Up your Honor … bit by bit
I was going to title this blog “My Little Tin Box” but in playing the song that was in the lyrics and the play on words was multilevel better than what I had. The song is from an antiquated Broadway effort called Fiorello that was about a gentlemen who knew how stupid we could be. This morning Haley over a KickAss modernized things and brought all the concepts of honest crooks back into current context.
If you read the convoluted logic in all this and follow the details out, you will agree that Justice is Blind — although, that may not conform to original intent. Haley provides a pretty decent guess at what transpires. She mentions that the founders/board of FullTilt in concert filed for dismissal. Seems they didn’t have a clue they were screwing the players.
The tin box that I was reminded of wasn’t a tin box. It was Howard’s trunk that evidently was wall to wall Benjamins. You remember Doyle’s kid’s remark about walking out to the parking lot to get refunded the 5-figure amount he had on deposit at Full Tilt. It would seem Howard had figured out at the point of inflection that he was going to have to try to keep his name with the Vegas crowd that takes a man at his word. I am sure none of that could have been any ill gotten gains that he was aware of. No, like Fiorello, he’d probably not had lunch for a few days and set the saving aside in his little tin trunk that his little tin key unlocked.
So, let our hearts go out to Jesus, Rafe and Howard who were also taken in by that evil Bitar. I doubt we need to take up a collection for them but be sure to tip your hat to them should you pass. It is what we should do for all such honorable men. At least they also let us walk on the same side of the street and eat at their lunch counter like their fellow stalwarts of another generation. No, not those simple lunch counter bigots. I mean the crooks that made Las Vegas happen. These guys are just carrying on a proud tradition.
I guess the moral ends up that three guys who egos forced their publicizing how damn smart they were can get taken in by the same three-card Monte guy that worked Fremont Street. Sure that’s what happened. Poor guys were really dumber than a box of rocks like all the others of us playing at Full Tilt. But I am think that maybe the Broadway tune I should have gone with was “Oh, officer Krupke we are down on our knees. `Cause no one wants a fellow with a social disease.”