Wit Stop

wit stop How I Developed a Love-Hate Relationship with Casino Gambling

I hate gambling. My wife loves it. So on our vacations, we usually spend a percentage of our time gambling.

I simply don't understand the thrill. I remember an incident when I was a kid. I had just come from the store where I'd spent some of my hard-earned allowance on an icecream cone probably a scoop of strawberry and a scoop of chocolate. As I stood on the corner of the street waiting for the traffic light to change, a car went by. Some wise guy in the car reached out and slapped the two scoops of ice cream off my cone.

It was funny to the guys in the car but not at all funny to me. I chased that Ford for about three blocks before I gave up and cried.

To me, gambling is the same thing. You put five dollars on the table, a guy turns some cards or spins some wheel, shouts out, “You lose!” and takes your five bucks. Rather than chase this guy for three blocks, you put down another five, turn to the person next to you, and say, “Isn't this fun?” I don't have the gambler's mentality. If I sit down to play blackjack and start losing, I want to stop playing. Why sit there and lose hard-earned money? However, if I start out winning, the only way to keep what I win is to stop playing. I know that sooner or later, I'll lose and give all my winnings back and then some. So as soon as I sit down to gamble, I want to get up and leave.

But as I said, my wife enjoys it, so we gamble. In Phoenix we spent an evening watching the dog races at Phoenix Greyhound Park. For me that's fun because at least there's an element of sport to it. There's running; there's excitement. It's like an athletic event at which I lose money.

My wife doesn't. She wins. We were guests at the track that evening and were invited to visit the paddock to watch the dogs getting ready for the first race. One greyhound kept approaching my wife and nuzzling her with his muzzle. She petted the animal affectionately, then rushed up and put 10 bucks on him to win. He did, and she made a small fortune.

That's the other thing I hate about gambling. My wife does it better than I do. At casinos we'll each get a few dollars worth of chips. Roughly 30 to 45 seconds later, I'm broke. I lose a few hands. The people next to me steal from me. I drop chips on the floor and lose them. And some of the money just disintegrates. Whatever happens, I've gone bust. My wife can play those same few dollars worth of chips for days.

She becomes “a player.” She tips the croupier. She knows which cliches to say when. She gets laughs from the other players at the table. The house not only gives her free drinks, but the waitress calls her by her first name when she serves them.

Me, I can't even buy a drink because I'm broke. So I just hang around and watch my wife gamble. Gambling changes our relationship. Instead of devoted husband and loving wife, we become professional and amateur. Participant and spectator. Bon vivant and annoying hanger-on.

Once my wife was irritated at my looking over her shoulder and coaching her while she played, so she handed me a roll of nickels a roll of nickels, mind you and said, “Why don't you go play the poker machines?” She said it in the tone of W.C. Fields saying, “Go away, kid, ya bother me.” On our last trip to the Prescott Inn, I avoided the gambling casino. I spent my time touring the art galleries inside the building, looking at and admiring paintings we couldn't afford. My wife, of course, was in the casino, perhaps guaranteeing we couldn't afford them.

I had a great time admiring Western art. My wife, too, had a great time. She played well and wisely and was a big winner. By way of celebration, she purchased one of the art works that we previously couldn't afford. I just love gambling, don't you?

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