A Wish for Dying

I’m the one who has to die when it’s time for me to die,

so let me live my life the way I want to.

-Jimi Hendrix

It’s no surprise that one day the party will end.

We are all going to die. Blah, blah, blah. Big whoopity-doo.

But this mortality places such ephemeral beauty in all of our decisions. Every thought we possess is an irretrievable moment, every action is already lost in history. This humanity makes us all death artists; our lives are our one great performance.

Where we find ourselves at the final curtain call is perhaps the ultimate statement of our personhood.

I often hope to meet death at the poker table:

Cards flying across the green baize,

Surrounded by a table of vague faces,

Mind lost to the clack of riffling chips,

And the distant music of slot machines.

A dreamy cocoon of fantasy. 

I like this thought because it holds a number of tacit probabilities about my future. First, I am healthy enough to still play, and not finishing out in hospice or hospital. Second, I have enough leisure time for cards, likely retired, free of the burden of work. Finally, if I’m still at the table, the game I love hasn’t passed me by.

I wonder how my final hand will play out.
Perhaps I will have just raked in a big pot, piling chips into mountainous stacks in front of me.
Or, maybe the final vision will be a brutal suck-out, where a huge dog hits runner-runner on me.
Will it be one last bluff? A hero call?
Or just a couple of rags, an unplayable hand, junk I automatically flick back to dealer with a wry smirk, happy to have simply played the game.

Well, anyhow, I just pray I don’t bite it in line for the buffet.

Wanna Bet?: Gambling and the Masculine Ego

In an unexpected moment, this Montreal theoretician,

adorned with a stiff poker face, offered me a $50,000 wager

on the Caps missing the playoffs in three years.

This week the NHL playoffs begin and beards across the country begin to grow. For the fourth time in five seasons, my beloved Capitals are once again slated to face the New York Rangers. It should be a knockdown, drag out melee that will likely last seven brutal games. After a disastrous start to the season, that saw them last place in the league, the Caps stormed back, clinching another division title with games to spare. They continued their run of consecutive seasons in the post season; they have six in a row, the fourth longest active streak.

As I recollect each of the past seasons, one experience from three years ago stands out. The Caps had captured their first Presidents’ Trophy, for the best record in the league, and were favorites for a Stanley Cup appearance. Their first round match up was against the eighth seeded Montreal Canadiens.

I was at a bar, watching game three of the Capitals/Canadiens series. It was a big place, filled with televisions, but the back bar area was fairly empty. I was rocking some red, of course.

The first period was scoreless, but the Caps blistered the Habs for four goals in the second, tying a franchise record. The game put them up 2-1 in the series. My mood was elevated and relaxed as the Caps cruised, and I noticed a guy in a Montreal jersey. He and his friend were the only other people watching the game, so we started to talk hockey.

The Habs fan was in a surly mood because of the game. The conversation proceeded in a relatively friendly manner. He was an amateur player/official himself and pontificated at length on the nature of hockey for the benefit of his friend, who was but a dilettante. In an unexpected moment, this Montreal theoretician, adorned with a stiff poker face, offered a $50,000 wager on the Caps missing the playoffs in three years.

I immediately figured the Caps were a favorite to achieve this. Ovechkin, Backstrom, Laich, and Green were locked in as the long term core of the team. I also knew that the Capitals had a very strong farm system. The Hersey Bears of the AHL repeated as Calder Cup champions that 2009-2010 season. Six players from this season’s Caps team are listed on that championship banner.

The problem was two fold: $50,000 is a huge bet and I just met this guy. In fact, despite this stranger’s sane appearance, it was a completely insane offer. What type of person throws a number like that at someone they have known for an hour? In my mind, only someone who isn’t too serious.

Suppose I had said, “Sure, here is my lawyer’s number. Let’s set up an escrow account.” He would’ve smiled, taken my number, shook my hand, and I would’ve never heard from him again.

A bet like this strange, nose-bleed proposition is an interesting example of male posturing. It offers lessons on the connection of sports and the human psyche. A fan ties a portion of his/her self worth to a specific team. That team’s accomplishments fuel the ego, while each failure stings the soul. I felt this bitter sting one week later, after the Caps blew a 3-1 series lead and saw to Stanley Cup slip away, yet again.

Because the Canadiens had laid a dud of a game, this gentleman felt personally injured. To avenge this wound, one suffered in public, he found another venture in which to compete: gambling.

It has been a roller-coaster season for the 2013 Capitals: lockout, new coach, dismal start, and red hot finish. I have felt every climb and plunge with a theoretical $50,000 bump. And now, with a slow click, click, click, the cars ascend the tower of steel again, granting a wide, beautiful view of the world to all aboard. After this brief respite before Game One, the precious moment comes as we are thrust one more time, one hundred miles an hour, headlong over the horizon, into the future unknown.

