How could I have been so blind as to ignore Keno all these years? A Keno regular tipped me off that the 8-spot was the best bet for the money. So I went over to the Keno counter, where games go on every fifteen minutes or so, and bet twenty-five 8-spot games at a buck each. When the game was over, to my delight 1 found that I had won $260 on my investment of twenty-five bucks at the casino.
I pocketed the windfall and decided then and there that on my next Vegas visit I would play Keno exclusively.
Ten days later I returned to Las Vegas, and the Sahara.
Once in my room, I unpacked my working tools: an accountant's yellow pad, a ruler, and a fine-line accountant's pen that I had purchased especially for the trip. Off to the Keno Lounge, where I zeroed in on the trash cans toward the back, and fished out all the discarded cover sheets from the previously played games. I sorted them out, amassing a complete set of the past 26 games.
I set to work on the tedious job of tracking the winning numbers of all 26 games on my yellow-lined accountant's pad. Thirty minutes later I had it all down. I went back to the trash can to retrieve and tally the games played since.
Now I had all the information I needed. It was time to play Keno for keeps. If I was serious in my endeavor, it meant that I should play Keno on steady a basis. I couldn't just play a couple cards at a time.
I played one hundred 8-spot games at a buck a game, every game. I played and I tallied. And I played and I tallied. And I played and I tallied. For sixteen straight hours, nonstop, I played the game and then tallied it onto my sheet. To keep my wits about me, I eschewed alcohol and lived solely on coffee frosteds and tomato juice, which, from time-to-time necessitated rapid, punctuated trips to the nearest men's room to run some water through my lingam.
When the smoke cleared sixteen hours and thousands of games later, did I ever get an eight-out-of-eight and make that $25,000 windfall?
Did I win or did I lose during my Keno marathon? Again, the answer is no to both questions. Okay, let me explain.
Keno is like a greased pig—you almost have it, but, dammit, the oily porker always slips out of your clutches. There were times during the sixteen-hour marathon when I was two or three thousand ahead, only to hit a dry spell where everything evened out, and even dipped into the minus column. During my 16-hour marathon I had a 7-out-of-8 in the first ten numbers picked, only to be zeroed out in the next ten numbers. All I needed was one number out of the second ten, just one more goddam number, but it never did show up.
The Keno writers worked on six-hour shifts, six hours on and twelve off. As I was on a sixteen-hour marathon, just before I was ready to call it a day, the first shift returned. "Oh, I see you're back," commented a Keno writer as he marked up my tickets.
He peered at me intently for a moment, then muttered, "Buddy, you're bulletproof."
When, bowing to sheer exhaustion, I packed it in at the end of the sixteen-hour marathon session, I was about $600 ahead—a $600 profit for playing almost 15,000 games! Without a doubt, it was the hardest $600 I ever made, gambling or otherwise. I blindly stumbled out of the Keno Lounge down the hall to my hotel room. Once in my room, I was afraid to take a bath in my zombie-like condition,- I feared I'd drown in the tub! Instead I staggered into the shower. Once under the soothing warm water I closed my eyes—just for a second—and fell asleep standing up! I only know this because as I slumped against the shower wall I was jarred awake by my own snoring! Needless to add, I was forever cured from playing Keno.Share on: