“Every time they thought you’d call you just turn your back and walk…..” ‘You’re Still the Same’ Bob Seger and the Silver Bullet Band
The words were amongst the many quotes from musical legends that I could read as I made my way through the long tunnel that separated my hotel room from the fueling station (pool complex). A sparkling waterfall, to my left, bathed in the reflections of the giant glass guitar. The sound coming from the speakers was the soundtrack of my life. The tunnel was the gateway to the energy source. After a long exhale, I took a bold step into the bright light. Today I was beginning my 65th journey circling the sun. I was back to the place I’d been before. I have arrived at the point in life where the grades are being handed out by the teacher, and the teacher is myself. I had returned to the place where all those evil demons had brought me to my knees. The same evil spirits that smacked me, threw me off course, putting me on the verge of Hari Kari. Striding through the dark tunnel I could feel the anticipation of a heavyweight prize fight. I was very confident the demons that resided here were not going to lay a glove on me. I grabbed a couple of towels to guard against the early morning south Florida wind. The pool boys and girls were dressed like they were getting ready for a day in Bismark, North Dakota. They still did their best to sell product. “It’s 55 right now, but it will be up to 65 by noon, with a sun index all the way up to 6.0.” I plopped down in a lounge chair, snuggled with a book (‘First Lie Wins’)and made sure I was directly in line with the source. Within 30 seconds my eyes were closed.
The past four years I was enrolled in a four-year self-help class. I signed up under my own recognizance. I am the instructor, the administrator, and the writer of curriculum. Life is series of journeys and tribulations. The only possible way to keep yourself traveling safely is to consistently hold yourself accountable for your actions and mind-set. I was in Southern Florida to celebrate the end of long and successful four-year project, while at the same time calculating plans for the next part of the long-term plan. The destination I chose to exorcise my demons had all the temptations that had haunted me since I started hustling ping pong at the age of seven. It was no accident that I flew right into a place that had defeated me too many times. I was there to test myself. I needed to go face to face with my old friends . I needed to show them all I had recaptured my soul. The only way to destroy your demons is to stare them down, and then enter. For me it has always been about options and I wanted to prove to myself that mine were still wide open. We all have our demons, recognizing them is one thing, but trying to defeat them is a much taller order. It is a natural human trait to avoid all reality that gets in the way of what you believe “You love to do.” In rooms across the world, people, places, and things” are what is correctly preached to be avoided if you are committed to change yourself. In other words, avoid situations where your demons will be put you in a situation that you may not be ready to handle. For four days I was in the middle of enemy lines. I walked the Casino floor with a power and sense of humility I never dreamed possible.
I had arrived the day before, which happened to be the day of the NFL Conference Championship games. A huge “Sports Book” was a new addition since my last trip, and it was clearly the center to all the action. To get to the steakhouse bar I had to walk through the stream betters getting in their halftime fix. The restaurant was a sea of purple jerseys quietly waited for Lamar to make something happen. Between games a band of some old school crooners took to the stage. The lead singer looked like an older version of Jerry Lee Lewis, and had the movements of a younger Elvis Presley. He had extremely long fingers, a fancy suit and captured the room as if his band was making its last stand. I sang along to his cover of Chris Isaak’s ‘Wicked Game’ when the guy with the Michigan hat, whom I had previously encountered at the pool, jumps right in my grill. “What the f….., bad enough about the Ravens, I had Kentucky laying four, and then some little shit from Florida hit a three at the buzzer to make it 79-76.” I am forced to lean back in my chair from the smell of his breath, ‘shit happens,’ I say in as disinterested of a tone as I can muster. He obviously could not read my body language. He proceeded, uninvited to spew all the language and personality traits of a compulsive personality. Within minutes he pulled up a betting application. Pointed to the amount of money he had paid in fees to this gambling vehicle: $188,742.18 in the calendar year of 2023. He then moved on to tell me all about his sexual conquests, going as far as to show me pictures. I was trapped but was not going to allow this unfortunate man to ruin my party. I had decided to settle in and enjoy a set of some good tunes. ‘I got markers waiting for me at the blackjack table,’ I said to him as I rose from my stool. “Oh cool, are you at the high roller tables,” as I nod, he continues, “Great I’ll see you there.” I have not completely quit lying.