My Personal Hall of Shame

Although I had dabbled with the game occasionally as a child, I started to play poker regularly in 2005. I set up a poker room in my apartment, organized a weekly tournament, hosted regular cash games, and even got a Party Poker account online. I totally threw myself into studying the game. The hours on the felt became weeks, and then years, as I slowly absorbed all the subtle nuances that had me completely entranced.

Like everyone just discovering the game, I had a lot to learn about the cards, and even more about myself. With the lenses of hindsight, peering through that narrow glint of self-reflection, there are many things I regret.

Here are a couple of my most shameful moments: embarrassing conduct I wish I could erase.  

Acting out after poor play and bad beats – I guess it always seems that awful luck hurts worse on first few stings. Feeling its poison, I frequently yelled and cursed. Who knows how these temper tantrums limited the growth of my game? No guest could be comfortable seeing their host behave like this. My poker room was adorned with wooden chairs that often bore the brunt of my anger. To relieve my frustration during that first year of cold decks, I smashed several to smithereens. On one camping trip, my friends and I cathartically burned the wooden remains, discussing all of the bad hands we had played.

Belittling poor players – The valleys of despair felt marginally worse to me than the peaks of triumph. Most of my irritation over poor play was self-directed, but on one occasion I found another unfortunate target. No doubt under the influence of poor examples set by one of my favorite professional players, Phil “The Poker Brat” Hellmuth, who has a reputation for berating players at the table, I succumbed to the same defect. One night, while dealing for the final two in a single table tournament, I told one kid, that he was “the worse player that ever sat at my table.” He hadn't busted me personally, but he had luckboxed his way into the money, and after watching him call down a hand with six high, I couldn't hold my tongue any longer. He never came back; I still feel terrible.

Obviously, no one can change the past and everyone has imperfections. However, it is important to remember our failures. Facing our faults allows us the possibility of improving as players and growing as people. These disgraceful transgressions of mine can only be mended through the continued practice of self-reflection and the years of penance, paid by carrying guilty memories.

Don't Scare the Fish!

“There is a lot of money to be made off of stupidity”

-“Alabama Man” 

After playing poker for so many years, there really isn’t too much that bothers me at the tables. One glaring exception is when seasoned, skilled players are condescending or impatient to others who are just learning the game.

A lot of people gravitate to poker as a form of entertainment; winning money isn’t their primary goal. They just want to have a good time and don’t care if it costs them a few hundred dollars. This is an attitude that is often hard to find in poker and it should be greeted with a smile and nurtured with kindness.

Playing cards in Biloxi last week, I was moved to the left of a jovial man from Alabama. He was swilling Coronas like an unemployed Charlie Sheen and punctuating his dialogue with profanity and bleary-eyed laughs. Talking with him, it was apparent that a few hundred dollars didn’t mean too much to him. The way he played poker confirmed this suspicion. His goal was simply to have a good time and there was no denying that he succeeded.

Although I had just sat down, I noticed immediately that no one else at the table was enjoying the “Alabama Man” show. There were a lot of shared grimaces and mutterings about “idiocy.”

The dealers and other players complained about nearly everything this poor fella did. They objected to his language, to his failure to follow the action, and to his general poker strategy. Essentially, they objected to him as a person.

Sensing the animosity at the table, “Alabama Man” began to consider abandoning cards and returning to the casino’s dice game.

One especially egregious example of this behavior occurred from a younger kid at the table who had amassed a large stack of chips. When the kid made a river bet, “Alabama Man” drunkenly shoved out a sloppy pile of chips with each hand in an attempt to raise the bet. The kid complained that “Alabama Man’s” hands crossed the table’s betting line a split second apart and the raise shouldn’t count. Then, in the very next breath, the kid said that he had a good hand and wanted the raise to stand. His fundamental dislike of “Alabama Man” was at war with his desire to make money. It was a weird example of the competing instincts within a lot of poker players.

Moments like these at the poker table bother me. Oftentimes players who are technically proficient fail to understand this basic premise of the game: DON’T SCARE THE FISH! Laugh at their jokes, listen to their stories, offer condolences for their losses, and complement the good plays when they make them. Be friendly because they are your true poker friends. When they are kind enough to throw a party, sit back, enjoy yourself, and have a big ol’ piece of fishcake.

From our discussion together, it was clear “Alabama Man” understood this basic carnivorous principle. Although he may have been a red-shirted rube at the poker table, he was all shark in business. He looked me dead in the eye and opined, in a self-assured and slurred tone, “There is a lot of money to be made off of stupidity.” I nodded my head in quiet agreement.

Haters Gonna Hate

“I Just Watched Bobby Bellande
Win a Hand

 and Started Breaking Shit”

It was 2:53 in the morning, and I was dead asleep, when I got this text message from an unknown number.

