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Las Vegas is no longer a sportsbetting Disneyland. That is a given. And one of the main reasons the town has lost its luster as a Mecca for players is the continual devolution of sportsbetting phone wagering.
Years ago, when 5 dimes was the equivalent of what 10 or more dimes is now, several sportsbooks—Churchill Downs, the Hilton, Little Caesar’s, the Stardust, and later Binion’s and the Mirage—would take phone wagers of 5 dimes or more in all major sports. Now, in baseball, no one takes more than 2 dimes, and in the NBA the highest available limit on sides is a pathetic $1,500.
The purpose of this post is to graphically illustrate, by providing a specific example, the demise of Las Vegas phone accounts. Hence, the apropos subtitle the “Second Worst Don Best Sportsbook.”
If the purpose of this post were to specify the second-best Don Best sportsbook, then, undoubtedly, great debate about my choice would ensue, and the offshore cognoscenti would be deeply embroiled in factious controversy regarding the deserving designee.
However, since the purpose of this post is to designate the second- worst book, and because I believe my evidence to be irrefutable, I seriously doubt if any dissenters will dare challenge my nominee for the dishonor of the second-worst Don Best sportsbook. Therefore, for the dubious distinction of the second- worst Don Best Sportsbook, I hereby do nominate the Excalibur. And, I hereby do invite any dissenters to voice their opinion regarding this choice.
The Excalibur is runner-up on the Don Best Worst Sportsbooks List primarily because of a singular cardinal sin that they are habitually guilty of: failure to update their betting lines on the Don Best Feed. Virtually every time I see a good betting line from them on the Don Best Screen, and I call to bet that game, I am given a different line. At that point, I always tell them what the line is on the Don Best Screen, and they then update the Screen to the line they just gave me. In essence, I serve as their update service. Without my constant input, they seemingly lack the initiative to update on their own.
Recently, when I complained to a phone clerk about their failure to update their lines on the Don Best Screen, the young man said to me: “Give us a break; it’s after 3:00 PM.” Well, that was the last straw. At that point, I decided that I needed to immediately conduct a thorough and detailed investigation to determine the real reasons for the Excalibur’s negligence regarding line updates. So, I took the first plane to Vegas, grabbed a taxi, and, presto, I was at the Excalibur.
When I walked into the Casino, a stark realization immediately hit me: This place was nothing but a depressing medieval-like dungeon filled with slot machines instead of torture chambers. I pondered the idea that merely working in such an oppressive environment could easily contribute to the lassitude exhibited by the sportsbook workers. After all, experts on the effects of building design and structure on human behavior, such as the late Buckminster Fuller (who invented the geodesic dome), have claimed that people’s mental state and functional ability are powerfully affected by the shape of the buildings they inhabit or work in.
Having assessed the effects of the Excalibur as an edifice and work environment, my next line of detective work was to check the food ingested by the sportsbook workers. After all, many health experts subscribe to the dictum that you are what you eat. Perhaps, I reasoned, poor diet was causing the poor work performance at the sportsbook. With this in mind, I decided to sample the cuisine at the casino coffee shop and the buffet. First, I tried the coffee shop. To make a long story short, I will simply say that the food at this restaurant was so bad that, by comparison, it made Denny’s seem gourmet. For my next meal, I sampled the buffet. However, before I critique it, I need to tell you a little story.
My father, now 82, told me that when he was a boy growing up in Germany, he met a man who was an engineer. The man told him that he was working on developing a revolutionary new material that would be used in virtually every area of life. That material was plastic. Little did that engineer know to what extent plastic would become omnipresent in modern society.
Now, to avoid a lawsuit, I would never say that the buffet food at the Excalibur contains plastic. I will only say that if something look like plastic and tastes like plastic, well…you get the idea.
Anyway, in an earlier Bettorsworld post, someone had suggested the Sahara for a cheap buffet, and added the need for Pepto Bismo afterwards. Well, if you decide to eat at the Excalibur buffet, you will need not only Pepto Bismo, but Ex-Lax, too. For best results, I suggest that you mix the two into a powerful, synergistic ****tail. And even after that, you may need some Preparation H to deal with the nasty after-effects from the food.
