Blackjack Apprenticeship Card Counting Resources

In search of a cheap last- minute flight to a casino destination west of the Rockies, I stumbled upon something wonderful this week. The cheapest flight available—shockingly cheaper than all of the others—involved a nine-hour layover in Las Vegas.

In the minds of the airline this was the worst way to travel. And it might well have been if the layover were anywhere else. But for me, an advantaged player too well-known to stay under the radar for very long in any major casino destination, nine hours in Vegas was just what the doctor ordered.

I rented a car for 17 dollars. I cashed in a fist full of comp offers for chips, cash, and rooms all over town (They keep rolling in despite my illustrious and oft-flyered track record. When will the various marketing departments get the memo that I have been deemed “Not Welcome?”)

I swung through a handful of casinos, prairie-dogging in and out of shoes. These were all of the same haunts I had been backed off from multiple times before, but on this visit I never stayed long enough to get caught.

With an hour left before my flight, I went back to my palatial “layover” suite where I caught a 20-minute nap and a shower, before heading back to the airport with an extra 12 grand in my pocket, ready to parachute into the next enemy territory.

Since the comp offers are always rolling in, and since Vegas can be a risky trip by oneself, not worth a lengthy stay or the diminishing comp offers alone, now I have the means to hit it hard and often—layovers!

–Loudon Ofton

Here we go again. A brash young pit boss with an itchy trigger finger just backed me off. It’s déjà vu all over again. Listen—no one can know you are a good card counter in the first hour. It’s impossible. Maybe after 500 hours of play YOU still aren’t sure. That is par for the course when you are playing a game with wild variance. It just takes time to assess.

No doubt my tosser-outer du jour is patting himself on the back for “pegging me.” I feel an open letter coming on.

Dear Casino Owners, Managers, and Pit Personnel:

If you like your money, you have reason to fear me. But fear is the beginning of love—see—and if you like your money, you have reason to clear out the smallest corner of your bleak black heart for me. After all, I keep you in business.

See, it is because of people like me that you are able to prey upon the people who are 99% like me. I play perfect blackjack. They play almost perfect blackjack. I win money. They lose money. It is because blackjack is a “beatable” game that so many millions of under-informed, under-prepared patrons try their hand at the tables. They eagerly spread their wallets for the glimmer of a chance of a hope that they will win big.
“It’s a beatable game,” the large man told me at the tables last night. He proceeded to double down on a hard thirteen. “Not anymore,” I replied.

For every dollar you lose to me, you get hundred back from the bleating sheep crowding the sea of blackjack tables day in and day out, when I am here and when I am not.

You should celebrate me. You should hang my picture on the wall and say, “Win big like this guy!” Pat me on the back. Buy me a drink. I am doing more for you than your billboard on the interstate. More than your sad promotional mailers. More than your drink specials. I am what every player wants to become. I am the Real Deal.

Now, be assured, It will be our little secret. Nobody needs to know that perfect blackjack takes time, dedication, hard work and plenty of risk to actually make it pay off. This is America. By god they Want It Now, and you’ve always been ready to give it to them—at 98 cents on the dollar. So why would you squash those quick-fix dreams by denying them a hero to emulate? Put me on a pedestal and the dollar bills the people throw will land at your feet.

–Loudon Ofton

Here’s a first: I just got comped–against my will.

I arrived at the large tribal casino knowing I had been backed off here before. If I had any chance for earning EV, I would have to fly under the radar. I would hit the graveyard shift in “Disguise #1.” The following morning (different shift) I would play in “Disguise #2.” Complication: only when I arrived did I realize that the nearest motel was half an hour away, equivalent to an hour of lost playing time for each round trip, so I ended up just booking a room at the casino. More pricey and risky, but I deemed it worth the trade-off in a very tightly scheduled weekend of play.

I played that night as Full-Bearded Leather Harley Dude. I made sure I entered from the overflow parking lot so that surveillance could never tie me to the hotel. When the dealer passed over me and my hard 17 against a dealer ace, I complained to the pit.

Pit Boss: “What did you want to do with that 17?”

Me: “Surrender it.”

Pit Boss (with a wry smile): “That IS the right move.”

I ended the session on my  biggest bet. This is a great way to get max EV and still exit a casino without a backoff. Stand up. Declare you are going to bed, and move all in. The pit is less likely to worry about you, because you are headed out the door. If the count goes down, you make good on your promise. If the count goes up, there is always a good excuse to stay for “one more hand.”

“You staying here tonight?” asked the dealer.

“Nope.” I replied loud enough for the pit to hear.

The next morning I suited up as Respectable Clean-Shaven Tucked Khaki Golfer Guy and swung by the lobby for my hotel receipt.

Desk Lady: “I’m sorry, I can’t give you a receipt.”

Me: “Say what?”

Desk Lady: “The casino comped you the room based on last night’s play.”

I had not given a player’s card or ID at the casino. And if they figured me out, they would have to know that I had been backed off before. So they NOT ONLY positively ID’d me and DIDN’T back me off, but they tracked me down as an ACTUAL hotel guest. And how did they stick it to me for catching me in the act? THEY COMPED MY ROOM AGAINST MY WILL. The kicker–four more hours of no-backoff play after this debacle. Can someone make sense of all this?

–Loudon Ofton

If there ever is an appropriate time to throw a tantrum—it is now.

When the new dealer stepped up I was betting two hands of $500 each at an advantaged count. She burned a card, waited for a player to finish fumbling with his bet, burned a card, and dealt out the round.

Catch that? Two burn cards.

I got a hard 13 and a hard 14. Dealer got an ace.  Cue tantrum.

“You burned two cards!” I whine.

“Did I?” At my insistence she calls for the pit boss. I huff and I puff and I reiterate.

“She burned two cards instead of one!”  The pit boss dabs the sweat on his forehead with his tie. He decrees unto us the option to pull back bets on hands we don’t find to our liking. I don’t hesitate. The dealer flips a nine under to make a hand of 20. I would have lost both hands.

Dealer errors overwhelmingly play to the advantage of the player. When they are in your favor, you win. When they are not in your favor, you win–as long as you call them on it (and occasionally “help” the pit see it your way).  You can earn chances to pull back on ugly hands, play the round with both dealer cards exposed, etc.

I once had a hard 18 and saw a three sitting face up in the shoe, perched to come out next. I quickly doubled down for a guaranteed 21 and almost laughed myself out of the chair when the pit let the result stand. Stay on your toes, people!

–Loudon Ofton

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