Sure, I knew of Bobby Bellande, who used to go by Jean-Robert, complete with the pretentious French pronunciation. He is all over the television, playing poker in the WSOP and on Poker After Dark. He has a semi-popular Twitter handle (@BrokeLivingJRB) that tracks his life of glamour. He even appeared on a season of the reality show, Survivor. And, yes, who wouldn’t be sick of his whole knit cap wearing, chauvinistic, smugness. But I’m not a terribly violent person, so I guess I feel that smashing my belongings just because Bellande is on television might be a bit of an o-ver-re-action.

The Chris Moneymaker poker boom of 2003 has elevated many top card players to the level of pseudo-celebrity. Names like Phil Ivey, Doyle Brunson, Phil Hellmuth, Johnny Chan, and Daniel Negreanu have become B-list household names. However, this national attention has cultivated hordes of “haters” that lurk in poker forums, spewing vitriol upon the minds of anyone within range. Even though the “haters” often know little more about a person than a few brief television appearances, they form strong, and sometimes even violent, opinions on what is usually very little evidence.

This “hater” phenomenon is a strange part of human psychology that the anonymity of the internet only seems to amplify. We often see it at the poker table as a player gets fixated upon revenge after losing a hand. Some players even utilize an obnoxious and abrasive personality as they try to induce tilt in their opponents and get them off their best game. However, it is always better to avoid pulling such blinders of rage over one’s eyes. They have been the death of many chip stacks. All energy wasted on hate is energy that cannot be harnessed for self-improvement and pursuing personal goals.

Hatred is an obstacle of success and happiness.

P.S. I never figured out who sent that text. Don’t want to. Isn’t it better that way?

Ah, Las Vegas

 

My recent trip to Las Vegas was my sixth visit to the international gambling Mecca, but I hadn’t been in years. Here are some of the lesser known truths about Sin City that I had forgotten.

1)      Get ready to wait in lines. The airport taxi cab line is longer than the wait for Space Mountain. It may be the worst, but is by no means the last line to encounter for a weekend in Vegas. The buffet, the nightclub, and even the card room are often protected by monstrous, snaking queues that challenge your resolve to enter.

2)      Taxi cabs can be unpleasant. Up front, next to the driver in a full cab, I was bombarded with the aroma of a week-old, soiled, adult diaper. One member of our group climbed into a back seat and found his hand in a fresh puddle of love pudding. Always look before you sit! For a full night on the town, limos are worth it.

3)      You don’t actually need sleep. Coming from the east coast instantly throws your internal clock out of whack. No, the casinos don’t pump in pure oxygen, but the city runs on the swirling mess of adrenaline produced by lust and greed. It is very hard to get more than four hours of rest at a time. Meh. Sleep when you are dead.

4)      People get cranky when they lose. I should have remembered this one. While everyone smiles upon arrival, the faces are not nearly as cheery waiting at the terminal for departure. The city is built upon the graves of losers. Get a long last look; it may be awhile before you return.

“It Couldn’t Have Happened to a Nicer Guy”

Years back, when I ran a weekly poker game, I started using a phrase after someone beat me in a pot that began a funny trend. Instead of getting mad, I would simply look over at my opponent and say, “It couldn’t have happened to a nicer guy.” Among my friends, it became an inside joke that could usually provoke a good chuckle after a tense moment. Other people began to use the line and it was all in the good fun of a weekly home game. I was greatly amused to see Jason Alexander (of George Costanza fame) use the same line a few years later on ESPN.

Playing poker among friends is obviously a much different experience than playing with strangers. It is often more driven by entertainment than the desire for profit. Poker competition among friends develops a special light-hearted type of tension as the chips move from person to person. “It couldn’t have happened to a nicer guy” was intentionally designed as a way to diffuse this tension. Handling the strain of defeat with grace and class is a skill that must be practiced and mastered.

Ultimately, poker, like most games, reveals the true soul of a person. Emily Post, in her immortal treatise on manners, writes,

“Nothing more quickly reveals the man whose gentlemanly appearance is only a veneer than the card table, for that veneer melts equally with success or failure. Being carried away by the game, he forgets to keep on his company polish. If he wins, he becomes grasping or overbearing because of his skill; if he loses, he complains constantly about the cards he has been holding and sneers at the luck of others.”
 

Hence, years of playing poker has taught me a lot about myself as well as important lessons in patience and fellowship, even when confronting opponents whose gentlemanly veneer has become badly tarnished in the swings of luck.

Body Shots

A number of years back, when I was first learning the game of Hold’em, some friends and I were sitting around with nothing to do. We had finished all the beer on the premises and the only other libation was a bottle of tequila (Cuervo, I believe). Because none of us particularly cared for the beverage (myself especially), we decided to play poker, with the loser of every hand taking a shot of the noxious liquid. After about half an hour, the bottle was empty, to a room full of regret.

