Chicago Sun-Times: Blackjack player busts in chance to make history

LAS VEGAS Depending on such factors as the dealer's attitude, the stakes at hand and the personalities of the players, casino blackjack tables can be as raucous as a Friday night game of quarters in a frat house, as chummy as a backyard barbecue-or as tense and tight as a hostile negotiation between divorce lawyers.

At 1 a.m. on a Saturday night/Sunday morning, this particular table at the Venetian is among the friendliest I've ever known. The cocktails are flowing but nobody is drunk; the bets are within reason yet substantial enough to keep everyone's interest, and the dealer is a down-home gal named Sue who works the cards with speed and grace while maintaining just the right level of conversation. She's not chatty to the point of distraction, but she's not one of those intimidating robotic iron maidens, either.

There are five players other than myself: a good ol' boy in a chocolate brown Stetson who's in town for the National Rodeo Finals; a middle-aged woman with a Christmas tree logo on her sweater; a young couple from Korea playing side-by-side, and a William Macy- looking guy who has little experience but is willing to at least listen to advice from Sue the dealer or from his fellow players and take some good-natured ribbing when he screws up.

He's also ridiculously lucky, at least for a while. He hits on 17 and gets a four, prompting the pit boss to ask him if he's a churchgoing man, "because somebody up there likes you." He snaps a cardinal rule and splits 10s, but draws two face cards, giving him twin hands of 20.

But even when his cards turn sour and the stack of green chips in front of him starts to melt like a miniature snowman in the sun, he's a man of good cheer. We're all having so much fun that they oughta be filming us for one of those sugary-lame infomercials that run on your hotel room TV.

During a shuffling break, the "Where you from?" question is tossed out, and the beginning player says:

"Florida. And nope, I didn't vote."

If you're a Floridian, that's how it's going to be out of the gate for at least the next couple of years when you're meeting folks. All those years of saying, "I'm from Florida," and hearing the inevitable follow-up questions and comments about the weather-that now gives way to the inevitable follow-up questions and comments about the 2000 presidential election.

"So you're from Florida? Which county? Did you vote? Did they count your vote? Did you have one of those butterfly ballots? And what's the deal with that Katherine Harris, anyway?" Etc., etc.

This is what happens when your home city or your home state becomes the focal point for big news, whether it's a tropical storm or a political scandal or a sensational murder case or the site of a plane crash or a big-name trial.

Throughout the 1960s, Dallas residents were asked if they'd been in town Nov. 22, 1963-if perhaps they'd even been standing along the parade route on the day when John F. Kennedy was assassinated.

If you were a Kent State alumnus in the early 1970s, you'd be asked about that terrible day when four students were killed by National Guard shooters.

In the mid-1990s, anyone who lived in Brentwood had to be prepared for an onslaught of O.J./Nicole questions.

And so it goes.

"You're from Boulder? Did you know the Ramseys? Who do you think killed JonBenet?"

"You went to Columbine High School? Did you know anyone who was shot?"

"You grew up near Three Mile Island? Wow, is there, like, an arm growing out of your back?"

Whatever. Usually the hot geographical topic is a locale where something lurid, something spectacularly terrible, happened.

These days it's all about the normally mundane process of voting. If you're from any other state in the union, nobody cares who you voted for, or if you even bothered to vote way back in November-but if you're a Floridian, the election questions are going to dog you for a long time to come.

"I didn't vote," said the man at the blackjack table, a month after the election.

Splitting the 10s, I didn't mind that. But not voting? In what turned out to be the most memorable presidential election in 40 years?

Talk about stupid.

Richard Roeper (rroeper@suntimes.com) appears Tuesdays at 8:10 a.m. and Wednesdays at 7:15 a.m. on WFLD-Channel 32's "Fox News in the Morning."