The $100 bills laid in a broken pattern. Their centers were twisted and mangled into a ball. The bills resembled bow ties as they filled the pot and came flying in to crash into the green felt from the 8s in a $100-200LH game. It didn’t start out this way, but everything has to start at some point or it wouldn’t be an incident or situation.

It started as I tapped out the outgoing dealer, he leaned around the 9s, to the 8s and said something like, “It’s not like you haven’t been asked,” waiting for the 8s to tear himself away from his IPod, headphones, and some gadget he kept keying or playing as his cards lay untouched in front of him and the table was waiting…

The outgoing dealer turned to me as he left and said, “The 8s has been warned 900 times, for whatever good it did,” as he moved on to the next table.

Warned about what? I would assume that it’s because the 8s stopped the action cold each time it came to him. No one was talking in the game. The 8s was already buried in his electronic gadgetry as I dealt the first hand and took Time. Not to worry, we had to wait for the 8s to tear himself away from whatever world he was lost in. Then he raised it pre-flop, lost the hand, and his cards went flying down to the 3s. I didn’t say anything to him, just dealt the next hand.

The 8s played the next few hands, calling raises, grabbing each $100 bill (or two at a time to raise or call a raise), and crushing the bills in the center as he squeezed them before throwing them in. The first two bills that came in, I semi straightened. I gave up after that. The 8s was determined to vent his anger on the bills, so be it. He lost the next few hands also.

A few hands later, the 5s and 8s went to war with pre-flop raises and a few other players tagged along adding to the pot swelling syndrome. By the time the river hit, it was the 5 and 8s heads-up. The river brought an Ace, the 5s bet, the 8s’s posture dropped into the resigned, kicked dog pose as he called and showed Q-Q. The 5s showed A-A and pulled in a monster pot laden with bow tie $100 bills.

BOOM! The 8s smacked the table. Everyone jumped.

I dealta few more hands. The 8s was really crushing the guts out of those $100 bills now as he played every hand. I looked at the 5s, he was ready to burst, had an almost laugh escaping from his lips, and I wanted to laugh so bad I could cry. I didn’t want to laugh at the 8s’s anguish, it was the over view that had me going. Here we are seated in a $100-200 game and one of the players is totally flipping while he’s sitting still and the $100 bills added an incongruoustwist to the whole scene. If the 8s’s body had a tear in it, his whole essence would have exploded onto the ceiling and walls, wiping out the other players as he blew them into eternity. The worst of it is, that all of us that player poker, know exactly how frustrated he was. I did start to laugh when I first glanced at the 5s and a $100 bill went zinging into the pot. I covered the right side of my face and told the 5s I didn’t want to laugh but I couldn’t help it. I managed to square up and get straight almost immediately, but it was tough.

The 8s’s cards flew to the 3s again. I turned to the 8s as I pulled the deck in and said, “Don’t throw your cards again.”

Every word coming out of his mouth was clipped off and sharp, “What – are – you – going – to – do – about – it – if – I – do – throw – my – cards – again?”

“Call the floor man.”

“What – is – the – floor – man – going – to – do?”

“I can call him now if you want to find out.”

“What – do – you – want – to – do?”

“I’d rather just deal the cards and have you play poker.”

The action was in action, the game was running, there was no delay as people folded and the next hand started. The 7s had put his hand on the arm of the 8s, trying to get the 8s to see reality and settle down. I never raised my voice or became irritated over any of it.

The 8s responded, “THEN DEAL THE FUCKING CARDS!”

I called for a decision. I got someone on staff that doesn’t fully grasp ‘decision’ so I told them I wanted Pete or Tom, they were the swing shift supervisors that night. The staff person walked away.

I dealt the next hand. The 8s said something like, “So what’s going to happen?”

I replied, “It’s not your first day at the table, right?”

“Are you trying to tell me how to play cards?”

“I’m asking you a question.”

He picked up everything he had left in front of him – nice, neatly crisp, loose $100 bills that weren’t deformed yet, and a few chips, and his electronic gadgetry, and left.

I did get a Floor Person – not the ones I asked for – about five minutes later. I told them a seat was open.

None of the players I was dealing to said a word for a few minutes, then one player commented on how much he was sure the 8s had lost over the last four or five days. It’s sick. Perhaps the 8s’s leaving on his own was one of the best things that could happen to him…hopefully he will have time to collect his poker attitude and wits and be able to come back and make a good showing. And maybe the rest of his $100 bills didn’t end up all twisted and tossed away in a game in the pit on the way out the door. Poker can be so brutal at times.

C ya there!