Now sufficiently lubricated, a couple of the guys (for this was a particularly masculine endeavor), decided that we could continue to gamble by exchanging punches to the gut, instead of shots of rotgut. The rules were simple. We dealt the cards face up to two players, a practice in poker commonly called a “coin flip.” The loser received a punch from the winner in the stomach. This game, “Body Shots,” as it might be called, was infinitely more entertaining than traditional poker and elicited riotous cheers from the onlookers. We played until the wee hours of the morning.

The utterly barbaric and juvenile game of Body Shots illustrates several unavoidable truths about the nature of gambling:

1) Gambling is intimately connected with personal risk.
2) The risk of gambling inevitably takes the form of physical pain.
3) Gambling has a curiously self-destructive element.

And, finally…

4) Gambling is more fun, yet vastly more self-destructive, with the addition of alcohol.

Time Warp

Instantly, I was teleported into a future

where this moment was but an insignificant incident,

lost in the miasma of memory.
 

After running bad to start a recent two week Biloxi vacation, I was down about $550 and only had one more, measly $100 buy-in. So, I decided to take a few days off, enjoy myself, meditate a little on what I needed to do, and look for a soft Friday night table at Beau Rivage. When I wandered into the poker room and took a seat at a ½ No Limit Hold’em game, I discovered an anomaly of time and space that I had never experienced before.

I immediately noticed an elderly woman on my right whose shock of white hair rose up like the Bride of Frankenstein. She sat like a flesh-colored statue, draped with a jet-black, fur shawl, reminiscent of someone hunting Dalmatians for a new coat. Only a single, claw-like hand, adorned in golden rings and nail polish of the same color, protruded from its shadows to handle her chips and cards. In half an hour of play, she spoke not a word and didn’t play a hand. Like a lot of weak players, she was timid and even broadcast intended folds by the way she held her cards. I instantly knew I was better than her, wished I was sitting on her other side, and began to salivate over her stack. Easy pickings.

After a couple of limpers, I was sitting in the big blind and looked down to see A-7 suited in spades. The flop was exactly what I had been waiting for: J-9-5…all spades! I had the best possible hand and watched as Bride of Frankenstein bet out a single $5 chip. “Weird,” I thought to myself, but just called, setting the trap and got another player to call as well.

The next card was a beautiful 6 of hearts. I still held the nuts. B. of F. pushed out $10. I flat called, as did the other player. The river card was the 8 of spades, not the best card, but, still holding a monster possible hand, I began to think about how to make the most money. B. of F. dropped another $5 chip in front of her. “Super weird,” I thought. Rarely do you ever see someone reduce the size of their bet as the size of the pot grows or such a tiny river bet, not even one tenth the size of the pot…total amateur hour.

I made my move and raised to a modest $25. The other player, I was hoping had the K of spades, folded. I watched closely as B. of F. picked up some chips with a quivering hand and added them to her original bet. It seemed like she was just trying to call and the kindly dealer helped her by moving out the chips. To my surprise, she min-raised me to $45. WTF!?!

After the other weird moves she made during the hand, this didn’t faze me all that much. I was thinking of money, her money specifically, and how nice it was going to look sitting in front of me. I looked down at the roughly $60 remaining in my short stack, paused, and then said, “all in.”

As B. of F. studied the cards on the table, I cautioned myself to be nice and give the dead money time to pay me off. “Come on old lady,” my soul arrogantly mused, “I need those chips.” Instantly, I was teleported into a future where this moment was but an insignificant incident, lost in the miasma of memory. I had robbed this helplessly enfeebled senior citizen, used her money as a tool to extract hundreds more from the table, and had a fantastically leisurely conclusion to my vacation. There were days on the beach, racing jet skis, succulent steak dinners, and all the booze I could dump down my bloated gullet. It was probably only about 20 seconds or so in real time, but, in my mind, I lived out an entire week.

When she finally called, I turned up my nut flush and heard an impressed whisper from across the table. And then it happened…

she rolled over pocket 5s

and the final card on the board magically

 metamorphosed from an 8 into a 6,

giving her the winning full house!

In an instant, I was sucked out of the time vortex of my reverie, all the fantasies built on the presumed domination of the weak and ignorant, and I was back in the present again, sitting beside an elderly woman with horror-show hair. I had made the most basic of poker mistakes, usually reserved for first-time players; I misread the board!

“Nice hand,” I said and stood up. She said nothing, but simply began stacking my chips.

Always Show Your Monsters

A few years back, I was playing poker at Caesars, Las Vegas for the first time. Their card room, a stylish forum meant to host big events, was still quite new. The action was pretty good, although nearly any place in Sin City can produce a respectable game these days. It is a clean, well-lighted place with high ceilings and a great poker atmosphere. There are tons of flat screen televisions lining the walls, which were not on the typical sports or news channels, but constantly cycling through various numbers that I barely noticed.

