Thursday, November 29, 2007

Five-Card Stud (Cigar Smoke 11-29-07)

A few months ago, after watching poker on TV and seeing these turkeys win hundreds of thousands of dollars, even millions, with the turn of a card, I decided I would become a poker player. How hard could it be? Just a bunch of guys sitting around a table trying to outsmart each other and waste time, and maybe have a few beverages while you’re doing that heavy outsmarting work. I thought I could do that.

So I set out to become a poker phenom. I think you can still be a phenom if you’re old enough to be the grandfather of the current crop of phenoms. And it’s not illegal or immoral or fattening. Yes, I would become a phenom. I thought: “All I need is an edge.” Once I had that edge I would become wealthy, cool and, excuse the expression, a poker five-card stud.

I already had the wasting time part down and the drinking beverages part down pretty good, so to get that edge I decided to read everything I could on poker. And I did. I read eight books, starting out with “Texas Hold’em for Dummies,” which was an obvious choice. Then when I became less dumb, I read “Hold’em Wisdom for All Players” by my favorite TV poker player, Daniel Negreanu. Then it was “Million Dollar Hold’em Limit Cash Games,” followed by “52 Great Poker Tips” (it turns out I needed the 53rd tip, but who knew at the time).

Then I got even more serious and hit the heavier stuff. No, not the beverages, the books. I read the “Book of Bluffs” and “Hunting Fish” and “The Virgin Guide to Poker” and finally “The Tao of Poker.”

Now armed with the conflicting clutter of expert instant info, I started out on my road to becoming a poker phenom. And not just any phenom. I would become a rich, wise, bluffing, fishy, taoistically non-dummy phenom. Who, by the way, was a virgin. (For all you young kids out there reading this, I don’t think the virgin part was necessary.)

Before I used this new sure-fire poker knowledge at a real poker table with real poker players playing for real money, I decided to go online to get a little experience under my Mr. Big and Tall belt. So I checked out Full-Tilt Poker online. That seemed to be where the action was. They said you had to have only two qualities to join. I said, “Uh, which two?” They said you 1) have to be delusional, and 2) have a lot of money. I said, “Deal me in.”

I started out at the dollar table and did pretty well. I was actually up 300 bucks. Well on my way to being a poker phenom. Then things kind of evened out. I spent maybe three nights a week hiding in my home office after Marge went to bed, firing up the computer and hitting the online felt. Mostly I enjoyed it. I loved how the cards looked on the fake tables, and all the players used Avatars to represent themselves, and I was addicted to the little clicking sounds to get cards and make bets, and the sucking-in-the-money-sound when you won. (Every once in a while Marge would hear me yelling “Yes!” and open the door and say, “Are you having orgasms without me?” No, she didn’t say that, she said, “What are you doing?” and after I hit the boss button I would tell her I was researching our retirement program so we would have enough money to give to MoveOn.org.)

Well, as you have probably guessed, the poker tides eventually turned and I was caught up The River without a puddle. Yes, I started to lose. I gave back the $300 I had won, and then lost another $300. So then I had to deposit more money into my Full-Tilt account and I put in $500 more. And, after a month of online poker pissing matches, flame-throwing chat-line exchanges, incredible bad beats and David Letterman luck that I wouldn’t give to a monkey on a rock, I dropped that $500, too. So I was down a total of $1,100.

Now, $1,100 isn’t all that much money. I mean, yes, it’s money, but I could rationalize it away. It was a hobby. I wasn’t golfing anymore. I was paying the rent and baby was getting fed. I wasn’t a gambler. I was a poker phenom, dammit. I didn’t spend money on expensive hookers or that kind of thing.

So, I said to myself, I’m going to make one last run. I put another $600 into the pot. The little computer message said, “Are you sure, dumbass?” I said I was sure and something about kicking someone else’s dumbass. The computer said, “Who are you calling a dumbass? “ I said, “I’m calling you a dumbass, you dumbass!” The computer said, “Your $600 has been accepted. Good luck, dumbass.”

So, going against all my poker book advice, I started to chase my money. That means you make larger bets to get back the money you lost earlier. I went to the $2 tables. And I did pretty well. For more than 10 minutes. Damn good. Then I lost. Then I won. Then I lost. Then I lost and I didn’t win. Then I kept losing. Then I killed myself. Then I came back to life. Then I bet again. And I lost.

Finally, to make a long story obvious, I literally and figuratively and virtually and virginally had my entire 600 bucks riding on one hand. I could not lose. I had a straight flush. The 2-3-4-5-6 of hearts. The 2 and 3 in my hand, the 4-5-6 in community cards. The only hand that could beat it was a Royal Flush. Which was impossible to have!

Your poker phenom was wrong. There was another hand that could dampen my hopes, my dreams, and my shorts. Some non-dumbass guy had another straight flush, a higher straight flush. He had 4-5-6-7-8 of hearts. He was holding the 7 and 8 of hearts!

Hey, I learned my lesson. I got a new book — “The Tao of Stud Virginity for Suck Ugly Beyond Belief Stupid Money-Wasting Glory-Chasing Wannabe Phenoms.”

I’m halfway through it now. I’ll be back.


Jim Laris is the former owner/publisher of the Pasadena Weekly. Contact him at jimlaris@mac.com.