Hershel…he’d a vewy, vewy, funny guy! He’s got a raspy, throaty voice, and barks out commands as if he were the dictator of Earth. He plays Pot Limit Omaha, Limit Mixed Games, and probably lots of other games that most of us don’t know about. He definitely likes the ‘mind’ games. He’s got a little bedevilment in his eye when he starts ‘mess’n wit cha’.

One night last week he jumps up to go out and smoke and barks an order, “Deal me in!”

It’s $25-$25 Pot Limit Omaha. He returns to get involved, heads-up, where his opponent goes all-in on the flop. Hershel sets out a stack to cover it and barks at me, “Don’t worry about the change! Just deal.”

I looked at him, tapped the table to give them time to make a ‘run them once or twice’ deal and put up the Turn and River.

Hershel won the pot. He scooped up chips and started stacking, threw me a tip and said, “I wasn’t trying to yell at you. Just no reason to make the change.”

I laughed and countered with, “I’m not upset.”

The following night, $25-$50 Pot Limit Omaha, one walker, and Hershel raced up with chips in hand, sat down to play over ‘the walker’, and ordered, “Deal me in!”

I yelled, “Play over on 4.”

He came back with, “Don’t worry about it. Just deal me in.”

“I’m not supposed to deal anyone in as a play over until the chips are counted and covered.”

He rolled his eyes and most of the other players started to fidget as if I had asked them to pay time…again…pain and agony mixed with stress overload.

Carmen arrived, counted the chips and covered them. I dealt Hershel in…action, action, action.
The player returned a few moments later. Another player took a walk. Hershel jumped over to that seat with his play over box. I yelled, “Play over on 4.”

Again…they all looked at me as if I’d just been picked out of a police line-up for pick pocketing or palming chips.

Carmen arrived. I said, “Carmen, please tell these guys that I’m only doing my job when notifying that I have a play over.”

She smirked. “Lala, are these guys giving you a bad time for doing your job? Hershel?” (Yes, she’s dubbed me with the nickname Lala.)

Hershel was dealt in again. A few hands later, the player returned, and another player took a walk. Hershel made the jump over to that stack of chips and one more time, I yelled, “Play over on 4.”

By now everyone was grumbling, mumbling, having three cows and two calves even though their anatomy wouldn’t support birthing because they were all guys.

I explained to them that there had a been a problem when a player returned and felt that some of his chips were missing during a previous play over and now our policy was to make sure the chips were stacked, counted, and covered by a supervisor. Someone conceded that was a good idea.

Hershel was under the gun in this seat and he threw out $100 before I dealt. I asked if he was posting. He said, “Linda, you’re so perfect, following all the rules, you should know that it’s live if you’re paying attention.” He had that devilment, gotcha look in his gaze.

I was way too warm, way too much was going on in this half hour down, everyone was moving, fidgeting, almost argumentative, and he caught me off balance on the high wire. I countered with, “I do try to do my job well. Damn it, Hershel, and I thought it was possible that you thought you had to post to take a hand.”

He laughed because he knew he’d given me the square needle. “You do your job very well.”

Not to worry. He got two hands out of that seat, the player returned, and another player took a walk. Hershel bounded into that seat. I looked at him, shaking my head, “Hershel, you are making me crazy!”

I called again for a play over. Again Carmen came and counted down the chips. A few hands later, the player that Hershel was playing over, left the game. Hershel told me not to call the seat open, it was his seat.

I said, “I can’t do that. If you’re next, you need to have her give you the seat and take your name off the list.”

He rolled his eyes. “Are you going to deal the Shoe?” (meaning the Horseshoe WSOP Tournament)

“No!”

He laughed again. “If you did, I’d have you trained by the time you got through with it.”

“Hershel, you can never wear me down. I just do what I’m supposed to do.” I was laughing as I got pushed out of the box. He and a few other players made comments like, ‘yes, he would get you trained one way or the other’. HA! They don’t know who they’re dealing with here.

As I went past him, he told me not to call the seat, he’d just take it. I went into the ‘that’s not how things work routine’, and told Carmen the seat was open. There was so much noise and confusion that it took her about 10 minutes to call the list (there definitely was a list and Herschel was not next) and wonder of wonders, it ended up being Hershel’s seat.

While I was dealing my next game, as Carmen went by with chips for a player, she said, “Hey La. Hershel now has a seat.”

“Hey tell him congratulations.”

She did.

The next day when I went to deal to him, he exclaimed, “Oh no! Not you.”

We both laughed. His bark has no bite and I believe he’s house trained because his wife sat behind him the following night. 🙂