After a few orbits at a $1/3 NLH game, I was dealt pocket 7s and saw a flop bring…two more 7s. BINGO! When you have the deck completely crippled, like flopping quads, it is very hard to actually get paid. It is a long shot that any one else has anything decent and you are usually lucky to get a token bluffer making a tiny stab at the pot, which is all I earned in this instance. After my opponent folded, I exercised monk-like discipline and quietly slid my cards to the dealer, showing no one.

The following day I learned what a mistake it was to keep my hand a secret. It turns out that the number cycling televisions, that I paid little attention to, were advertising high-hand jackpots. Had I simply turned up my four sevens to show off my luck, I would have won over $300. When I watched an elderly player collect on a made straight flush, all I could think to myself was, “Ugghhh…”

This example doesn’t illustrate the real reason that you should showoff your monster hands. Showing monsters is good for the game. By “monsters,” I am referring to the ultra-rare hands, like quads and straight flushes, not full houses or below. Flashing a monster can help to alleviate some of the tedium of a long session at the table; it energizes the game a bit, particularly those players who are new to the game and play only for the entertainment factor. Furthermore, showing a giant hand like this builds a friendlier table. The friendlier the table, the easier it is to beat. If your opponents are distracted by socializing, they will not play at optimal levels. Seeing you flash your cards will subtly influence them to show theirs and earn you information in the future. Showing your monster also manipulates your table image. People will remember the beast you had in the pocket and give you a little more room to get creative.

Good Luck, Bad Luck, Who Knows?

I read a parable the other day about the nature of luck. It goes like this: One day a man’s favorite horse runs away. His friends say he is unlucky, but the man says,

“Good luck, bad luck, who knows?”

A few days later, the horse returns with a herd of beautiful, wild stallions. His friends all tell him that he is very lucky. He simply says,

“Good luck, bad luck, who knows?”

The following week, while his son is trying to ride one of the new horses, it breaks the boy’s leg, crippling him. The man’s friends all offer consolation, saying they are sorry for his bad luck. The man replies,

“Good luck, bad luck, who knows?”

A month later, his country declares war and, because of his injury, the man’s son is exempted from military service. Shortly after this, the unit his son would have been a part of was ambushed, and all the men killed.

“Good luck, bad luck, who knows?”

There is a common debate in poker about how much of the game is luck and how much is skill. Everyday people at poker tables around the world reiterate the same cliché: “I would rather be lucky than good.” Personally, I would rather have it the other way around. Luck only exists in the short term, skill lasts much longer. Every time I take a bad beat, I try to remember all the bad beats that I have given out over the years. My own preferred saying about luck is: “It all comes out in the wash.” Unlucky one day, lucky the next, ultimately, skill determines long term success.

At the top of the ledger where I record my poker results, I have taped a small saying from a fortune cookie. It reads: “Behind bad luck comes good luck.” It is a very handy saying to ponder during the rough stretches all gamblers encounter. It helps cheer me up as I review the long list of numbers, filled with lucky ups and downs. Also, just as importantly, it helps to balance my mood after a big win and evens out the emotional highs and lows that can be absolutely torturous.

Who is to say whether winning at gambling is actually lucky at all?

Penny Poker Rage: Microchip Muscles and the Loser’s Theme Song

Ever since I moved my address to a new state and lost my regular poker game, I try to get my Hold’em fix online. I prefer to stick with the micro or low stakes, just to keep fresh for my casino trips or to practice the madness of mutli-tabling. If you have never tried 9 tables at once, then let me assure you, the game is evolving into new realms of undiscovered chaos.

As I finished a session the other day and prepared to stand up from the virtual table, a player with the screen name “Eagle1512” sat down. What ensued was among the strangest and most entertaining examples of poker tilt I’ve ever seen on micro tables. I copied the chat box transcript and present pieces of it here, for educational purposes.

Eagle1512: ust dumping will tell what i have
Eagle1512: but all in every hand
Eagle1512: i will not lie

This was quite an eye-catching way to open the conversation at a new table. Many people are essentially donating at the table, but few are conscious about it and even fewer like to broadcast the fact. It is always hard to trust anything said at the poker table, so I had to stick around and see the results.

Eagle1512: 10 J off
Eagle1512: k 6 off
Eagle1512: Q3 OF DIAMNDS

After each of these claims, Eagle shoved an absurd 40 times the big blind. After no one called, he showed his hand and built a bizarre “come bust me” credibility. I figured we would see someone wake up with a real hand, bust him, and that would be the end of it.

Eagle1512: aC6H

After this 4th pronouncement, his strongest hand yet, a player with the screen name “jerrekjones” called, turned up a shocking 10-3 off-suit, sucked out, and won. Clearly jerrek didn’t care, but why wait until Eagle’s hand got stronger and his own hand was so weak? I made the decision that if Eagle reloaded, I was sitting back down. Maybe this was a vengeful ex-wife or a parent teaching an under-aged child a lesson about gambling.