Well, by this time I was feeling great empathy for the Excalibur sportsbook workers. Not only were they working in a dungeon, they were eating food that I wouldn’t feed my dog. And, as I was soon to discover, these poor souls were being regularly subjected to the second worst form of torture that I had ever witnessed. Yes, horror upon horrors, the Excalibur was not only a medieval-like dungeon, it was, in fact, a veritable torture chamber for these sportsbook workers.
Now, as most Bettorsworld members already know, when guys who are ordinary offshore sportsbook workers get a break, to relieve stress, they usually down a few beers, grab a broad, and head off into the bushes for a quick slam-bam-thank-you-ma’am. For Excalibur sportsbook workers, break-time is an entirely different reality--a reality that is almost unspeakable in the horror that it represents. And what, exactly, is this unspeakable horror to which Excalibur sportsbook workers are subjected? Well, before I describe it, I will first briefly diverge and tell you—since many of you were probably wondering—what the worst form of torture I ever witnessed was.
The worst form of torture I ever witnessed was suffered by no other than yours truly. And although I’ve been mugged and robbed in Tijuana four times, bludgeoned unconscious while being robbed for $30,000 in Vegas, and been robbed twice at gunpoint while working at a gas station, none of those experiences can hold a candle to the nightmare that I am about to describe. However, before I describe that experience, it is probably appropriate that I first provide you with an unbiased, objective psychological profile of myself, as offered by a dear friend who is a self-proclaimed amateur psychotherapist. My friend, who classifies himself a neo-Freudian, has rightfully determined that I am a masochist and excitement addict. And, according to him, this fact is exemplified by my tendency to put myself into dangerous situations, my infatuation with sportsbetting, and my perverse sexual proclivities. Anyway, now that you understand my tendencies, you can easily grasp how I became involved in the following fiasco.
Her name is Ama Deborah, and she is the number one dominatrix in all of Latin America. She is a beautiful and ultra-sadistic ex-model and ex-actress who trained for 6 months in Vienna to master the esoteric arts of psycho-physical torture. Whether it is piercing, burning, caning, or whipping, this Mistress of the Dark dishes it out like none other. She can also catheterize, mummify, and trample you until you scream for relief. But the aforementioned specialties only describe her nonpareil ability to inflict physical pain. Her real expertise and passion is field of psychological domination. She first learns everything about you by exploring, every nook and cranny of your psyche. She then psychically penetrates you until she knows every weakness you have. And then, she exploits those weaknesses, humiliating you until you suffer a complete mental breakdown, start crying like a baby, and beg for mercy. The whole affair is an unbelievably intense and surrealistic ordeal that only the sickest masochist, like yours truly, would ever consider enduring.
In my case, she quickly learned that I was far from the Renaissance man that I pretended to be. In no time, she exposed me as a rather superficial person only truly interested in sportsbetting and degenerate sex. Although I claimed to be deeply into Eastern philosophy, striving for Buddhahood, Nirvana , Self-Realization and complete Enlightenment, she quickly determined that I was, in fact, merely a wannabe in the field, simply another deluded seeker of metaphysical Truth. Although I claimed to be an ardent health nut, she discovered, through application of physical torture, that I was actually in the daily habit of substituting Jack Daniels for carrot juice. In essence, she reduced me to a two-dimensional (sportsbetting and sex) man. And, take away my Viagra, which she did, and all that remained, and nothing more, was a one-dimensional man, a typical obsessive-compulsive sportsbettor.
.
Ever since I attended the University of California at San Diego (UCSD), 1969-1973, my greatest fear in life has been becoming a one-dimensional man. And this fear is directly related to the fact that one of my professors at UCSD was Herbert Marcuse, a world-renowned neo-Marxist philosopher. Marcuse, who authored a popular—at least in academic circles—book called “One-Dimensional Man.” taught that modern capitalist society tends to produce one-dimensional people, virtual automatons, if you will. It produces people who become obsessed with their jobs, making money, and accumulating possessions. Instead of well-rounded, deep-thinking individuals committed to the Whole, our society creates self-centered, materialistic people simply into work and money.
