Location, Location, Location

I was going to make another installment in the instructional series—”How We Do It: Buying a Seat”—but realize that before we even get into buying “real estate” (our code phrase for seats), we need a crash course on real-estate appraisal. Different seats at the table have value for different reasons.

Let’s quickly review terminology. With some hole-card games and other non-counting games, it is important to specify exactly what seat is needed by the playcaller and other team members. Vague terms like “centerfield” or “left of center” are of course still used, but I always prefer scouts to be specific: “Seat 4” or “Seat 5.” Of course, we use code words for the numbers, so I would tell a scout to lock “a good seat” or “a better seat” for me.

These days, the number of seats at a table can vary. I have seen blackjack tables with as few as three seated spots on the layout, and as many as nine. We use the term “small blind” to refer to the first seat, “big blind” for the second seat, “button” or “anchor” for the last seat, and “cutoff” for the second-to-last seat. So the “cutoff” would be Seat 8 on the Casino Royale’s infamous nine-seat double-deck game. I cannot stress the importance of using code words at all times in a casino. I have experienced numerous instances of bosses trying to sneak up and eavesdrop on conversations, and bosses and surveillance spying on text messaging (confirmed instances!).

These days, card counters disparagingly refer to degenerates as “ploppies” because of the gamblers’ tendency to just plop down in any seat at any game, with no effort at all to search for value. Many of these hypocritical counters do the same thing: they arrive at the casino and plop down at the first new shoe with the desired table minimum, without even checking the pit for hole-card games or other vulnerabilities. (If there is public curiosity, perhaps one day I will post the coded list of all the counters who have played at or adjacent to our table.) 

When they do sit down, counters tend to grab third base, ostensibly so that they can see the hit cards before having to make their own playing decision, but because many counters do in fact believe in the Anchorman Myth (see my rant in Exhibit CAA), despite swearing until the end of time that they do not. Or, they grab a seat with an open, adjacent seat, affording the ability to spread to two hands if desired. This latter criterion is definitely important, but it’s hardly the only locational advantage we consider. Let’s look at some additional criteria:

Heat patrol. A seat that gives the playcaller a view of the pit podium without rubbernecking is very important. With a team play, whoever has that seat needs to alert everyone if there is anything going on.

Real estate with a view. Obviously if you are playing a game where you need visual information, the seat that affords the view is the most important. A hole-card game is the most obvious example, but there are many others. We call the seat with the view the “lucky seat.” Apparently our code has been cracked, because many naive bosses think that in a hole-card game, the spotter always sits at third base, which is usually Seat 7. They don’t understand that this is a different meaning for the word “lucky.” “Lucky” in this context just refers to whichever seat has the view, and it’s not always the button. I’m always frozen when rookies ask, “What seat do you sit in to play a hole-card game?” Um, well, wherever you can see the card from, duh! If you’re asking me for an empirical frequency distribution of lucky seat by seat number, then please rephrase the question before I ignore it.

Obstructing view seats. Controlling certain seats can actually ruin the view. The notable example is playing the cutoff and the button in a pitch game, which can cause some hole-card games to close up due to the body mechanics involved. I was once on a game at Paliss Staytion (probably a decade ago), when the cocky, obnoxious, moonlighting (he was a casino employee) “Shot-kall-er” sat down on the table. Sitting on a game that we’re already playing is the most aggressive of all violations of the Geneva Protocol on AP Rules of Engagement, and I would have none of it. I spread to two spots to shut down the game, and later got an idiotic email saying, “You know that game is better when you play only one spot.” Gee, really? Thanks for telling me, moron. (By the way, you ratted out stal-ker one time while you were on duty. How’d being a hero work out for ya? You a casino manager by now, then?)

Obstructing view seats, Part 2. Having a big player (literally, a big player) sit in the small blind or the button is sometimes useful to block the view of a boss or peeping-Tom dealer on an adjacent deadspread game. In the now-notorious Three Card Poker play that Whee-lchair and I executed at See-Czars Police in April 2000, one of our problems was a nosy dealer on the dead roulette game behind us. If we had an additional teammate, we would have had that teammate play roulette, or stand behind us to block the view.

Cut-card control. One dealer I play puts the cut card into the discard rack when she reaches the end of the shoe. I know that if I sit on the button, she will hand the cut card to my outstretched hand only a few inches away when she starts her shuffle. I then get to cut the next shoe, or pass the cut card off to another designated cutter.

Smooth signaling. I have had plays that were heated up or even ended when the BP got picked off turning his head or looking for a signal. With rookie BPs, I find the play smoother when the BP sits in the small blind, and I sit on the button. Due to the curvature of the table, the BP is now sitting directly facing me, and can see my signals easily (obviously we use audio signals, too). Also, the dealer is unable to simultaneously look at both of us.

Landlocking civilians. Sometimes a civilian is sitting on the button, or in the small blind. When civilians go on losing streaks, they often try to fix it by putting a second spot in play (“open another box,” as my British BP D-Money used to say). By taking the cutoff, or the big blind, respectively, we then lock in the civilian, so that he is unable to spread to two hands. This frustrates some civilians to the point of leaving the table sooner than they otherwise would, which is often our goal. Also, if we take seats 2, 4, and 6 at a seven-spot table, then there are no adjacent pairs of open seats, which will tend to discourage passing couples who are looking for a table to play together. (We are demented and sad and anti-social!)

Safety net. Controlling the seat immediately after the BP gives me the ability to correct signaling and playing errors. The best example I can recall (I recall the hand because of the heat risk from what we did) was nearly a decade ago. It was JoeEV’s 21st birthday, significant because that age affords an American the legal right to gamble nationwide. We had a game at Moneray Bae and he was betting $2000 I believe, and got 99 versus a dealer stiff. I gave him the signal to split. Our signal for split is the same as the signal for surrender, with context or secondary signals indicating which play to make. This was an obvious split, but hey, my BP just turned 21 a few hours earlier, so it happens: He surrendered the 99. Now, if a civilian is sitting in the next spot, the civilian might take a hit, which would then finalize my BP’s surrender. But I controlled the next spot. I refused to act on my hand and verbally said, “Whoa, kid, you don’t want to surrender. The dealer’s gonna bust.” They called the floorman over, and they let JoeEV unsurrender on his hand, taking the chips back out of the rack, and restoring his 99 to the layout. He then split the 99, and the dealer busted, and it turned out to be a big swing result on that hand. Any time the play is tricky, or the BP is a rookie, it helps to have a veteran controlling the spot immediately after the BP. If I’m playing spots 6 and 7, I would definitely prefer my BP to be in spots 4 and 5, rather than 3 and 4, ceteris paribus.