$8,400

The first time I woke up in Atlantic City I was hungover. A handful of us from work were invited on a party bus through a third-party provider for a one night trip to AC. We indulged on the bus ride south and I barely made it to midnight. Other, younger, more sociable socialites lasted several hours longer.

On the floor of my hotel room the following morning was an analyst, fully clothed (including his Patagonia), face squarely on the floor, hands invisibly tied to his waist, chips sprinkling out of his left pants pocket. It was 7am.

I looked out the window as I was unable to take in the sights and sounds on the drive down. I didn’t know what to expect, but it was one of the uglier views from a hotel room you could envision. Imagine dark gray moss water sinking into wheat fields that have been dead for hundreds of years, all in front of an industrial plant backdrop. What is it about this place I thought to myself as I hopped into a desperately needed cold shower.

Before I left, however, I played blackjack for 45 minutes at 8am solo. And went on a heater. The dealer was laughing. I was conversing. And it will be the first and last time I ever go on a heater on a blackjack table. I won $800. I got on the bus to NYC for a bball game that afternoon thinking it would be my last time in AC.

Flash forward a few years, and a good friend of mine, from New Jersey, spearheaded a trip there for us. The legalization of sports betting has opened up a world of opportunity in places not named Las Vegas, and naturally, Atlantic City, the ugly step sister of Sin City, recently reaped benefits of this legalization.

In casinos across the Eastern seaboard, sportsbooks are becoming a thing. Staff knows the lines (and are probably placing bets), and young, old, xy’s, xx’s are all finding ways to place bets. And when there are big games on, like the Super Bowl or March Madness, people prefer to be live and inside a sportsbook, feeding off the energy of the collective gamblers, witnessing with their own eyes the outcome of their gamble.

This year, we opted to visit Atlantic City on Saturday of the first weekend of the NCAA tournament, arguably the best weekend in sports. It was a coastal storm – a gray day with fierce winds and rain – so, essentially, a perfect day for AC.

We stopped for subs 20 minutes from the casino at around 10:45AM – we needed to fuel up knowing that the day ahead would be filled with one thing and one thing only. Watching and betting on basketball. As we waited on the teenagers preparing our Italians and tuna subs, I perused the games of the day. U of A was on the docket. UNC was playing. 2 other Pac 12 schools. I’m a basketball fan and player, and for some reason, I thought maybe I had a pulse on the day’s slate.

“Should we just take all the favorites -3?” I gently asked the table.

The group pondered, knowing we would be placing a handful of bets on different games throughout the afternoon. There was limited pushback.

After we checked in, we strolled to the Sportsbook – a room with 25 TV’s, a central oval bar with 30 stools, 6 blackjack tables on the outskirts, one betting terminal with 2-3 staff members, and betting machines for those of us who don’t like dealing with humans.

I’m a human guy, so I approached the terminal. I explained to him the thesis – “I’d like to buy down the favorites to -3 or as far as they can go” I requested.

He processed the request, ticking down each game. “On Arizona, I can only get you minus 4.5…so, on Iowa State, you’re okay with -2.5?...To confirm, you want Creighton -2.5?”

He walked through each game, and I made spur of the moment decisions on how to play it – the goal was to have all the favorites get a little cushion but not too much cushion.

There were 5 of us who took the trip south to Jersey, and we each put $50 on the bet.

There were 8 games that day. 12:45pm. 2:30pm. 5:30pm. And then they started to stack up at night, tips separated by 45 minutes. Arizona and Gonzaga (both favorites) cruised over Dayton and Kansas. We had two of the eight, and wanted to have a little fun, knowing it was incredibly unlikely the luck could continue, so huddled in a small circle, and started to chant $8,400 once or twice with a little pep in our step.

Bouncing around from couch to bar stool throughout the day, things started to heat up. Like me at the blackjack table six years ago. UNC ran away from Michigan State. Iowa State and Washington State had an ugly game, but the Cyclones prevailed. Two more checkmarks.

Stress started to settle in. What once was a dream was turning into half a reality. NC State vs. Oakland (two cinderallas) was when things got real. Superstition started to become a major factor. “Stand there.” “McDade, go back to red wine.” I was doing a deep squat during free throws. The game went to overtime and NC State won. Heart beats were reaching 175 beats per minute.

With Illinois blowing the top off of Duquense, Tennessee was letting Texas hang around. A 10 point lead turned to 5 with 4 to go. Then 1 with 2 to go. Tennessee -2.5 was very much in jeopardy. It was 60-58 with 12 seconds left and Tennessee was fouled to shoot a 1 and 1. I felt a miss coming. I squatted. Peeking through the other viewers to maybe see the ball miss or go through the net. It went through the net. As did the second shot. Texas missed a 30 footer with as time expired and we couldn’t believe it. We were now 7 for 7.

“$8,400, $8,400, $8,400.” Not loud enough where people could hear but visibly enthusiastic enough during the NC State game and Tennessee game that people were wondering what was going on.

The final game was Creighton Oregon. A Pac 12 great story against a Big East contender. The Ducks against the Blue Jays. We had Creighton, who played poorly and was down 4 with 13 seconds left. Superstition was out the window now. We were all standing together – knowing that we had lost the bet. Not dejected, nor frustrated. Creighton didn’t deserve it. So we didn’t deserve it. Let’s go with that.

Except Creighton made two free throws, fouled Oregon who missed the front end of a 1 and 1, and tied it up on a jumper with no time left to force overtime. The game went into double overtime. And in double overtime, something magical happened. Maybe it was the regional influence. Maybe it was the end of an amazing day of basketball. Maybe the money was on Creighton’s side.

“D-Fence.” Loud clap clap. “D-Fence.” Louder clap clap. Everyone was screaming at the top of their lungs. 100 strong in harmony with Creighton up 4 or 5 in double overtime. They, along with the fans at that sportsbook in Atlantic City, willed themselves to victory. We couldn’t believe it. I couldn’t believe it. We smiled, we cheered, we laughed. And for good measure, with arms wrapped around each other, we bopped around, zig zagging to the rhythm and chant we had established ten hours earlier. “$8,400, $8,400, $8,400.”