Now, although I long ago relinquished my idealistic and misguided faith in the principles of Marxism, I never have--even after reading Ayn Rand’s outstanding books on the virtues of a free marketplace--surrendered my fear of the pernicious by-product of capitalism: one-dimensionality. Consequently, my entire life-strategy since college has been to transform myself into a multi-dimensional person, a complex and multifaceted individual whose very existence would be a denial of even a taint of one-dimensionality.
But all of my contrived efforts to transform myself into a true Renaissance man had been futile. In the end, I had only created a facade, a false front to fool both the world and myself.
And Ama Deborah’s ruthless and penetrating interrogation had pierced this front, exposing me for what I truly am: a one-dimensional man--a garden-variety sportsbetting bandwagoner, only interested in following the “steam,” scalping games, and making money.
Upon determining that the entire foundation of my one-dimensional nature was based solely on sportsbetting, Ama Deborah next sought to destroy this foundation by laying waste to my sportsbetting bankroll. Onto the Internet she went, placing one limit wager after another in my various accounts. (Note: When she was physically torturing me, the only way I could receive mercy was to give her pertinent information regarding my various accounts.) I watched in complete horror as within minutes my entire bankroll was at risk on teams that no sane bettor would ever dream of playing. Then, she turned on the Don Best screen, so she could enjoy my anguish as one loser after another came in. Well, to make a long story short, I lost almost every play, and my bankroll was devastated. And I was psychically destroyed, my mind completely shattered. The extent of psychic damage that I suffered from this event was so great that even time (the so-called universal solvent for all ills) and hundreds of expensive sessions with top psychotherapists have failed to attenuate my trauma. According to one expert on torture, what I experienced was the single worst type of torture known to mankind. He said the technical term for this kind of torture is “runaway bankroll destruction.” And at present time, medical science has yet to discover a cure to reduce the trauma that is associated with this incomparable form of torture.
Although no form of torture can match the psychic destruction caused by a “runaway bankroll,” at the Excalibur I discovered, to my dismay, an event that rates a close second. The event I am talking about is called the “runaway train.” The runaway-train is a ride located in the arcade section of the Excalibur. On the surface, it seems like just another innocuous diversion. However, anyone who ventures onto this ride is never the same afterward. Imagine the sheer terror of being on a train without brakes speeding down a steep mountain-incline in the Swiss Alps. As a sensitive man who eats quiche, I am not afraid to admit that I still experience regular nightmares from this ride.
Well, if a single ride on the run-away train can cause the terrible after-effects that I have endured, imagine the cumulative psychic damage that someone who was subjected to this train ride on a daily basis would suffer. If you can imagine that, then you will no doubt have great empathy for the Excalibur sportsbook workers. These poor guys, under the thumb of a demented and sadistic boss, are forced to experience the runaway train ride on every one of their breaks. Upon discovering this harsh reality, my heart opened, and I felt great compassion for these abused employees.
My detective work was now complete, and it had borne fruit. My sleuth-like investigation of the Excalibur had definitively determined the three major causes of sportsbook-worker incompetence: 1) negative energy caused by the shape of the dungeon-like Excalibur structure. 2) toxicity from the low-quality casino food. 3) trauma from repeated subjection to the runaway- train ride.
However, being a conscientious fellow, I was not satisfied to merely identify the cause of worker malaise; my mission was to remedy the problem. With this in mind, I provided a detailed report to the “higher-ups’ at the Excalibur. My suggestions to the corporate “suits” were as follows:
1) Build a geodesic dome over the sportsbook. This, I asssured them, would create good “vibes” in the sportsbook, and thereby naturally improve the performance of the sportsbook workers.
2) Put the sportsbook employees on a natural food diet that would quickly detoxify their bodies and clarify their minds. Instead of casino food, have the workers drink plenty of wheatgrass juice and eat a mucusless diet of raw fruits, vegetables, nuts and seeds.
3) Instead of having employees spend their break-time on the runaway train ride, provide these oppressed and frazzled workers with a massage. Reserve a quiet room and have beautiful naked masseuses give them whole-body massages that would drain away all of the tensions caused by job stress.
