I received several
emails from the last issue of Dice Setter Newsletter asking about my perspective
of win goals and when to leave a game. I decided to run a reprint of an article
I wrote several years ago about win expectations.
Jackpot Games - How Much Is Enough?
What is considered to be a reasonable profit from games of chance? The
gaming industry has done the best job of successfully brain washing the gambler
to embrace the “jackpot paradigm”. “Risk a few coins, have a few free drinks and
hit a million-dollar jackpot.” “Quit your day job and live the ‘life of Riley’.”
“The pot of gold is just a pull away.” “Someone is going to win it.” “You could
be next!” “Step up and lay your money down.”
Slot machines, long known as the king of jackpot games of chance, offer
the promise of millions. All you have to do is line up all the cherries across
the glass. At least two television network magazine programs have covered this
topic of how casinos can fix machines. The programs made it clear that the slots
are a player’s worst bet. Even with the casinos boasting a 98% pay back, the
casino is still getting along with 2% of a “Gazillion” dollars, twenty-four
seven. The City of Dreams stands as a testament to this fact.
“I’m gonna splain it to you Lucy”. When a casino orders slot machines,
they inform the manufacturer exactly how much they want the slots to pay out.
The manufacturer installs a program chip that is mathematically correct for the
prescribed payout requested by the purchasing casino. It is a simple matter of
probability. It is guaranteed that the average slot player will never win a
Jackpot of any sizable consequence. Casinos are not in business of giving away
money.
I can count on one hand the number of times I have actually played a
machine. If you have not guessed by now, I’d rather watch paint dry than play a
machine. Sorry if I offend anyone that loves playing the one-arm bandits. Oops,
I dated myself. I believe now days all you have to do is push a button. That
reminds me, I'll sidetrack for a history lesson.
I can recall receiving a genuine silver dollar from my Aunt Sylvia when
she returned from a trip to Las Vegas. Back in those days the dollar slots were
played with Morgan Silver Dollars. I still have a few souvenirs. Those were the
days….
OK, back to my point. How much profit is enough? The dream of striking it
rich spread to the table games. When this actually happened, I don’t know.
Probably, thirty-three seconds after the first casino opened.
The table games all have varying odds against the player to insure the
casino a reasonable rate of return for hosting the game. This means you are not
expected to win at the table games either. They are a negative sum game.
However, the player has it embedded in their belief system that, not only are
they going to win, they are going to break the bank.
I have nothing against a strong positive winning attitude. In fact, I
insist on it. OK, let’s be realistic. Table games simply are not jackpot games.
I will honor anyone’s story of a big win on a craps table or a run of hot hands
in a blackjack game and everyone knows James Bond makes good on the roulette
table! However, I must state politely, that the profits from a table game
will mostly be modest. Which is the point of this article.
I doubt that the average player knows or understands what to expect for a
reasonable profit from a table game. Consequently, and because of the lure of
the jackpot win, the unknowing player gets caught up in the casinos “mind game”
of “more-always more”. Pursuing the pot of gold, the player will either play
away their entire bankroll, chasing the jackpot, or after having won a bit, and
not knowing when to say when, the gambler plays away the hard earned profit
hoping for more. What usually follows is the rest of the remaining bankroll, as
the player tries to regain the lost profit. Funny how a couple of hundred bucks
profit looks good after taking a loss of several hundred or more.
A little bit of knowledge and a lot of discipline can make the difference
between red ink and black ink and having forlorn
memories of a game gone south.
OK, so what is the rule for profit? How many units per hour is enough?
What percentage of increase above the original bankroll is acceptable? Do you
play until you start to lose? Do you play until you start to win? Do you play,
win or lose, until they offer you a free breakfast?
Ø
There is no way to figure an hourly win rate.
Ø
A session can last twenty minutes or two hours and twenty
minutes.
Ø
The player should never get caught up playing for a
predetermined win.
Ø
The only way to quit “a winner” is to quit while you are
winning.
Ø
Never chase a loss.
Ø
Gaming is adult entertainment. Play for enjoyment first,
or don’t play.
Ø
The “Freebies” are come-on’s. There is no free lunch.
There is also the
advice that the Dice Coach gives, "Don't play
just to play."
