But let's now move this scenario one step further. Let's assume that having lingered at the table, you decide, instead of making a mind bet, to really bet that $1,000 on the next roll of the dice. Let's assume that there's a $1,000 limit at that table, so this can be done. Now you don't know what the next roll of the dice will be. It may not be a 6. It could be anything.

So there's the picture. You put down $1,000 in cash on the don't pass and say (in a weak voice) "cash plays." The box man looks you over, and so do the dealer and all the players around you. You're a really high roller, socking that amount down in cash suddenly.

The shooter shakes the dice and prepares to roll. At this point, we can tell you just what's happening inside you. Your heart is beating so fast that you're dizzy. You imagine that everyone can see it pounding through your chest. You're tingling, your whole body is alive, and yet you feel weak in the legs. You've just put yourself into a most thrilling and exciting situation, because you've allowed yourself to be at the mercy of your anxieties.

Now we don't have to tell you that this isn't the way to gamble intelligently. But many people do it this way. They bet, not with their whole cash bankroll at one time, but they wager way over their heads with money they can't afford to lose so suddenly, and it does make for thrilling action. It's also thrilling to jump from a cliff with a parachute that you don't quite know how to operate, and it's super thrilling to go up in a plane and sky-dive without any lessons.

But is that what gambling should be about-this heart-stopping thrill of anxiety? No way. That's destructiveness, insanity, or whatever you want to call it. Sure, it's thrilling standing there, with every cent you brought with you resting on the craps layout, waiting for the throw of the dice, but if the next call of the stickman was "7, winner on the pass line, pay the front line," and you watched your $1,000 being snatched away, then the anxiety level will peak with ringing in the ears, the heart pounding even harder, the legs rubbery. What are you going to do now? There's a wan smile on your face as you stagger away from the table, trying to put up a brave front as everyone watches you, wondering who the hell you are, and shaking their heads at your loss. By now the coffee shop won't interest you; the bacon and eggs or lox and bagel are the last things you want. What you need is a tranquilizer. All you can think about is getting out of the casino and out of Vegas and going home.