Stickman, Skinny and I came down to play craps at 6AM. The table was empty and we took our spots. Skinny had a decent roll but again his numbers tend to spread out so we started to Come bet him, which made us some profit.

I went on a tear. When I was finished I asked Stickman what I had rolled. "Another twenty-two," he said. That was my third one.

Stickman again had a low roll but his dice looked great. The gods seemed to be cursing him at the moment.

Our next two turns with the dice saw all of us shoot in the teens (Skinny high teens, me middle teens, Stickman low teens) - a nice money-making session. Then we went to breakfast where we enjoyed our usual fun conversation and the anticipatory excitement of what was coming up, "The Odyssey" to play craps in almost all the Atlantic City casinos.

I also got to see again these two nutcases pouring supremely hot sauce on their eggs. If you read Casino Craps: Shoot to Win! you know how Stickman and Skinny love their hot sauces. You also know how they almost killed Dom with one such sauce. I once smelled one of these sauces and my nose burned!

Off we went on "The Odyssey":

The Hilton is dying. There was only one other player in the whole casino (the whole casino!), a Darkside don't player who was at the craps table with us.

We all cashed in. We would play as a team, taking the dice once each, and betting marginal amounts with $30 each on the 6 and 8, and a Pass Line bet with full odds. If a 6 or 8 were the point, we would buy the 4 or 10 for $35, paying the $1 vig - a manageable 2.8 percent house edge. Each of us would make only one of the three bets.

Skinny had a short roll. I had a long roll. "How many did I roll?" I asked Stickman. "Twenty-two." My fourth 22.

Stickman sevened out right away. We colored up and headed for Tropicana. I think the Hilton will fold when the new mega-casino, Revel, opens next year. You can't run a casino with so few customers. (How do you pronounce that new casino? Revel or Rev-elle?)

The Tropicana was a revelation. I had not been in the place since the 1990s (it was called Tropworld then), around the time when the Captain, the Arm and Jimmy P. had been told that they would not be given any more comps and that their play really wasn't wanted. They had won over 1.3 million.

The place is huge, more like the Vegas mega-casinos such as Venetian, Wynn and Bellagio; with a multitude of restaurants, an IMAX theatre, and a gigantic casino - with only one craps table open. The slot aisles were packed and it was only 10AM.

We did not light up this table. We each went down to defeat, bing, bam, boom and, after a tour, headed to our next casino, Trump Plaza.

Now some of you might know the story of Trump Plaza and how Dominator, Nick@Night, Stickman, Skinny and I were scolded and abused by a maniacal casino manager who went ape-shit when he discovered us playing craps at his table. The Goddess, Sandtrap, Randman, and the Raging Baritone were also at the table when this guy flew into the pit and spewed loudly at me. "I know who you are! I know who you are!"

"What the fucks the matter with him?" asked Dom in his patented stage whisper, easily heard by this feverish casino manager.

"What? What? What did you say?" he snapped at Dom.

Dom just looked at him. I just looked at him. We all just looked at him. I swear, I think the guy might have had foam-flecks on the sides of his quivering mouth.

As we played he was always yelling about us not throwing hard enough or not hitting the back wall hard enough or winning money which he seemed to think we shouldn't do. "I know what you are trying to do!" he bellowed. Yeah, well, we were doing what everyone does at a craps table - we were trying to win money! I believe what added to his supreme annoyance was the fact that we were hot, especially Randman who rolled a 56.

So now, on this Odyssey, Stickman, Skinny and I would return to the Plaza and see what we would see.

"This is going to be interesting," said Stickman. "What do you think our reception will be?"

There was no reception. No craps tables were open. The dingy, dirty casino had players, mostly slot players, but the table games were more or less empty. It was a hot day and we all refreshed ourselves with two bottles of water each. Some of what we call "the Boardwalk scum" ambled by us with their pants so low they seemed to be under their ankles.

"This place is such a dump," said Skinny.

"I'd rather see this place close than the Hilton," said Stickman.

We went next door to Caesars, which was packed with players. Stickman and I were able to get our spots at one of the three open tables but Skinny's spot was taken. None of us will shoot out of our spots, so Skinny cashed in and got a position at the end of the table. I wish I could say we rendered unto ourselves rather than unto Caesar but that didn't happen. Stickman and I went down in flames.

Next stop: Wild Wild West, which is a part of the Bally's complex (the other two properties being Bally's and Claridge). The casino had some slot action and one craps table, a 14-footer, was open. The game offered 100X odds but we only played 10X odds with a $5 Pass Line bet, again we placed the 6 and 8 for $30 each. (In a game such as this, you would be far, far better off using the huge odds bets but we didn't want to work out another method of play on the spur.)

We were the only ones at the table. Skinny had a mediocre roll and I then hammered them with sixes and eights. When I finished, Stickman said, "Twenty-two." My sixth 22! Stickman then went down fast. I couldn't understand why Stickman was not hammering the casinos, as he usually does, with his beautiful roll. But I knew he would rise like a Phoenix, just when that would happen was the question.

On to Bally's where Skinny and Stickman got their spots but I had to take an end position. Again, we were no great shakes.

"Okay," I said, "we are off to Claridge."

"Claridge is closed," said the floor person. "We only open Claridge on the weekends now."