I have read a the books and followed a few of systems for both blackjack
and dice. The ones that I believe are most valid boast conservative units won,
per session played.
For the blackjack player, six to ten units is considered a respectable
return from a single session. Even if you can count them down, who is to
say what the cards will do? Using my recommended betting stake of thirty units
for one session, the net profit would be between 20% to 30% of the original
betting stake.
If a player’s unit bet is $10, the profit could be $60 to $100 per
session, six to ten units. Play three winning sessions and that will take care
of the rent for most hotels in Las Vegas for a day, plus a bit of walking around
money.
Craps is a bit more difficult when it comes to “saying when”. This game
can change directions in a heartbeat. If the table gets a hot shooter or two,
the chips can come at you faster that you can pick them up. When the dice turn
to ice, hell can freeze over. You must know how to play during these times, when
to color up, and leave the game.
Craps tables tend to run choppy most of the time. This means, either way
you play, you get your legs chopped off. If you find yourself up 20% to 30% of
your bankroll in profit, you are doing just fine. If you come close to doubling
your bankroll, 25 to 30 units, pat yourself on the back and order a drink while
the box man colors you up.
It is exciting to be in a game when the chips stack up quick. I remember
them because they are so rare. I say, “get the profit while the getting is good
and get out!”
Having the discipline, and an understanding of what a reasonable profit
is, will make a huge difference in how much of the casino’s dough you will take
home. It is a bit like driving a Ferrari. How fast, is too fast, and, how fast
do you really need to go? Being practical, consider all that goes with speed:
tickets, points, insurance rates and general risk to life and limb. The prudent
choice would be discipline, while driving a speed machine. It is better to
arrive in one piece, than to buck the odds, just because you can.
Even though you are having your way in a game, at some point it will
change. Never lose more than you reasonably expect to win. Always have a stop
loss. Playing 4 Keeps, the stop loss is a maximum of thirty units, or one
session’s bankroll. Thirty units will provide the player with a fair shot to win
20% to 30% above the starting bankroll, and sometimes more. If things don’t go
your way, the risk is limited to the one bankroll and the loss is stopped.
For some individuals, winning a few hundred bucks is not enough. The
solution for this player can be found in their betting unit. If they want to win
more, they must bet more. The average number of units won, will be the same no
matter if you are betting $1 or $100. It is a simple matter of increasing your
unit bet. If you want to win $1000 per session playing Blackjack, you will have
to play $100 units. Playing $5 units is not going to result in a $1000 dollar
session. Total dollars won are directly proportional to the unit value played.
It really comes down to your comfort zone. What unit are you comfortable
playing? Do you have the required bankroll for playing at an increased unit? Do
you have the ability to walk with the profit, no matter what? Table games do not
have a jackpot bonus. If you find yourself in profit, do you have the discipline
to keep it? Can you be satisfied with a win, any win, or are you just another
member for the casino’s “Club Jack Pot ” paradigm?
On The Coat Tales Of A Gambler -
Episode 19
Scarpone, Sailor, Mike and Benny are in Memphis for a poker
game. Scarpone and Sailor took some time away from the game for a nap. Sailor
continues with his story.
I couldn’t get to sleep. Not that I wasn’t tired. I was
flat out, but I was wound up like a top at the same time. I could hear the
luring beat of a blues rhythm section and my heart seemed to be pounding in time
with the bass line. Part of me just wanted to crash and get some sleep, yet
there was a part of me that wanted to be in the thick of the party. I could hear
the music not so far away, probably in a juke joint on Beal Street.
I had Scarpone’s car keys. He did not feel like driving so
he had me drop him off at Elmira’s. He gave instructions to come back between
five and six in the morning. A temptation wafted over me to get dressed and
check out the music that was taunting me awake. I remember thinking, “What the
hell! I can’t sleep any way. If I am going to be awake, I might as well enjoy
it.”
It was not my smartest idea. Instead of walking the few
blocks over to Beal Street, I made a near fatal decision to take Scarpone’s
Lincoln. I figured if I walked over, how’d it look if I were to pick up on a
cuttie and have to hoof it back to my room blocks away. I was but a few minutes
from Beal. How the mind of a young kid can justify his actions, no matter the
risk, has surely landed plenty in jams they regretted.
