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Time for your first draw on your first eight…. Why is it farcical? If he wins, he laughs. If he loses, he laughs harder. Another old Chinese fellow is hovering over my left shoulder, lingering there, pressing in on me to get a closer view of the action. No less than seven huhs. Apparently, the Grim Chuckle of Hopeless Resignation transcends borders and unites gamblers in a worldwide embrace of despair impotence humanity. The effect is like an upscale mini-Vegas. I go upstairs, where there are two human beings among the banks of gambling machines. This was a bit of info I knew going in, but seeing it in action hammered home its absurdity. This is my cue to cash in my chips and leave. I think of the film Croupier , with Clive Owen in a black tie and the gamblers in fancy suits, beautiful women hanging on their arms. Uttered with a tight smile and a shake of the head, it sounded like huh-huh-huh-huh-huh-huh-huh. Blackjack says you must split them. Business as un usual in the poker room.{/INSERTKEYS}{/PARAGRAPH} British rules or at least the rules in the casinos I visited call for the dealer to deal two cards to all players and just one face-up card to himself. Is he high? {PARAGRAPH}{INSERTKEYS}The tiny Chinese man with jigsaw teeth is perhaps the happiest man on the face of the earth. I enter the casino: Empty, save for one or two players. The Grim Chuckle of Hopeless Resignation. Cue the exit music. Which I can understand. The dealer goes around the table and gives you the two eights and himself a single card which is a face-up ace. Hell, getting shit-faced drunk would be a more productive use of my money and time than this soul-sucking activity. At the Hippodrome—several short blocks from the Empire—the tables are a confusion of green-felt geometrics, including three extra circles in front of each player that are meant to accommodate this freelance betting. Notice that no one is wearing a hat. Notify me of new posts by email. In our make-believe scenario you follow basic blackjack strategy and you end up re-splitting those eights four times and doubling down on two of those hands. How could it be otherwise? I shrug and chuckle along with him as the dealer gives himself a five on top of his sixteen: We all lose. It says, I could be doing anything right now. Action then progresses as the dealer goes around the table accommodating the players—allowing them to take a hit or not— and only then does he take his second card! Notify me of follow-up comments by email. Everyone loses, but you in particular are toast. But in London, this same scenario would work out very differently, one might say catastrophically. I join. I could be reading a book or watching Mad Men or catching up on my sleep. But before action progresses—before you can split those eights—he asks if anyone would like insurance generally a poor wager , then checks his hole card. Would you place your chips in front of a stranger whose blackjack skills are unknown to you and expect to win? This is the Alice in Wonderland version of blackjack.