Eagle1512: GOOD FOR U
Eagle1512: EVEN ON THESE TABLE IDIOT S THAT MAKE CALLS LIKE THAT ARE REWARDED
Eagle1512: THIS SITE IS A RIGGED PIECE OF C HIT

It should be noted that Eagle has shifted to caps lock at this point, online poker’s version of screaming. This moment also marks the introduction of personal attacks and profanity into the conversation. I like to call this phenomenon “microchip muscles.” People will spout out with offensive language online that they would never use in a face to face discussion, simply because they know they are in absolutely no physical danger. In addition to microchip muscles, we are also treated here to the “loser’s theme song.” It has two primary components: the other player is an idiot and the game is fixed. Eagle delivers these in textbook unison.

Thanks to the information age, I was quickly able the retrieve public data surrounding Eagle’s player history. In roughly 4,000 hands at micro and low stakes, across three different sites, on all of which he was a loser, Eagle was down over $500. Apparently, Eagle had met a lot of “idiots” online and found out that all poker sites are “rigged,” probably just like his own home game.

Eagle1512: I TOLD U WHAT I HAD AND CALLED WITH 10 3 OFF YOU PHUCKING MORON
Eagle1512: BUT THE SITE REWARDED UR STUPIDITY
Eagle1512: I HAVE DUMPED MY LAST FEW DOLLARDS AFTER GETTING TOTALLY PHUCKED BY THIS SITE THE PAST 2 DAYS
Eagle1512: REMEMBER TO MAKE UR TRAILER PAYMENT

After roughly 15 minutes of this, I found the premise of what I was witnessing becoming more and more humorous. Soon, the enraged Eagle began to attack jerrek’s nationality (Canadian) and cite scholarly evidence from the annals of world history. I have removed jerrek’s replies because they are actually rational and not nearly as hilarious.

Eagle1512: JUST REMEMBER AS S HOLE IF IT WASN'T FOR THE YANKS YOU WOULD BE SPEAKING GERMAN @&@ HOLE
Eagle1512: AND IF CANADA WAS WORTH ANYTHING IT WOULD BELONG TO THE USA
Eagle1512: YOU GUYS DID $!#$ ON A LITTLE DEFENDED BEACH U BUNCH OF CANADIAN PUSSIES
Eagle1512: OBVIOUSLY U HAVE NO GRASP ON REALITY OR HISTORY
Eagle1512: SO YOU SPEAK THE SAME MONKEY LANGUAGE AS THEY DO BIG PHUCKING DEAL THEIR ARMY IS A BIGGER BUNCH OF PUSSIES THAN YOURS
Eagle1512: IN THE WAR OF 1812 WE KICKED ENGLANDS #&& AGAIN DUMB PHUCKER

So, in summation, Eagle sits down, announces a strategy by which he would intentionally break himself, goes broke, and then explodes at the result. Unfortunately for me, he never reloaded…another 80 cents. That’s right, all of this rage was over the contents of a couple of couch cushions.

I conclude with Eagle’s closing remarks and wonder why people across the globe often have such a bad opinion of Americans.

Eagle1512: UR COUNTRY SUCKS AND SO DO U
Eagle1512: U DUMB ASSS DIK BREATH

Eagle1512: GO WIPE THE CUM OFF UR CHIN

A Winning Vegas Wedding

Before I had ever attended one, Vegas weddings triggered for me images of Elvis and Brittney Spears. However, after watching two friends get married in a nice little ceremony in the back of the MGM casino, I learned that even a Vegas wedding can be somewhat “traditional.” Afterward, we drank overpriced champagne before a lavish dinner at Craft Steakhouse. All in all, it was a thoroughly enjoyable time.

Because we played poker together regularly, a few of us, including the bride and groom, decided to try a tournament at Paris the following night. With five entrants, we excitedly discussed the strong chance of one of us cashing and we even pooled money for a first out booby prize. Busting first of our group was the highlight of an uneventful tournament for me, but two of us did make the final table, including the bride, who won the whole shebang! After she pocketed almost a cool thousand dollars, we strolled over to the Bellagio for celebratory drinks, railbirded a few well-known pros in their high-limit room, and then watched the famous fountain out front explode into the night sky.

Of course it takes a great deal of luck to win a poker tournament, but it wasn’t luck that propelled my friend to victory (she had used up all her luck finding a great husband). I know she won because she can play a mean game of cards, but I could never help but think there was something more to the victory. Looking at the happy couple posing with a mountain of chips and the winning hand, I get the sense that it was also the completely content state of mind found in a new bride. There is certainly a direct correlation between happiness and ability at the poker table. If you take a seat filled pessimism and distraction, you will usually lose, but if you are unencumbered with these emotional sandbags, then fortune will find you.