Now the question is, will the Excalibur implement any of my suggestions? Knowing how corporate America works, I am pessimistic. I am fearful that our last hope for forcing these toxic and traumatized incompetents to update their betting lines is none other than Dana, the owner of Don Best Sports.
If you walk into Dana’s office in Las Vegas, you will see a fearsome-looking bullwhip mounted on the wall. This whip is not just for show. It is a last-resort measure intended for sportsbook workers who fail to conscientiously update their betting lines on the Don Best Screen. And if the Excalibur sportsbook workers could somehow clear their collective brain fog, they would realize that the greatest problem they face as the New Millenium dawns is not Y2K, it is Dana cracking the whip.
Although failure to update their lines on the Don Best Screen is the Excalibur’s worst sin, it is not their only one. A second sin they are guilty of is their use of a 30-cent hockey line. With a 20-cent hockey line serving as the industry standard, the 30-cent line employed by Excalibur must be viewed for what it is: gouging. A third sin engaged in by the Excalibur is the taking down of their NBA totals at 3:00 PM every day. They do this because they are afraid of the afternoon “steam.” Unfortunately, afternoon “steam” is now a non-reality. With old stalwarts Chuck Sharp and Billy Walters out of the picture, there is usually minimal line movement on NBA totals in the afternoon. Most of the movement now takes place prior to 3:00PM, during the morning and early afternoon.
The Excalibur is indeed a very sick sportsbook. And at this point you may very well be wondering, and rightfully so, how any other Don Best sportsbook could be worse. But, in fact, a worse one does exist. However, in order to build suspense, the identity of the recipient of the “award” for “Worst Don Best Sportsbook” shall remain a secret until the time of my next “Las Vegas is not Disneyland” post.
In the meantime, rampant speculation concerning the designee for the “award” is sure to ensue. Sportsbooks may even offer propositions regarding the identity of the recipient. For those of you who are incorrigible gamblers looking to wager on this prop, I suggest that you consult your favorite offshore book for details. For the rest of you, who are prudent “sports investors” (bettors), my final 20th century advice is this: Have a Merry Xmas, a Happy New Year and, whatever you do, stay away fron Ama Deborah.
Years ago, when 5 dimes was the equivalent of what 10 or more dimes is now, several sportsbooks—Churchill Downs, the Hilton, Little Caesar’s, the Stardust, and later Binion’s and the Mirage—would take phone wagers of 5 dimes or more in all major sports. Now, in baseball, no one takes more than 2 dimes, and in the NBA the highest available limit on sides is a pathetic $1,500.
The purpose of this post is to graphically illustrate, by providing a specific example, the demise of Las Vegas phone accounts. Hence, the apropos subtitle the “Second Worst Don Best Sportsbook.”
If the purpose of this post were to specify the second-best Don Best sportsbook, then, undoubtedly, great debate about my choice would ensue, and the offshore cognoscenti would be deeply embroiled in factious controversy regarding the deserving designee.
However, since the purpose of this post is to designate the second- worst book, and because I believe my evidence to be irrefutable, I seriously doubt if any dissenters will dare challenge my nominee for the dishonor of the second-worst Don Best sportsbook. Therefore, for the dubious distinction of the second- worst Don Best Sportsbook, I hereby do nominate the Excalibur. And, I hereby do invite any dissenters to voice their opinion regarding this choice.
The Excalibur is runner-up on the Don Best Worst Sportsbooks List primarily because of a singular cardinal sin that they are habitually guilty of: failure to update their betting lines on the Don Best Feed. Virtually every time I see a good betting line from them on the Don Best Screen, and I call to bet that game, I am given a different line. At that point, I always tell them what the line is on the Don Best Screen, and they then update the Screen to the line they just gave me. In essence, I serve as their update service. Without my constant input, they seemingly lack the initiative to update on their own.
Recently, when I complained to a phone clerk about their failure to update their lines on the Don Best Screen, the young man said to me: “Give us a break; it’s after 3:00 PM.” Well, that was the last straw. At that point, I decided that I needed to immediately conduct a thorough and detailed investigation to determine the real reasons for the Excalibur’s negligence regarding line updates. So, I took the first plane to Vegas, grabbed a taxi, and, presto, I was at the Excalibur.
