I am a card counter. I got hooked on blackjack thirty years ago to the point of obsession. I love the game; there's nothing as exciting as beating a casino and walking out the door with more money in your pockets than when you entered. To walk in with the ability to beat the house, knowing the casino will do everything it can to stop you, gives a James Bond, Spy-vs-Spy flavor to the experience. The heart races. The feeling is not unlike that which I recall from my childhood when all the kids in my neighborhood would choose up sides for "cops and robbers." I'd forgotten how much fun it was to hide, sneak, run, hold your breath in anticipation…
Then I discovered card counting. It took me a year of weekend trips to Nevada, some dozen books on card counting, and another half-dozen books on mathematics, to learn that I didn't have enough money to play the game professionally. Prior to the 1980s, many blackjack authors seemed to neglect the risk factor, and didn't provide much guidance on bet-sizing according to bankroll. The counter's edge is small, and the fluctuation of capital is huge. If you don't have enough money, you won't last.
I'll never forget my first trip to Nevada as a card counter. I was driving a car that was 15 years old and over the hill—it guzzled gas and leaked oil. Winding up through the Sierra Nevada Mountains on my way to Lake Tahoe and the casinos of Stateline, I had to stop twice to add a quart of oil and give my overheated wreck a rest. I was with a friend, and we were splitting the cost of the trip. The way we figured it, after paying for gas, oil, motel room and meals, we'd have about $55 left over to play at the $1 blackjack tables.
When I pulled over to the shoulder of the road for my second oil stop, I said to my friend, "It's hard to believe that we're on our way to becoming wealthy. I hope my car makes it up this damn mountain."
"A year from now," my friend responded, "you'll look back on this day and laugh. This is just the beginning."
One year and a dozen trips to Nevada later, I thought back to that first trip and I laughed. I was again on my way to Stateline, this time alone. My car had long since broken down, beyond repair, and I didn't have the money to replace it. I was traveling by bus, and the way I figured it, if I was ahead by twenty-five bucks the first day, I could get a motel room and stay for another day. Otherwise, it was back to the Greyhound station that night. About that time I started to realize I'd been fooling myself into believing I'd get rich easily at this card game.
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