Like following the scent of great tasting food, floating in
the air from an obscure café, I followed the sound of the music. It was hot and
I left the windows down in the Lincoln. In those days the paranoia of petty
crime hardly existed. I found the juke joint, Harry T’s. The joint was
overflowing with people. They squeezed from the bar out on to the street. Mostly
black folk were there, but once I wedged my way in, I saw a few white people. To
my good luck I spied a single girl all dressed up looking nice. She agreed to
have a dance with me and then we sat down for a drink. Alcohol was the last
thing I needed in my fatigued condition. It wasn’t long before I took a chance
asking my date, Janice, if she wanted to leave with me. We worked our way out of
the still crowded bar and walked up the street. We were making our way in the
direction of where I had parked the car.
As we came up on the Lincoln, I could see that someone was
sitting on the right front fender. At the very same moment that I saw him, he
saw me and jumped to his feet. He turned briefly as if calling out to someone
behind him. He then came walking straight up to Janice and me. He began to stall
us with conversation asking what a white couple was doing down on Beal so late
at night. “Was we lost?” Raised in the south, I was no stranger to this guy’s
jive talk. Instead of being intimidated by his approach, I jumped into the
conversation with my own white Southern jive. I recall how well it worked. He
was so surprised, it stopped him long enough for me to grab Janice by the arm. I
steered her into the street, to the driver’s side of the car.
I pulled open the door to find another guy slumped down
behind the wheel, as if hiding. There was yet another guy fiddling under the
dash. I panicked as surge of adrenaline flushed through my body. “What the f… is
this”, I spoke sternly and with confidence. I kept the anger out of my voice.
The guy that had met us on the street was now standing next to the open door and
said, “My man lost the keys to his car and my brother there is helping him to
get it started.” “The hell he is!” I said, “This is my mother f’ing car!” There
was a silence of what seemed to be minutes, though I know it could only have
been seconds. It was enough time for me to hatch another one of those ill
thought out, risky ideas of reckless youth.
“Listen, I said. “You fellows need a lift down the street
maybe? Me and my girl, we were just headed that way.” The guy that had been
doing all the talking said, “Hey man, I believe you’re right this ain’t my
brother’s car. It sure do look like it, though. Maybe we could use a ride.”
“Alright!” I said, “Tell you what. You all get in the back seat. My baby’ll
slide over here and I’ll drive you to where you left your car.”
Now, I knew that they were trying to steal Scarpone’s
Lincoln, no doubt about that. Getting that far with them, agreeing to get in the
back, was dumb luck. They were playing right into my hands. As Joyce slid across
the bench seat of the Lincoln, I pretended to help her move along. My right hand
was on her shoulder. I needed something to balance with and then something to grab
onto when I made my move. With my left hand, I searched under the driver’s seat
for the handgun that I knew Scarpone always kept for a back-up.
“Oh, thank you Jesus!” There it was! Pulling down hard on
Joyce’s shoulder, I launched myself up while pushing her down onto the seat. As
I cocked back the hammer on the revolver, an even greater rush of adrenaline
coursed through my veins, along with the air of a cold killer. Waving the barrel
left and right in the direction of the car thieves, I made sure each of them had
a glimpse of life down the dark tunnel of death. I told the three gents, in a
voice that I did not even recognize as my own, that I had changed my mind about
the ride and they better get out of the car before anyone made another mistake.
That ruined the rest of the night for me and Joyce and I
dropped her back at Harry T’s juke joint. It was about a quarter to three in the
morning and I headed back to my room. I was too hopped up from my daring
performance to get any sleep. About five o’clock I was back on my feet to pickup
Scarpone. I was still dressed from the night out. I drove over to Elmira’s place
and knocked on the door for Scarpone. “You look like shit”, were the first words
from Scarpone. “Where the hell’ya been?” I started to explain, “I couldn’t
sleep. I met this girl…” “Never mind”, interrupted Scarpone. “I know how the
story goes. Let’s get some coffee and breakfast. You really look like shit!” And
that was that. I never brought it up again. With Scarpone, he could care less
about hearing war stories about someone else and a woman.
“Hey”, Scarpone says to me. “How about we grab a bite in
some juke joint that is still open down on Beal? Maybe hear some blues?”
To be continued…