You know Atlantic City is hurting when one of its oldest properties can't sustain itself midweek.

We all wanted to get a taste of the Claridge. The last time we played there a pit boss, Francis, went crazy on Skinny, somewhere on Skinny's 26th roll. The guy jumped across the table, literally spread-eagled over the layout balanced by the chip rails. "You missed the back wall!" Francis screamed gesticulating wildly. (I wonder if Francis is related to the casino manager at Trump Plaza?)

"No I didn't," said Skinny softly. "Both dice hit the back wall."

"No they didn't; no they didn't!" Francis screamed.

Skinny's dice did indeed hit the back wall but Francis' position in the pit did not allow him to see one die hit the mixing bowl (the curved area) on the dealers' side of the table.

Skinny asked the dealers to inform frenetic Francis that the dice had hit the back wall but the dealers didn't even acknowledge Skinny's existence; they just stared straight ahead. Can't say I blame them; you don't want to contradict your blubberingly spewing boss in public.

Francis kept up the berserk rant, screaming that he would take the dice away from Skinny should he miss the back wall again.

Now, Francis was probably upset because we had been playing there since 9PM and it was now 3AM. Yes, this session violated all the rules of Golden Touch but with good reason. We were all hotter than Hades! One good roll after another after another; and some great ones spread among them. No one was cold; almost every player's hand was a winner. Dom, the Goddess, Sandtrap, Stickman, Skinny and I were blasting the Claridge and obviously we had driven Francis into a mad rage which he took out on Skinny.

Skinny did eventually seven out, somewhere around 35 rolls, all the while Francis walking back and forth in the pit muttering madly to himself, and we never went back to Claridge again - nor did I ever recommend Claridge for blackjack players or random rollers at craps. The place, the one where I first made the Captain's acquaintance, was now dead to me.

We would pass the deserted Claridge by.

Since the day was hot and muggy, Skinny and I decided to take one of those rolling carts down the Boardwalk to Resorts (yes, I really do feel sorry for the guys who have to push those things). Stickman decided to walk.

I have to tell you this honestly - Stickman is a little bit crazy. He makes it a point to walk up and down the stairs; to walk the Boardwalk in suffocating heat and humidity; and to generally make me feel guilty that I prefer to use escalators and rolling carts.

One table was opened at Resorts - a 14 footer. Skinny did not get his spot but Stickman and I did. Our shooting sucked, for lack of a better word. It was evident that we were wearing down.

We also had one of those annoying "random-roller-shoots-lights-out" types of events. Many of you have been through this. A guy wings the dice down the table and shoots number after number.

Now, we all know (or we all should know) that to be on a random roller's hot roll, you have to be on all the various random rollers' rolls - which means you lose your money over time since you can't predict which random roller is going to have a hot streak. We had decided not to bet on any random rollers -why waste our money?

Gamblers get themselves all tied up in knots when they see such long rolls thinking they should have been on them. Not so. You don't know in advance which random roller will shoot lights-out so you are throwing your money away betting on all the random rollers - so don't lament missing such long rolls. But telling gamblers this (and even telling some controlled shooters this fact) often goes into deaf ears to loudly rattle around in the empty caverns of their craniums.

We decided to hit Showboat next and save Taj Mahal for last, figuring we'd eat lunch there.

There were two packed tables at Showboat so we didn't get to play. We watched the games for awhile but no one seemed the least interested in leaving so we left for Taj Mahal. Once again, our spots were not open at any of the four tables in play at the Taj, and we went to lunch.

Our last two stops would be Harrah's and the new Golden Nugget, which was opening today.

I had only been to Atlantic City's Harrah's once, in the 1990s, with the Captain to see a fight. I had a foggy recollection of the place.

Harrah's was beautiful. I was impressed. It was packed with players. I was also impressed that they had two craps tables open, one with players squeezed into every available spot, while the other table was completely empty. We took the empty table and cashed in. All of us were really tired and had they put a pillow on the table I would have taken a nap right there and then.

In such a fatigued state, it was stupid to play but this odyssey required we play every casino. We knew we would be tired so that was another reason for keeping the betting low. Oh, yes, we were losing by this point.

Skinny took the dice. It might have been a point-seven but I was somewhat too groggy to remember what exactly happened during his roll. Then I got the dice.

The floor person pointed his finger at me. "How are you doing Frank?" Oh, nuts, I thought, here comes the hassling.

"Okay," I said.

"These guys your Golden Touch team?" he asked, nodding at Stickman and Skinny.

"My friends," I said.

"Well, we welcome you to play at Atlantic City's Harrah's. Guys, win all the money you can, Harrah's has plenty of money. Have fun!"

I was stunned; totally, completely, amazingly stunned. Maybe that's why I point-sevened-out. When Stickman sevened out, another quick one, we all personally said goodbye not just to the dealers but to this floor person as well.

"Come back to Atlantic City's Harrah's anytime Frank," he said. You know, I just might do that; seems like a great place to play.

We decided to skip playing the Golden Nugget that afternoon and since we wouldn't be playing Borgata, our personal "Odyssey" was over. The entire adventure took almost six hours from start to finish and, sadly, we did lose a couple of hundred dollars. But I can honestly say that this was one of the rare times that I lost money and still had fun.