My adjustment landed me at a blackjack table, one with the kind of level suited for someone who was anything but a high roller. Since the age of 18, I have spent at least a full year of cumulative time seated at a blackjack table. Anyone who has indulged at this magnitude likely understands the game of “21” has all the elements of an emotional torture chamber. The feelings range from ecstasy to depression. Hope to doubt. Stimulation to impotence. I had always been the kid who loved the roller coaster but vomited every time. Participating at the blackjack table was not in the original plan. Four days of sun, good food, lots of rest, and absolutely no gambling or alcohol was the assignment. In the center of hell, it can be difficult not to end up putting your feet into the fire. ‘One thousand please.’ My stay at the gaming tables, my lone venture indulging the beast lasted three shoes, about 20 minutes. It took my first blackjack “21” hand to find the trigger for my motivation to walk away. The rules have changed yet again. In all my years in the game a “blackjack” for the player paid two to one. I glanced down to my ace of clubs and one-eyed jack only to realize the return was 130 dollars instead of 150 dollars. I said nothing, but my decision was made. I pushed my stacks forward and took my 940 dollars’ worth of chips to the cashier’s window. That would be the end of my gambling for the entire trip. The rush of power I was feeling was palpable. The same young man who would get orgasmic at the sight of green felt could have never seen himself as the old man walking away from it all just because he could.
The up-front motivation for my mid-winter trip was all about rest and vitamin D. It was about closing an old chapter, going back over all the past chapters, and determining where we were going next. One more time I wanted to go right to the edge and wave goodbye. I was where I was to reinforce the power I have in recent years obtained over my demons. I was in South Florida, alone, for the fist time in almost two years. I could go anywhere in this great big world but I purposely chose to dive into the belly of the attractions that had at one time swallowed me. The sounds, the lights, and the electricity merge into a dangerous cocktail filled with dopamine. The action can knock you over if you’re not careful. Inside the casino for a compulsive gambler is the same as the inside of hell. The casino contains all the trappings designed specially for the customer to lose all sense of time as well as any perspective of money (reality). There are ten cocktail lounges, 200 gaming tables, a recently added sports book, and over 140,000 feet of casino floor carpet, of which I probably treaded across ten times a day. In each pass through I could not sense any weakness, only strength. Every step I took felt like I was on a victory march through the land of the defeated. I was face to face with my demons. I was not afraid. I had rendered them powerless. There was no doubt about who was now in control. I could see the gargoyles walking behind me shaking their heads.
I was exiting the long tunnel for the final time of the trip. I passed a middle-aged man leaning on his cane taking a photograph of the pool scene through the waterfalls. Inside the hotel I pressed the up button and waited for my ride. Stepping out of the cable shuttle I was about to enter was my old, or should I say new, buddy, the man in the Michigan hat. If not for the big gold M on his hat I could not recognize this man, I had been forced to get to know only a few days ago. He looked like he had just gone through a 15 round prize fight. I quickly put away my smug grin and greeted this lost soul like a childhood friend. Mr. Michigan appeared to have aged ten years since I last saw him on Monday. The tea bags under his eyes sagged to his upper lip. “Hey man, I hope you made out better than I did the last couple of days.” It was a bit past nine am. Most of the people of the world had already eaten their breakfast and had started their busy days. The carry bag was strapped over his broad shoulders. “I dropped about 50 grand, didn’t get any sleep, but man did I have a great time.” There was zero concern shown by my new friend for how I had made out on my stay, but that’s way it is when you’re moving that fast. I stepped into my lift and pressed 23. I took a deep breath and knew it was time to grab my things and find my way home. I had come to say goodbye to all of my old beginnings and hello to new endings. On the ride home I thought about Mr. Michigan and the opposite directions we were headed.
