Since 2007, when I almost missed my brother's wedding reception in Las Vegas because I was too busy winning at craps (true story), I don't think I've had a casino experience as splendid as that which I had yesterday at Dover Downs. And not just because I won, which I did, but because compared to my last experience at Charles Town Races and Slots and Table Games and Diabetes, the casino floor at Dover was a refreshing change. For one, I didn't see any oxygen tanks and it wasn't depressing. The table limits were normal ($10 minimums) and the dealers, well one of them, was the best Spanish 21 dealer of all time -- Bill.
Imagine a white-haired octogenarian with a slight build, a face like Clint Eastwood and a penchant for complimenting your smile. That's Bill! And lest I forget, the clincher: Upon recounting how he snagged his younger, Filipino wife, he very romantically recounted, "She raped me on our first date!" Zing?
But here's the thing: Not only did Bill spit strangely hilarious date-rape jokes, he also nurtured and maintained a really great vibe among the entire table. When people were doing well, you'd see high-fives, say all kinds of wOots! and hear several "Suck my bawls!" Of course, the latter only came from my gambling partner of choice, Anti DC Creative Director Terry the Tourette's Turtle, who was betting -- and winning -- $200 per hand. Indeed, suck his bawls.
But here's the more important thing: Even when you lost you still had fun because the atmosphere Bill created was so damn cool. Now that is motherf*cking genius. I hope Dover pays Bill well because that man has the ability to make you lose thousands and still come back for more. He's kind of like the personification of this blog, except instead of money, the only thing lost here that makes you come back for more is brain cells. So, I'll e-see you guys tomorrow then, right? Because this is how I feel about you, creepy rainforest sound effects and all.