Monkey Gambling

A few years ago, I met someone that swore she was “good at roulette.” When I asked what she meant, she (surprise!) couldn’t explain her special skill. Roulette can be a nice adrenaline rush as that little white ball dink…dink…dinks its way to a home, but it requires about as much skill to play as falling down the stairs (as well as some of the worst odds in the casino). The only way to beat the game involves cheating with a loaded ball, rigged wheel, or past posting. A large statistical analysis to determine biases in certain wheels is the only way to do it without cheating. Can knowing which bet on a roulette table offers the least house edge be considered a skill? If so, then the best roulette player in the world is the one that never plays. It short, there is no strategy in the game, hence, no skill. If you can work gravity, then you can play roulette about as well as anyone else.

“Monkey gambling” is a term which refers to games that have no strategy or skill component to them; a monkey has as good a chance of victory as the best player in the world. Even the basic physical mechanics of a game like roulette could be easily mastered by our hirsute cousins; pick up chip, move arm forward, and drop chip: done. A monkey could literally play the game as well as Stephen Hawking. The purest form of “monkey gambling” in a casino is the slot machine. Even pulling a handle is too much brain activity for slots players, so most machines now offer buttons for the convenience of their zombified patrons.

“Computer gambling” is at the opposite end of the spectrum from monkey gambling. This term refers to games that offer choices during play, and therefore contain elements of genuine strategy, but only one correct move. Blackjack is a computer gambling game because at any given time, there is only one best move. Given the composition of cards in the discard rack, slight variations from basic strategy are made to determine whether standing, hitting, splitting, doubling, or even insurance (a bad idea nearly 100% of the time) is the best play. The best blackjack player in the world could only be as good as a computer.

Poker is neither monkey nor computer gambling, although I’ve seen players who try each style. A couple years ago, animal trainers tried to enter a monkey in the World Series of Poker (see above). They took their chimp on television to demonstrate how it could really play poker; even though it could lift the cards and move the chips, it could not protect its hand, avoid string betting, or determine the strength of its cards. While any player at the monkey’s table would certainly beat the beast, organizers rightly refused to let the handlers enter the animal in the event. On the flipside, top computer designers have built machines good enough at poker to beat most amateur players. However, when pitted against professional poker players, the most sophisticated poker machine in the world still loses to the power of human imagination.

Top poker pro, Eric Seidel, captures this majestical element of the poker:

Imagination is at the heart of the game. Just as there is no right way to write a song or paint a picture, there is no right way to play poker. The best players are experimenting and adjusting all the time. The beauty of the game lies in this ever-shifting landscape, and it keeps us interested each time we sit down.

Now I’d like to see a computer, or even a thousand monkeys at a thousand typewriters, come up with that.

How to Be Drunk in a Casino

While I never advocate drinking to excess when gambling, here are a few pointers on handling the free lubrication that casinos offer.

For years I watched closely as a good friend wandered through Atlantic City and explored the nuances of these little bits of wisdom.

1) Be sure to utilize the long drive. Sure, the casinos might be a ways off, but you can take advantage of this opportunity to get properly juiced. Pick up a case of beer and, just as important, a paper cup from your local convenience store (this way those sneaky, good-time spoilers working for law enforcement will be none the wiser). This is also the ideal time to get amped up with some killer tunes that encourage serious pounding; AC/DC’s Back in Black and Guns N Roses’ Appetite for Destruction are personal favorites.

2) Just pretend you ordered that drink. Been on the casino floor for more than an entire minute and don’t have a drink yet? Sickened to death by the idea of waiting even one instant longer for a taste of more delicious alcohol? Combat this frustration by sidling up to the first waitress you spot with a friendly smile. Quickly eyeball her tray, and ask her if the (burbon/coke, gin/tonic, beer, whatever) is for you. For this move, it is essential to have a couple dollars tip visibly at the ready.

3) Use the slot machine coin cups to hold beer. Admittedly, this suggestion dates me, but the thimble-sized pittance of alcohol that some casinos offer is an embarrassment. Order two beers and when they arrive, order two more immediately. For convenience sake, combine them into one of the jumbo cups most casinos set out near the slot machines. Don’t worry about hygiene issues. Alcohol can kill anything…I thought you were a rock star anyway. And ignore the Judgey McJudgertons that you encounter; they are just jealous that they didn’t think of it first.

4) Be careful to avoid walking into mirrors. Casinos are designed like mazes to trap patrons inside and keep them gambling. Many rely upon mirrored walls, particularly around the restrooms, to create an atmosphere of luxury and the illusion of space. These facts can be extremely frustrating when drunk. For God’s sake ! Look where you’re going! And never. ever, under any circumstances, run inside! And, if you find yourself strolling toward someone wearing vaguely familiar clothing, and matching your stride step for step, don’t play a stubborn game of chicken and see who turns first.

5) Do not inquire about a dealer’s bra size. Sure, you might be having a grand ol’ time, burning experiences out of your already depleted brain cells, but it is important to remember that dealers are at work, and they might not share your exact sense of humor. Now, I know what you’re thinking; the average dealer is slightly north of petite and more than a couple years into peak menopausal activity. If you encounter one that doesn’t seem to be enjoying the party, do not try to build a conversation around the size of her brassiere. It’s large and amply filled; leave it at that. This is not a good ice-breaker.

