Last night was my debut on the WPT, dealing the Ultimate Bet Aruba event – see Aruba Reports in the Categories Menu. I had to work so I taped it. Well how else could I make a zillion copies and send it to all my family and bore them to death with what I do for a living? After all, the rest of my relatives all seem to live normalish kind of lives…but then again, what the hell is normal? I certainly have no idea.

I came home from work, after having a few glasses of wine with a friend…which by the way, was a great time in itself…and had a few more glasses of wine as I watched the tape. I even looked like I knew what I was doing in the video. Sweet!

Of course I was exhausted and finally dozed off during the last part of it but the good news is that I can watch it in length on days off, with more wine and friends. I believe it airs again on Saturday for any of you that might have missed it…of course you want to watch it, silly, I’m in it!

I had a little bit of fun about a week ago while dealing to a poker tyrant named Tom. He’s been around since my early Mirage days and he’s always got A-T-T-I-T-U-D-E! His main game is 7 card stud but he’s advanced to Holdem over the last few years. Same attitude.

If he’s low card in stud, for two to three hands, he starts glaring, staring, and fidgeting – mixed in with mumbles – and he flings his bring-in at the pot. If he loses a hand, God help the poor cards as he tries to loft them into the rack with more mumbling, kill looks at the dealer, and ATTITUDE.

One time at The Mirage, while I was sitting a deadspread, he was sitting there waiting for a game to start. He told me he used to be a dealer…well, hell, ain’t that always the way it is? He said he didn’t know why or how he could become so angry when he took a beat and he couldn’t control it.

I always wondered if he saw something on TV that he didn’t like, if he broke the TV set or if the food he was cooking stuck and burned in the pan, if he took a chainsaw to the stove. How do these people survive in day to day living without someone else ripping the tyrant’s head off for their insane actions.

From those days to the present, nothing has changed with him. He needs a valium every time he plays, his stress level and blood pressure must shoot sky high as soon as he smells a poker chip.

I dealt to him in a $30-$60 Holdem game and his attitude sucked. He took several walks, giving up free hands and then coming back to post the Blind. Then he moved into a $60-$120 Stud game that was about an hour ahead of me. He was in rare form when I got there. Glaring and staring with ‘ugly eyes’ growing out of his face.

He lost a hand and stomped off after flinging his cards at the rack. The player that won the pot said, “He always thinks someone else is supposed to lose.”

He came back, moved over two seats from the six to the four, and proceeded to lose another hand. He picked up all seven of his cards and lofted them into the rack while he mutter/mumbled and prepared to take another walk.

I got him before he got away. As he lofted the cards, I very loudly stated, “Thank you! It’s always such a pleasure to deal to you.”

That stopped him. He took the time to look at me, and I at him, as I finished with, “You are the biggest cry baby I’ve ever seen.”

He ran then. The rest of the players kept their hands down and looked at the green felt as I shuffled and dealt.

I was so happy! See how easy it is to make my day.

Let me finish the tale that I started yesterday, of the moon being a half moon, and the second table I dealt where I thought people were going to fight.

My last down of the night, Table 29, nine handed, $4-$8 Holdem. The 3s was somber and grouchy. The rest of the table was talkative and gambling. Three of the guys in the game were doing shots of ‘Jack’ and beer chasers and having a hell of a good time while they were doing it.

The 5s was one of the ‘shooters’ and just from the look of him, I knew he’d been in more than one fight. Yes, it was the scars on his face that gave it away. They weren’t the kind of scars that you get from riding a bike too fast and hitting a wall. He wasn’t rough looking or ‘ripped’ but I just knew from looking at him that he never backed down from a fight. He wasn’t going to here either.

He was having fun, talking and jamming, laughing because he was here for two weeks and when someone asked him if he was here for a job, he said his job was to lose money…laughter here. He’d lost $4,500 playing blackjack and his friend was a high limit player…more laughing.

The 3s tried to get up and make a table transfer on his own. He went to Table 24, right next to us, and sat down. Several players questioned his being able to move. I had already called out to Lee, the dealer on 24 and asked her how many seats she had open. That brought the Graveyard Brush person over and they told the 3s that he had to return to our game.

He dropped like a dead brick in the three seat and demanded that I deal him out…even though he had free hands coming.

I pleasantly asked, “Why not put your name on the transfer list and as soon as you can move, they’ll let you know?”

He snarled, “I know how to play the game. I know what I’m doing.”

The 5s was more than pleasant, “That’s not what she was saying, she’s trying to help you.”

The 3s grumbled some more.

The game went on. The 5s asked the 3s why he didn’t take free hands. He said he wasn’t trying to pry or be mean but why not take the hands.

The 3s said he didn’t want to play. The 5s asked him why he didn’t just leave then…not in a mean manner but like a child asking a question that he feels he needs to have an answer.

