The Gambler

I received an invitation to a Kentucky Derby Party this morning. It's an annual event and being something of a social butterfly, I'm used to being in demand. What was a little odd though, was that my company's e-mail blocker refused to let me view it.

I'm not sure which of the forbidden subjects a Kentucky Derby Party would fall under, but as pornography, violence and weapons haven't been a feature of the previous shindigs, I suspect it must have been 'gambling'. Which is a little comical because you see, I hold the official title of the world's worst gambler.

It matters not one whit whether it's a game of chance or skill, the roll of the dice or a study of form, I'm hopeless at it. Uncannily hopeless in fact. Hopeless to the point where other gamblers pay attention to what I do, so they can do the exact opposite and rake in the bucks.

It's not as if I win a little, but lose overall. No, I lose every...single...time. Most other people can happily play the slot machines for hours, sometimes coming away a few dollars up, sometimes a few dollars down, but usually happy with the pleasure they've obtained in exchange for the money they've spent. But me? I might as well just hand over my wallet to the casino owner the moment I walk in and be done with it.

Years ago, my mates and I used to make a bi-annual pilgrimage to the race course at Cartmel. Despite the meetings being held on public holidays, the weather was invariably sunny and warm, while the northern England country setting was impossibly idyllic. Best of all though, the pubs were open all day, which given the archaic licensing laws at the time, was a rare treat. A good day out was invariably guaranteed, but when it came to betting on the races, forget it. The pedigree of the horse was irrelevant. The skill and fame of the jockey mattered not. If I placed a bet, they came last and that was that.

In later years the jockeys used to sit around in the weighing room waiting to see which one of them was to receive my favor. If they learned I'd bet on them, they didn't bother to get changed, they just went home.

My first time in Vegas, that Mecca for the gambling fraternity, I figured it wouldn't hurt to have a wee flutter. I was a backpacker at the time though, and every penny counted, so I was pleased to pick up a leaflet that entitled me to $50 worth of free gambling. Free! The word which brings light into any backpacker's heart. This was my kind of gambling.

The deal was you got one pull of a slot machine, one spin on the wheel of fortune, one throw at the craps table and so on, about 10 different chances to win. The catch was, this had to be spread out over 5 hours or so and I suppose the expectation was that you would play with (and lose) your own money while awaiting your next chance to play for free. Not me though; I'm way too smart (and cheap) for that. No, I played my one roll of the dice; then headed back to the hostel to read my book until it was time for the next shot at the prize. Do you know how much money I won from my $50 worth of free gambling? None. Nada. Zip. Not one single penny and I left Vegas the same way I arrived; on the Greyhound bus.

Whether it was my sister crushing me at Snakes and Ladders ("Chutes" and Ladders, for you Murkans) or taking part in the office sweepstakes on Grand National Day, I've always come a solid last when it comes to games of chance and skill. The fact that my sister cheated like a bandit is little consolation - she would have won anyway.

But my most crushing loss came outside the old Wembley Stadium in London, where yer stereotypical Cockney wide boy had attracted a crowd with a game of "Find the Lady", that well-known method of fleecing the unwary whereby 3 cards, one of them a queen are laid on a table and shuffled from side to side at lightning speed. If you can keep track of which is the queen and identify it at the end, you win. £5 a bet, double your money if you're right. Of course it's not that simple. Distraction, deception and slight of hand are all part of the game but you know what? I had this guy figured out.

I stood there for at least an hour, studying his every move. I saw him switching cards while the punters were reaching for their wallets, I observed him slipping cards up his sleeve and different ones out again, I figured out who in the crowd were his plants, I'm telling you, I had his number.

And I had £5 burning a hole in my pocket. £5 that I could easily turn into £10. Never mind that this included my tube fare back to the hotel. I'm telling you, this was easy.

Oh, that nagging voice kept reminding me that I suck at this; that I'd lost countless times before, that I never, ever won when I gambled. But look! There I was right again. If I'd bet that time I would have won. Again and again, I picked the correct card - if only I'd had the courage to put my money down. Finally, I could stand it no longer and after watching the play like a hawk, I pulled out my £5.

"It's that one!" I declared, planting my index finger firmly on the card and keeping it there. No switching cards this time laddie, I'm too sharp for you. Without batting an eyelid, the wide-boy flipped over the card next to it, and to nobody's surprise but mine, revealed that this was in fact, the Queen.

Devastated, I began the long walk back to central London. I swear I must have watched his routine a hundred times and was right on each one of them. Except for the one hundred and first time, when I put the money down. What did he do differently? I don't know. I do know however, that I was beaten by a master.

As evidenced when he swept passed me in a chauffer driven Mercedes. He and his mates in the back seat, each counting a huge wad of notes.

And they didn't even offer me a ride.

Fly like an Eagle

So on a day reminiscent of The First Bike Ride of Spring, Raven and I took advantage of the spring weather (finally!) and went for a bike ride along the banks of the river Platte. It wasn't warm exactly, but the sun was shining, the grass is turning green and there are definite signs that winter might be on the way out at last. (Don't get me wrong, the winters here are beautiful, but enough already.)

The wildlife were enjoying the mild weather too, so we kept our eyes peeled for anything that might be occurring. The birds in particular, seemed to be out in force, hawks and ravens and crows, many of them simply wheeling and circling in the sky, seemingly just for the fun of it. Before we even began our ride, we spent some time admiring two ravens circling ever and ever higher, apparently for no other reason than that they could.

All awesome stuff but best treat of all came later on the ride. Two golden eagles were playing in the sky up ahead. At one point I thought we'd lost them around a rocky crag but moments later, after a few moments they came swooping towards us, and flew not more than 15-20 feet above our heads before settling on the ground just a few yards away. One of them appeared to have something in its talons but they were obviously aware of our presence because before long, they took off for the tree tops and soon disappeared around the hill.

But not until we'd had the chance to enjoy the blessing of observing these magnificent creatures, from a distance closer than most people are ever lucky enough to experience in a lifetime.

I've seen quite a few bald eagles since moving to the States, but never a golden eagle, and never two at once, and never quite that close.

What a special privilege that was.