Alcoholism is no laughing matter, but sometimes drunks can be pretty funny.

So, I have concluded, the best way to be drunk in a casino is to surround yourself with people who are drunker than you. Remember, it’s much funnier to watch someone get thrown out, than to actually get thrown out yourself.

Punching Yourself in the Face

You know I’m gonna lose and gambling is for fools,
But that’s the way I like it, baby I don’t want to live forever.
-Motörhead “Ace of Spades”

As a gigantic hockey fan, I spent a lot of my childhood getting my fix from video games.

It started with the original Nintendo’s Ice Hockey and games against my younger brother. In the mid 1990s, when Sega’s version evolved to allow the creation of players, I built every Washington Capitals roster and won the Stanley Cup Playoffs with each one. By the time college rolled around, I had a Nintendo 64 and played full seasons with my favorite NHL teams.

Through these years of practice, I naturally got better than most people; with my proclivity towards gambling, small wagers were the next logical step. I often wish I had kept records of these early bets, but am happier that my opponents did not. At the end of each session, while counting a larger number of bills in my pocket, I always wondered why they played a game that was guaranteed to lose them money.

One friend of mine started to use the video game to really explore his inner demons. His competitive nature and desire for the glorious rush of gambling eventually pushed the stakes as high as $300 per game. Yes, he improved and won many times, but as we played, my skills also increased and I naturally maintained a consistent edge. It was MY GAME after all. I was "the house," the eighty-foot-tall leviathan of statistics. Slowly, or all in one gulp, I...will...eat...you.

A couple of times, after he lost, he punched the wall hard enough for pain, and then he made a show of thinking his hand was broken. While these bizarre performances were strangely entertaining, they did not prepare me for the day he punched himself full on in the face.

It happened very suddenly, but I will never forget the savage, flesh-smacking sound of his self-flagellation. His eyes were wild and desperate as he tried to convince me to keep playing. Reluctantly, I agreed, but after another loss and another face punch, I put the controller down.

Some players use gambling to satisfy their unconscious need to punch themselves in the face. For some reason, they willingly play games they can’t win, and they repeatedly make bets that will surely lose money. All the logic, math, and rational thought in the world cannot dissuade them from pursuing this strange urge for financial self-destruction.

My friend’s face punching illustrates how this unconscious urge to lose is intimately connected with a desire for self-destruction (see Freud’s “Beyond the Pleasure Principle”).

If you like to gamble, please give yourself a long look in the mirror, and explore your true motivations. You might save yourself a good deal of money by simply punching yourself in the face.

The Rules of Gambling

More than twenty years ago, I discovered the thrill of gambling. As I gained experience placing all sorts of wagers with all sorts of people, various issues arose from time to time. So I developed several rules, which were initially just playful talk, for managing wise bets. However, these hard-learned rules have made me a lot of pocket money and saved my wallet from many unnecessary problems.

1) Put money on the "table."

The "table" is often literally a table, but sometimes it is merely a figurative term that refers to the physical transfer of money. Placing money on a table, or using it to purchase a ticket or chips, is the act which clearly signals intent to wager. It should remind a gambler that the decisions he/she makes have real consequences. Also, it greatly reduces the problems that surround collection and payment.

2) Don't borrow; don't loan.

This is a rule that I try to follow both at the "table" and away from it. I like to remind anyone requesting a loan that I am not a bank. Loans tax my bankroll and stress my head. I respect my friends enough not to burden them with my financial problems and expect they will do the same. Often, it is very hard to say no, especially to people I like; however, once a person gets to know me well, he/she understands that it's not personal. I am very strict not to loan to anyone because loaning to one means loaning to all. Once a person experiences the worry of carrying debt that is not theirs, he/she understands this essential rule.

3) Know the "zone."

The "zone" is a term which refers to an almost magical place where everything seemingly goes right. Often referred to as "rushing," being in the "zone" is the most terrific feeling in gambling; in the zone, every move works and every bet pays. Often times I can almost sense its arrival, like a rising tickle of adrenaline. However, it is more important to know when the rush is over, when to slow down, and when to quit playing. Not understanding when to quit is, without a doubt, the most costly mistake in gambling.

4) Never bet money that you can't afford to lose.

Gambling should be a pleasant diversion from the drudgery of the everyday. Therefore, it should never be engaged in with money needed for life's everyday essentials. Playing with money needed for food, clothing, shelter, or medication ruins the innocent enjoyment of gambling. Futhermore, this mistake can affect the chance of winning ; the fear of losing dominates every wager. Do not be tempted to try and use this fear as a motivation to gamble smarter. Breaking this important rule is often the sign of a gambling problem.