20-February-2010

We stood by a moment and watched. After the dealer called all betting over, a giddy, blonde girl standing directly in front of the table’s center pulled on a die dangling overhead. The string it hung from, in turn, yanked open a trap door at the front of the basket, and the dice we’d just seen the dealer load tumbled down the tower’s steps. When they got to the bottom, the miniature boxing ring kept them from flying across the table. Apparently whichever color showed on two or more dice once they’d stopped was the winner.

It seemed simple enough, but continuing to watch, I discovered some other rules. For one, for every die past the first two that showed your color you won 25 percent more. Also, if no color showed you had to double your bet or the dealer would collect it as a loss. Then there was a kind of En Prison rule: If one of the blocks got stuck in the mini-boxing ring’s ropes everyone got to play another round, but they had to leave their bets where they were.

It was far too bizarre a game for me to make any sense of its true odds, so Ferdinand, Susanne and I agreed we’d have a go at it just for laughs. We played the same colors we had before, and not long after, Susanne took over pulling the rope when the blonde girl and her friends moved on. All in all, it was a great experience, and the three of us had tons of fun. But we weren’t becoming any wealthier for all that.

At one point I was down while Ferdinand was catching nothing but breaks. I began following his bets around the table and, in doing so, apparently infected him with my bad luck.

“C’mon, man,” Ferdinand whined. “You’re the plague. Get out of my pot.”

We both chuckled at how out-of-place his Texas Hold em slang was. We were actually enjoying ourselves - actually, seriously and finally. It had been so long since either of us had played a game without all the jargon and mathematical mumbo-jumbo that relying exclusively on Lady Luck was like revisiting our childhoods.

Finally, I decided to just hand him what was left of my “Island Roulette” winnings and my camera and head for the pavilion for more beer. As I’d hoped it would, Tobago, with its unnamed games, riotous music and sapphire seascape, was having an effect on me: It was forcing me to remember the excitement that had gotten me into gaming before all the cold, hard facts had turned me into a pessimist.

Standing in line in the pavilion didn’t bother me even half as much as it would have if I’d been doing it back in New York. And watching the same gangly old lady again, still cutting a rug with the same dapper local, I couldn’t help but reflect that as cynical as I’d become the truth was there was no containing life.

Sure, you might try to set up boundaries, morals, ethics, rules. But, at the end of the day, you were no likelier to catch bullets than rags. It was gambling and games in general that brought all the uncertainty full-focus, boiled life down to its bare bones. But, unlike life, there was far less on the line with gambling. When you were done, whether you’d won or lost, you were still breathing—still alive to play another game.

Coming out of the pavilion, beer in-hand, I couldn’t be touched. I pressed through the dancers toward the gaming tables, pausing several times to do a momentary, stiff-bodied shuffle against several local and tourist girls, until I found myself back in front of Ferdinand and Susanne. Ferdinand, who had apparently been having a stellar run, handed me a stack of bills and, pointing to the large man from before who was now scowling beside the “Battle Blocks” dealer, said, “How about heading home?”

I smiled defiantly at the “Big Man” before letting my friends pull me toward Buccoo Road. Who cares, I thought, we won, and at least for one night it was our right to feel like winners. Sliding into the Rio, I pulled the three Caribs I’d bought from the pockets of my cargo shorts, opened them and passed two of them to the front. Then, taking a long gulp of my own, I settled in for the ride home.

*”I’ve never seen anything like it!” - “Why are you letting them bet so much at one time?”
† “Heck, man! How was I to know they’d win so much?!”
‡ “How did I ever get into this mess?!” - “Your days are numbered, count on it!”

By: Phill Provance
phill.provance@acehoyle.com

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