Gambling with the Maverick

The NYT recently ran a story about McCain's ties to the gambling industry. As such, I feel obliged to share the account of the time I gambled with McCain in the gorgeous city of Las Vegas.

It was like any other day night indeterminate part of the day in Las Vegas. I had just regained consciousness after a night of siphoning watered-down whiskey at the two dollar blackjack tables. After ascertaining that this was, indeed, my hotel room, I heard knocking on the door.

A knock on the door in Vegas is rarely good news, unless you have ordered room service or a skank. Being sure I had ordered neither, nor both, I immediately hid under the covers. Within minutes, the door was broken down and two secret service agents rushed into the room.

Not again. When I groaned and retreated into a fetus position, they informed me that my country needed me, and that McCain wanted to gamble. With me. Me? I asked. Yes, they said. Really? I asked. Yes, they repeated. Can I shower first? I asked. Please, they replied.

After emerging from the shower, I was immediately whisked away to meet with McCain. He seemed eager to gamble, if a bit impetuous. He kept repeating how we have to "drop the bomb on them." I reminded him (he had to be reminded of a lot of things) that there were cameras everywhere, that they'd see us coming, and that, if we dropped even one bomb, no matter where, every casino on the Strip would hate us. And nothing good can come of that. All he said in response was, "I'm the Maverick, bitches! Yee-haw!" and walked away laughing.

We hit many of the casinos in town, with the exception of Mandalay Bay. What I remember most vividly, though, was this lady in McCain’s entourage. She seemed, to be polite, a little overwhelmed. At the craps table, I asked who she was, and they told me that she was supposed to step in, if, for some reason, McCain was unable to continue gambling. Really? I asked. They shrugged. I looked at her and she was watching the craps table with the same expression I imagine I’d have if someone was explaining non-Euclidean mathematics to me. Something like a hopeless smile being assaulted by an irresistible urge to scream. So I went and asked her why she’d be good at craps. Her syntax was iffy, and, if written down, the answer would not be in proper English, but she said something about how she had a game of Monopoly at home, and that involved throwing dice.

With that, our luck started to change. Suddenly, there was no money left. We were playing on casino credit for a while, but then it seems we overdrew, and I told McCain not to use Circus Circus credit, but he didn’t listen, and then Circus Circus collapsed because nobody goes to it, because, really, who goes to a casino called Circus Circus, so all of a sudden, we owed all this money to the Venetian, but our credit was useless, except, for a moment, it seemed like Caesar’s was going to buy our debt, but they reneged, and so we were all in the lurch, and well, being in Vegas without money is like Armageddon.

So I turned to McCain. He’s been around for hundreds of years. He’d know what to do. I asked him what the plan was. What he proposed flabbergasted me.

He wanted to suspend gambling! He wanted to step aside and sit a few plays out! In Vegas! When down! He wanted to stop gambling when he still owed the house money!

In Vegas, I explained to him, loudly and slowly, you’re supposed to try to win money. That’s why you’re here. If you’re starting to lose money, you try to make some more. You don’t suspend the gambling. When the chips are down, you keep going.

Fair enough, he said. Then he said he needed to go get his contacts out in his room, and he’d be right back. Of course, he never came back.

What happened, John? You used to be cool.