The Real Skinny

by JP Massar

Some of you may have seen Breaking Vegas, the History Channel documentary about the MIT Blackjack Team. One of its scenes involves a beautiful casino hostess, a Caribbean island, a strip search, and me.

You may have wondered whether the incident was more drama than truth, or what the story behind the story was.

As a rule, the Breaking Vegas documentary was very accurate, and their portrayal of this kerfuffle was no exception. Yes, I was strip-searched, yes there was a female casino host, and yes she did walk into the Casino manager's office with me standing there in my birthday suit. And yes, it all took place on a Caribbean island. But why were we there, and under what circumstances did all my clothes come off?

The Casino was Looking for Action

One New England winter's day I had seen an advertisement for the casino where these events were to take place. It was on the back of one of the gambling magazines you typically find in the lobbies of casino hotels. And it said they were looking for action, prominently displaying some $500 chips to emphasize the point. It was a place I'd never heard of, but it was obviously warm. I was intrigued.

I was sure we could give them some action (heh), so I called up one of the team's 'big players', a Mr. H, and suggested a venture to this island. He was all for it. He called up the casino, told them he was high roller in Atlantic City (true enough), said he was interested in their resort, and asked what they could do for him (and his entourage). I'm not sure of the details any more (it was 16 or 17 years ago), but eventually all was arranged. Mr. H, his wife, his supposedly sycophant gambling companion (me), and another team member, Dan, were going on a Caribbean adventure.

When we arrived the casino was, to express it with typical American overstatement, dead. We might not have been the only people playing table games, but we were very likely the only ones betting over $25. They may have advertised for action, but they certainly didn't seem like they were either expecting it or knew what to do with it when they saw it. Still, we were there for three days; there was nothing to do but see what their reaction would be to $1000 and higher bets.

So the MIT Blackjack Team Went into Action

We immediately began winning: $20,000, $30,000, up to maybe $50,000. For all I know this was more than the Casino manager of this establishment had ever experienced losing to a single customer. Still, he was a very proper Brit, gentlemanly and polite, not at all like your typical American supervisor who stands there and scowls at you. He was very nice to us, but there was no doubt that he was seriously worried.

He must have made some inquiries, perhaps to the Griffin Detective Agency, perhaps to friends of his in Las Vegas. And if those inquiries were indeed made they surely yielded some interesting information about me. According to Griffin, I was known to use (or at least strongly suspected of using) a blackjack computer! (C.f. Keith Taft) (I am certain of this because at some point after this adventure took place, I was able to view my 'page' in the Griffin Agency's Black Book of cheats thieves and card counters).

The only problem with this information was that it was utterly false. No one on the MIT Blackjack Team had to that point (or ever has, to my knowledge) used a blackjack computer or other electronic device to assist them in playing '21'.

Presumably based on his newfound knowledge, the Casino manager approached Mr. H, Dan and myself two days into our trip and nicely asked if I would be willing to be strip searched, because he suspected I was concealing a computer. I was a bit stunned. It's one thing to have goons chasing you out the door, it's another to have a very British gentleman inform you that he thinks you're a bit of a rotter, and 'by the way, would you take off your clothes?' But it was not more than several seconds before, having considered the possibilities, I said 'Okay!' After all, I had nothing to lose but my underwear.

The Search for the Blackjack Computer

And so into the Casino manager's office we went. I'm not sure if Mr. H accompanied me, but Dan and a security guard were there. They all stood there watching as I took off every last bit of clothing. And then our young and attractive casino hostess, who had been doing a fine job taking care of us since we arrived, opened the Casino manager's door and started to walk in (on what business I will never know). I do not doubt that she will ever forget what she saw, nor will she ever again be more surprised than she was at that moment. Fortunately for all concerned she exited very quickly, and I suppose her employer paid for whatever psychological counseling she required!

After examining my shoes in extreme detail (in mounting desperation, I suppose) our friend the Casino manager turned the beetiest shade of red I have ever seen. From the way he acted he had been absolutely sure he was going to find a computer, or at least something incriminating. Nothing. Nada. I would have loved to have been telepathic just then.

The Revenge of the Naked Blackjack Card Counter

Now it was my turn. After dressing and being apologized to, the Casino manager asked what he could do to make this up to us. I got very indignant, relating how we had all, especially Mr. H and his pregnant wife, come down here to relax and enjoy a vacation, and now he had ruined it, RUINED IT, for all concerned. At the very least, at the VERY LEAST, he could guarantee that all our airfares, lodging and meals would be picked up by the establishment (we had hoped and expected this would be the case, but these things are never certain until you've got the cash in your pocket and you're on your way home, especially when you're winning).

And he agreed. True to his English word, all our expenses were covered. From a distance of 16 years. I can't help but feel just a bit sorry for the guy. After all, he was scammed by a stark naked card counter in the very heart of his lair. He just didn't know how.

And that's the real skinny.