When I walked into the Casino, a stark realization immediately hit me: This place was nothing but a depressing medieval-like dungeon filled with slot machines instead of torture chambers. I pondered the idea that merely working in such an oppressive environment could easily contribute to the lassitude exhibited by the sportsbook workers. After all, experts on the effects of building design and structure on human behavior, such as the late Buckminster Fuller (who invented the geodesic dome), have claimed that people’s mental state and functional ability are powerfully affected by the shape of the buildings they inhabit or work in.
Having assessed the effects of the Excalibur as an edifice and work environment, my next line of detective work was to check the food ingested by the sportsbook workers. After all, many health experts subscribe to the dictum that you are what you eat. Perhaps, I reasoned, poor diet was causing the poor work performance at the sportsbook. With this in mind, I decided to sample the cuisine at the casino coffee shop and the buffet. First, I tried the coffee shop. To make a long story short, I will simply say that the food at this restaurant was so bad that, by comparison, it made Denny’s seem gourmet. For my next meal, I sampled the buffet. However, before I critique it, I need to tell you a little story.
My father, now 82, told me that when he was a boy growing up in Germany, he met a man who was an engineer. The man told him that he was working on developing a revolutionary new material that would be used in virtually every area of life. That material was plastic. Little did that engineer know to what extent plastic would become omnipresent in modern society.
Now, to avoid a lawsuit, I would never say that the buffet food at the Excalibur contains plastic. I will only say that if something look like plastic and tastes like plastic, well…you get the idea.
Anyway, in an earlier Bettorsworld post, someone had suggested the Sahara for a cheap buffet, and added the need for Pepto Bismo afterwards. Well, if you decide to eat at the Excalibur buffet, you will need not only Pepto Bismo, but Ex-Lax, too. For best results, I suggest that you mix the two into a powerful, synergistic ****tail. And even after that, you may need some Preparation H to deal with the nasty after-effects from the food.
Well, by this time I was feeling great empathy for the Excalibur sportsbook workers. Not only were they working in a dungeon, they were eating food that I wouldn’t feed my dog. And, as I was soon to discover, these poor souls were being regularly subjected to the second worst form of torture that I had ever witnessed. Yes, horror upon horrors, the Excalibur was not only a medieval-like dungeon, it was, in fact, a veritable torture chamber for these sportsbook workers.
Now, as most Bettorsworld members already know, when guys who are ordinary offshore sportsbook workers get a break, to relieve stress, they usually down a few beers, grab a broad, and head off into the bushes for a quick slam-bam-thank-you-ma’am. For Excalibur sportsbook workers, break-time is an entirely different reality--a reality that is almost unspeakable in the horror that it represents. And what, exactly, is this unspeakable horror to which Excalibur sportsbook workers are subjected? Well, before I describe it, I will first briefly diverge and tell you—since many of you were probably wondering—what the worst form of torture I ever witnessed was.
The worst form of torture I ever witnessed was suffered by no other than yours truly. And although I’ve been mugged and robbed in Tijuana four times, bludgeoned unconscious while being robbed for $30,000 in Vegas, and been robbed twice at gunpoint while working at a gas station, none of those experiences can hold a candle to the nightmare that I am about to describe. However, before I describe that experience, it is probably appropriate that I first provide you with an unbiased, objective psychological profile of myself, as offered by a dear friend who is a self-proclaimed amateur psychotherapist. My friend, who classifies himself a neo-Freudian, has rightfully determined that I am a masochist and excitement addict. And, according to him, this fact is exemplified by my tendency to put myself into dangerous situations, my infatuation with sportsbetting, and my perverse sexual proclivities. Anyway, now that you understand my tendencies, you can easily grasp how I became involved in the following fiasco.
