives me two cards. The sound of slot machines spinning fills the room.

I have a three and a five, which makes eight. The dealer is showing an ace, which means that we can have insurance. Insurance is an extra bet put alongside the original bet. It is betting that the dealer has a ten as his second card, which would automatically give him twenty-one. If the gamble pays off and the dealer has twenty-one, you win the round. My rule is to always take the insurance, that way you can’t lose.

I lose the bet, which means he doesn’t have a natural. Everyone bets and takes cards until it’s my turn. I take a hit and receive a two.

“Hit,” I say with confidence. I am dealt a ten and now have twenty.

“Stand,” I say.

The dealer turns over his second card and is revealed to have a five, or soft sixteen. He is required to take a hit and gets a ten. He now has sixteen again. He takes another required hit and gets a five.

Twenty-one.

The name of the game.

Winner, winner, chicken dinner.

In the hole to date: $2,854.

I wake up in my bed. I touch my face and feel sweat. A dream, I tell myself. It was only a dream. I pick up my list of fixes and look at the first one. It says to get a drink of water.
I stand up and try to avoid the clock on the way to the bathroom. If it’s before 2:00am, the casino might still be open.

While I drink, I remind myself that I no longer owe $2,654. I’ve paid off three hundred dollars, so I’m only $2,354. Thank goodness.

My therapist had taught me that I needed something to take my mind off the addiction when it returned. If I felt a sudden urge to put money on the table, I needed to have an activity or a phrase that would help me. It could be as simple as, “Calm down” or it may require going for a run. For many, these are only fixes for up to five minutes.

My therapist also said that figurative gestures could translate into reality. For example, if I wrote my fears on a sheet of paper and burned or tore that paper, my mind might understand that I don’t want those problems anymore.

They say that your mind is smarter than a computer.

Winner, winner, chicken dinner.

V
Three Months Later

My name is Sig Wilson and I am a compulsive gambler.

My name is Sig Wilson and I am addicted to gambling.

My name is Sig Wilson and I love the rush of putting money on the table.

I still think those same thoughts everyday. I still remember and want to feel that rush again. The rush of chance. And the idea that you don’t know what will happen.

I haven’t walked into a casino for two and a half months.

I still attend group therapy sessions at the same building where I requested help. Most of the original group has left, but there are two that still remain. We heard news the other day about one of the people in my group.

The leader said, “I am sorry to inform everyone that Marty has relapsed after three weeks of staying away from casinos.”

Marty was in the first group session I attended.

Some of the people in my group found their solution and decided they didn’t need help anymore. Maybe they smartened up and left Las Vegas.

I still attend the meetings because I feel like they are family. I’m there to support and to be supported. We’re all in this together. That’s what we tell each other at every meeting.
And I still get a funny feeling in my stomach when I walk down the hall to my group therapy session every week. The names of those that have recovered are on the walls. I walk down that hallway every week and see a golden plate that reads:

SIG WILSON
AFTER A BRIEF RELASPSE IN MAY 2008, HE HAS PAID
OFF HIS DEBT AND HAS BEEN CLEAN SINCE JUNE 2, 2008.

My name is Sig Wilson and money no longer holds power over me.

But those four words still bring a feeling of excitement into my mind.

Winner, winner, chicken dinner.

My name is Sig Wilson and I am a recovered gambling addict.

Winner, winner, chicken dinner.





Copyright © 2008 by Tony Cohen. All rights reserved.
MCN: CC176-3398E-F5910