In Las Vegas, there is no shade for the weary, weak or broken.
Ghosts haunt The Strip like the junkies haunt the Mission’s methadone clinic.
Farm fresh off Grateful Dead tour, The Fizz beamed.
The psychedelic circus had derailed when Jerry collapsed into a
diabetic coma. Refugees like Jake “The Fizz” Fizzario were left to fend
for themselves.
Surprisingly nimble for his size, barefoot Fizz grilled cheese sandwiches on the sizzling Strip.
2 for $5.
The grilling was good, sales were not.
Max invited him to put on some shoes and come into the casino …
Polarized as never before, both are right and wrong.
Feisty, skin stretched Joe Biden is challenging old fat guys to pushups.
Trump, meanwhile, reminds us of der fuhrer screaming insults and propaganda for the masses.
We’re in trouble, folks.
It goes beyond impeachment.
This is more like science fiction.
News sources scream. We nod our heads not knowing what they’re talking about.
Fahrenheit 451-type stuff
This is not what the Founding Fathers imagined.
It’s what they feared.
This is insanity.
Rather than running through the endless rabbit hole that is the JFK assassination, drunk dialing the likes of Al Beauboeuf in the middle of the night. Instead, as often wont, we anesthetize ourselves with Johnnie Walker (Black) and purvey the NFL lines.
Saturday Night’s inglorious return of our TCh Lock of the Week is:
San Francisco -6.5 vs LA Rams L
Disclaimer: The Chickenhawk’s NFL Locks™ are not for entertainment purposes. They are for making you serious amounts of ca$h. Remember: the more you bet, the more you win.
Mike Rhumbolz was district attorney with political ambitions. He was in the Las Vegas corporate bag. He was feeling the heat, the Gaming Commission wanted results. They wanted names for their black book.
In 1988, under pressure from the Department of Tourism, the Nevada
Gaming Control Board made an expanded effort to add more names to The
Vegas Black Book.
After a three year investigation the Vegas Metropolitan Police Department submitted 55 names and profiles – reputed organized crime associates and suspected gaming cheaters, many from Las Vegas – to the board in 1991.
Board Chairman Mike Rumbolz, was convinced that Max Steingrout
was the mob-connected lynchpin degenerate responsible for controlling
the outcome of dozens, if not hundreds, of professional and collegiate
basketball games.
Rumbolz believed that Steingrout, AKA- The Chickenhawk, was the cold-blooded mastermind behind the biggest sports gaming conspiracy Las Vegas had ever seen.
In reality, the mob rode Max Steingrout like a show pony.
They waged big numbers on his picks &, after the lines changed, hedged their bets with even more money. Often winning both sides.
It was as if everyone & anyone knew his picks. It got so, it wasn’t so much who he picked but who he didn’t pick.
It was a setup. Max was the patsy.
The corporate gangsters were not going to allow their mafiosa
counterparts control the game. They weren’t going to be pushed around
any longer.
With the help of local, Clark County law enforcement and FBI agents, Rhumbolz was determined to bring the gangsters to their knees.
-Grout: from the Old Norse “grautr”, or the Old English pre 7th Century “Grut”, an early nickname for a person considered by neighbors to be a bit wild, rough around the edges, and someone not to be associated with.
As far as the family name, there are not many of us left. Killed off by plague, pestilence, Huns and holocaust, geneological research reveals:
The earliest recording of the name includes Steingrautr and Stengrut of Yorkshire (personal names only) in the 1086 Domesday Book.
Banished from Las Vegas by way of entrance into The Black Book in 1991, 34 year old junkie Max Steingrout needed a fix.
By 1987 Max Steingrout was a Las Vegas lifer. A hanger on, a degenerate, a chain smoker, a drunk, a drug addict and most important, to the establishment which allowed him to exist in the first place, a gambling addict.
He lost more than he won.
In spite of the smell, the sports books tolerated Max, as long as it wasn’t convention season & as long as he wasn’t bothering the girls.
In 1987, for the first time in his sordid gambling career, Max Steingrout started to win & win big.
Simultaneously, the Las Vegas Corporate Takeover had began.
Frank “Lefty” Rosenthal was the target of FBI & Las Vegas Gaming Commission investigations.
In a last ditch effort to avoid indictment, & potential entry into The Black Book, Lefty Rosenthal looked at long time associate, Dick Wheeler, pointed at Max and said: ”Make that fucking prick The Chickenhawk.”
True story: In 1979, beleaguered 22 year old, professional sports bettor, Max Steingrout took a job at Circus Circus in Las Vegas, NV.
Opened by Jay Sarno in 1968 with mob money, Circus Circus
was designed to allow families to enjoy the wholesomeness
of a Circus (Circus), while Dad drank martinis, gambled the
mortgage, and cavorted with prostitutes in casino men’s rooms.
At the time, Max was doing too much crank and his betting career had hit the skids.
He blamed the losing streak on the point guard, the quarterback, the bounce or the fumble. Never on himself.
Part of Max’s duties at Circus Circus included circus animal cleanup and clown support.
As part of the Clown Crew, he would help with wardrobe, makeup & costume changes.
Max didn’t get along with the clowns. They viewed him as an outsider
with no clown credentials. They reported numerous, imagined violations
to management and got him fired after only two weeks.
Ceasars Palace’s Bobo the Famous Handicapping Chimp turned five and
was coming off an 8-4 NFL weekend spiriting his winning percentage to
over .600. Vegas partied like it was 1999. Don’t ask me how, Bobo knew
how to pick the winners.
Bobo made regular appearances on the Lefty Rosenthal Show, opposite
old Blue Eyes himself. Some maintain, Bobo stole the show. Bobo, was
more a member of the Rat Pack than Peter Lawford and it was unanimous:
Vegas loved Bobo & Bobo loved Vegas!
Unfortunately, Bobo also loved the sweet, banana nectar of Jack
Daniels. Disillusioned by the late nights, cigarettes, booze and
strippers, Bobo lashed out at his fans. He ripped off
his diaper and threw feces at Caesars’ patrons. Bad Bobo.
One night, long after his Las Vegas bright lights were turned off,
Bobo finished off a quart of JD, took a handful of sleeping
pills, choked on his vomit and died in his inebriated sleep.
