ROANOKE TIMES
Copyright (c) 1996, Roanoke Times
DATE: Thursday, October 3, 1996 TAG: 9610030086
SECTION: EXTRA PAGE: 1 EDITION: METRO
COLUMN: off the clock
SOURCE: CHRIS HENSON
Your first card is an eight. The second is a three. The dealer's showing a six. Who knows what his other card is?
You've got $25 worth of red chips sitting in a short stack in front of you, riding on that eight and three. You've got another $30 worth to spare. Your cards don't look like much at all, just 11 mismatched hearts and clubs marooned on a green velvet table top.
Want to double your bet?
You better believe you do.
Blackjack is a popular casino card game in which each player's hand is made up of at least two cards. The object is to add the face value of those two cards, and any additional cards you take, and get as close to 21 as possible without going over, or "busting."
But there's more to blackjack than making 21. That's what Craig Wright will tell you. Yeah, it's a game of luck. But, the more you know ... well, the luckier you are.
And sure, you can go to Atlantic City, or Vegas, buy a stack of chips for $1,000, and learn the hard way. "Or," says Wright, "you can hang out with me for a little while, and practice your game for free. It's a lot cheaper."
Chips and tips. That's what he's dealing.
Just about every Friday and Saturday, Wright sets up a homemade blackjack table at Spurs on Williamson Road. He's got those heavy, professional chips, all the accessories and the dealer's patter down pat: "Step up folks. We're playing blackjack, just for fun. Your first $50 worth of chips are free. Try your luck, practice your technique and have a little fun tonight."
Fun, indeed. It's not real gambling because the chips only represent money - you can't actually win anything.
Even with no real money at stake, Wright's enthusiasm is contagious. "Sometimes, it's amazing how excited these people get," he says.
Wright, a morning talk-show host and promotion director for WFIR-AM, says a lot of things contributed to his idea of moveable blackjack.
"I'd seen permanent tables in bars around Cleveland and in South Florida," he says. "I've always had a fascination for games. And, I'm a bit of a statistician." Wright has hit the tables himself in Atlantic City and the Caribbean.
"I figured I couldn't talk any club owners into a permanent setup, so I built a portable table. I just take it with me."
Wright travels with a table large enough to accommodate seven players. It's curved and padded for the gambler's elbows, and features an official green felt top, with basic rules and betting areas printed right on it.
Since early summer, Wright has shuffled into a couple of local clubs and some private parties. A recent Friday night at Spurs finds him in the back lounge, dealing to a steady stream of customers, curious first-timers and a few regulars who step out of the country line dance to try their luck.
Randy Ahlgrim is here from Richmond. He travels with his flooring business. "I just got back from the Bahamas," he says. "I lost $500 at the blackjack tables. That's why I like this guy, I won big off of him a few weeks ago. Too bad it's not real money."
After a few games his chips are gone. He decides to try his luck at dancing.
Frank Austin sits down and gets his free chips with a sense of purpose. Has he ever been gambling for real? "Not yet," he says. "But I hope to have that much money someday."
A couple of hands into it his cards show a lousy 12, with $40 riding on them. Wright offers him another card.
"No, I'll stand," he says.
"All right," says Wright. "We've got a brave man standing on a 12."
Austin turns to the woman next to him. "Watch this," he says.
The dealer busts a few cards later.
"Yes-s-s-s-s-s!" says Austin, making the "cha-ching" pumping motion with his arms.
He's got 12 red chips, each worth $5, and a green chip for $25. A few more hands and he gets his first $100 chip, the black one. Everybody wants the black ones. A few more hands and Austin is fondling a stack of black chips. "Mama raised me right," he explains.
Perhaps his mama told him about probability in the cradle.
For others less knowledgeable, Wright is eager to help out. "Let me tell you why you shouldn't have done that," he tells one hapless rookie. This is the part he likes most, sharing his passion for the game.
Wright gets paid a flat fee to haul his table in and deal. When the players run out of free chips they can buy more, 10 bucks worth for $1. Plus Wright gets tips.
Still, he has bigger plans for his cottage-casino industry. He hopes to build and sell the portable setups nationally. "I've got a few people interested," he says. Each outfit runs about $1,700. "I figure it pays for itself in about two months."
In the front room at Spurs there's a big ol' bar and a big ol' dance floor. Some lights, and 1,000 gallons worth of 10-gallon hats bobbing and swirling. There are boots and big hair, crinolines and leather fringe.
There's a quieter bar in the back lounge. It's a little cooler. There's a television blaring videos by Wynonna, Dolly, Shania and Travis. Everything has a comfy twang to it.
And there's blackjack. Wright figures that the table is good for traffic at the club. He's got regular customers, which means Spurs does as well.
Wright reckons his deal is pretty sweet, too. "It's fun. People love the game," he says. Then he points his dealer's thumb at the TV and gives a wry grin. "And, I'm keeping up on country music."
LENGTH: Medium: 100 linesby CNB