Her name is Ama Deborah, and she is the number one dominatrix in all of Latin America. She is a beautiful and ultra-sadistic ex-model and ex-actress who trained for 6 months in Vienna to master the esoteric arts of psycho-physical torture. Whether it is piercing, burning, caning, or whipping, this Mistress of the Dark dishes it out like none other. She can also catheterize, mummify, and trample you until you scream for relief. But the aforementioned specialties only describe her nonpareil ability to inflict physical pain. Her real expertise and passion is field of psychological domination. She first learns everything about you by exploring, every nook and cranny of your psyche. She then psychically penetrates you until she knows every weakness you have. And then, she exploits those weaknesses, humiliating you until you suffer a complete mental breakdown, start crying like a baby, and beg for mercy. The whole affair is an unbelievably intense and surrealistic ordeal that only the sickest masochist, like yours truly, would ever consider enduring.
In my case, she quickly learned that I was far from the Renaissance man that I pretended to be. In no time, she exposed me as a rather superficial person only truly interested in sportsbetting and degenerate sex. Although I claimed to be deeply into Eastern philosophy, striving for Buddhahood, Nirvana , Self-Realization and complete Enlightenment, she quickly determined that I was, in fact, merely a wannabe in the field, simply another deluded seeker of metaphysical Truth. Although I claimed to be an ardent health nut, she discovered, through application of physical torture, that I was actually in the daily habit of substituting Jack Daniels for carrot juice. In essence, she reduced me to a two-dimensional (sportsbetting and sex) man. And, take away my Viagra, which she did, and all that remained, and nothing more, was a one-dimensional man, a typical obsessive-compulsive sportsbettor.
.
Ever since I attended the University of California at San Diego (UCSD), 1969-1973, my greatest fear in life has been becoming a one-dimensional man. And this fear is directly related to the fact that one of my professors at UCSD was Herbert Marcuse, a world-renowned neo-Marxist philosopher. Marcuse, who authored a popular—at least in academic circles—book called “One-Dimensional Man.” taught that modern capitalist society tends to produce one-dimensional people, virtual automatons, if you will. It produces people who become obsessed with their jobs, making money, and accumulating possessions. Instead of well-rounded, deep-thinking individuals committed to the Whole, our society creates self-centered, materialistic people simply into work and money.
Now, although I long ago relinquished my idealistic and misguided faith in the principles of Marxism, I never have--even after reading Ayn Rand’s outstanding books on the virtues of a free marketplace--surrendered my fear of the pernicious by-product of capitalism: one-dimensionality. Consequently, my entire life-strategy since college has been to transform myself into a multi-dimensional person, a complex and multifaceted individual whose very existence would be a denial of even a taint of one-dimensionality.
But all of my contrived efforts to transform myself into a true Renaissance man had been futile. In the end, I had only created a facade, a false front to fool both the world and myself.
And Ama Deborah’s ruthless and penetrating interrogation had pierced this front, exposing me for what I truly am: a one-dimensional man--a garden-variety sportsbetting bandwagoner, only interested in following the “steam,” scalping games, and making money.
Upon determining that the entire foundation of my one-dimensional nature was based solely on sportsbetting, Ama Deborah next sought to destroy this foundation by laying waste to my sportsbetting bankroll. Onto the Internet she went, placing one limit wager after another in my various accounts. (Note: When she was physically torturing me, the only way I could receive mercy was to give her pertinent information regarding my various accounts.) I watched in complete horror as within minutes my entire bankroll was at risk on teams that no sane bettor would ever dream of playing. Then, she turned on the Don Best screen, so she could enjoy my anguish as one loser after another came in. Well, to make a long story short, I lost almost every play, and my bankroll was devastated. And I was psychically destroyed, my mind completely shattered. The extent of psychic damage that I suffered from this event was so great that even time (the so-called universal solvent for all ills) and hundreds of expensive sessions with top psychotherapists have failed to attenuate my trauma. According to one expert on torture, what I experienced was the single worst type of torture known to mankind. He said the technical term for this kind of torture is “runaway bankroll destruction.” And at present time, medical science has yet to discover a cure to reduce the trauma that is associated with this incomparable form of torture.
Although no form of torture can match the psychic destruction caused by a “runaway bankroll,” at the Excalibur I discovered, to my dismay, an event that rates a close second. The event I am talking about is called the “runaway train.” The runaway-train is a ride located in the arcade section of the Excalibur. On the surface, it seems like just another innocuous diversion. However, anyone who ventures onto this ride is never the same afterward. Imagine the sheer terror of being on a train without brakes speeding down a steep mountain-incline in the Swiss Alps. As a sensitive man who eats quiche, I am not afraid to admit that I still experience regular nightmares from this ride.
Well, if a single ride on the run-away train can cause the terrible after-effects that I have endured, imagine the cumulative psychic damage that someone who was subjected to this train ride on a daily basis would suffer. If you can imagine that, then you will no doubt have great empathy for the Excalibur sportsbook workers. These poor guys, under the thumb of a demented and sadistic boss, are forced to experience the runaway train ride on every one of their breaks. Upon discovering this harsh reality, my heart opened, and I felt great compassion for these abused employees.
My detective work was now complete, and it had borne fruit. My sleuth-like investigation of the Excalibur had definitively determined the three major causes of sportsbook-worker incompetence: 1) negative energy caused by the shape of the dungeon-like Excalibur structure. 2) toxicity from the low-quality casino food. 3) trauma from repeated subjection to the runaway- train ride.
However, being a conscientious fellow, I was not satisfied to merely identify the cause of worker malaise; my mission was to remedy the problem. With this in mind, I provided a detailed report to the “higher-ups’ at the Excalibur. My suggestions to the corporate “suits” were as follows:
1) Build a geodesic dome over the sportsbook. This, I asssured them, would create good “vibes” in the sportsbook, and thereby naturally improve the performance of the sportsbook workers.
2) Put the sportsbook employees on a natural food diet that would quickly detoxify their bodies and clarify their minds. Instead of casino food, have the workers drink plenty of wheatgrass juice and eat a mucusless diet of raw fruits, vegetables, nuts and seeds.
3) Instead of having employees spend their break-time on the runaway train ride, provide these oppressed and frazzled workers with a massage. Reserve a quiet room and have beautiful naked masseuses give them whole-body massages that would drain away all of the tensions caused by job stress.
Now the question is, will the Excalibur implement any of my suggestions? Knowing how corporate America works, I am pessimistic. I am fearful that our last hope for forcing these toxic and traumatized incompetents to update their betting lines is none other than Dana, the owner of Don Best Sports.
If you walk into Dana’s office in Las Vegas, you will see a fearsome-looking bullwhip mounted on the wall. This whip is not just for show. It is a last-resort measure intended for sportsbook workers who fail to conscientiously update their betting lines on the Don Best Screen. And if the Excalibur sportsbook workers could somehow clear their collective brain fog, they would realize that the greatest problem they face as the New Millenium dawns is not Y2K, it is Dana cracking the whip.
Although failure to update their lines on the Don Best Screen is the Excalibur’s worst sin, it is not their only one. A second sin they are guilty of is their use of a 30-cent hockey line. With a 20-cent hockey line serving as the industry standard, the 30-cent line employed by Excalibur must be viewed for what it is: gouging. A third sin engaged in by the Excalibur is the taking down of their NBA totals at 3:00 PM every day. They do this because they are afraid of the afternoon “steam.” Unfortunately, afternoon “steam” is now a non-reality. With old stalwarts Chuck Sharp and Billy Walters out of the picture, there is usually minimal line movement on NBA totals in the afternoon. Most of the movement now takes place prior to 3:00PM, during the morning and early afternoon.
The Excalibur is indeed a very sick sportsbook. And at this point you may very well be wondering, and rightfully so, how any other Don Best sportsbook could be worse. But, in fact, a worse one does exist. However, in order to build suspense, the identity of the recipient of the “award” for “Worst Don Best Sportsbook” shall remain a secret until the time of my next “Las Vegas is not Disneyland” post.
In the meantime, rampant speculation concerning the designee for the “award” is sure to ensue. Sportsbooks may even offer propositions regarding the identity of the recipient. For those of you who are incorrigible gamblers looking to wager on this prop, I suggest that you consult your favorite offshore book for details. For the rest of you, who are prudent “sports investors” (bettors), my final 20th century advice is this: Have a Merry Xmas, a Happy New Year and, whatever you do, stay away fron Ama Deborah.
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