The 3s grouched, “Who the fuck are you?”

I leaned over the table and barked, “Stop it! That’s enough!” at the 3s.

The 5s started taking off his watch. Aghhhh! The 5s wasn’t going to take any heat and he wasn’t going to just let it ride if the 3s said one more thing. I would have put all of my money on the 5s at this point…plus the fact, I liked his attitude and didn’t like the shitty attitude of the 3s.

With the perfect timing of the Cavalry, the Brush came over and told the 3s he could move. Whew! I think it was lucky for him.

A little bit of chitter chatter took off about the 3s. I looked at the 5s and he was putting his watch back on. I said, “I knew what you were doing.”

He replied, “Don’t worry, I wouldn’t have hit you…”

I never thought he would.

The 1s said he was glad I demanded the 3s stop immediately and wanted to know if all dealers were trained to do that. I didn’t answer that question. I’ve seen a lot of dealers just let a situation go and the players end up in a war, it breaks up the game, the room, the night, and it’s an ugly end to an evening that should have been fun.

The upside. My head seems to be on straight. My extremely busy life, jam packed into a container so tight the world would be destroyed if the container blew, appears to have a self healing seal and I’m back on track. Whew! I was even worried about myself there for awhile.

My screenplay is zipping along. I’m almost finished with it and then comes the magic…throw it in the corner for a few days and get ready to write and rewrite but I’m still jazzed about it. Then of course comes all the little tugs of self doubt…will anyone find it appealing? Is it just me that thinks it’s worth reading and making into a movie? The bottom line is I write because I enjoy it. Yes, I’d like to make a living at it but if not, it’s therapy for me and I’m going to keep writing.

But right into poker. I hit the Sport’s Book on a break and ran into Annie Duke. She was so animated and happy, she’d just won the Omaha 8 or Better event at the WSOP. We did the girl ‘hug thing’ and I gave her the heartiest of congrats. She was on her way to celebrate. I was on my way back to the box.

Andy’s back in town, the big game is on. Craig was sitting with him when I went to work last night. I got to say ‘hello’ to both of them before I hit the dealer’s chair. Craig, send me an email, PLEASE!

I know the moon wasn’t full, it was about half, last night but I thought I was going to have a fight at two tables. $15-$30 Holdem on the first one. The 4s and 5s in the Blinds. The 4s asked the 5s if he wanted to ‘chop’. The 5s said ‘no’. The battle ended on the Turn when the 5s gave up his hand.

The 4s pursued the chopping issue a little further, the 5s said he only chopped when he had a bad hand. I explained that’s not the way it works and got chided by another player that said the 5s knew and I didn’t have to explain it. Well, alrighty then!

The very next hand, the 5s and the 6s chopped. The 4s appeared to be a little ballistic about it and called the 4s a ‘dumb fuck’. I immediately told the 4s that was uncalled for.

Now the 6s jumped in the middle of it and said he was the father of the 5s and they were always going to chop and I shouldn’t let the 4s say what he said. Yeah, right! Give me a mouth clamp so I can slap it on some of these guys while I hold the deck in the other hand.

The 5s asked me to call the Floor. I did. I explained the situtation to Boba. He told the 5s that if he chopped, he chopped with everyone. He also told the 4s that the language and name calling would not be tolerated and if it happened again, he would be out of the game.

A little more chitty chatter from the 5s and 6s. The 4s clammed right up.

Before I left the game, I told the 5s and 6s that if they didn’t want to go to war with each other in the Blinds, they could always elect to just fold or call and check it out. That’s what some of the players do that don’t chop but they have a favorite they don’t want to battle with.

The other table? I don’t have time for right now, it will have to come later. The shower and work is calling my name, I’d like to be rolled over but that won’t work so I’d better show up.

My first game was $30-$60 Holdem. Everything was rolling along, no pain or anguish, and Lei Lei came over to speak with Yen. Of course Yen was in a hand and they were speaking in a foreign language. All I said was, “English please.”

Lei Lei is well endowed and leaves very little to any one’s imagination so Jeff P. had to jump in and say, “Lei Lei, you can talk to me in any language you want.”

That gave Yen the signal to jump and jump she did. “The only one it bothered was the dealer. The dealer had to say something.”

I got feisty. “It’s the house rule.”

Yen knows it’s the house rule but she never slowed down, “The dealer had to say something, she couldn’t stay out of it…”

I said, “If I don’t say something, someone’s unhappy, if I do say something, someone’s unhappy.”

She said, “No one complain, you don’t have to say anything.”

I said, “Yeah, I’m a bitch.”

Jeff finally tore his eyes away from Lei Lei’s retreating form and wanted to know what was going on. I said, “Help me out here, you know it’s the house rule.”

He never said a word. Loss of points for Jeff here in my book, not that he was ever in the top 100 anyway.

Yen still made another comment about my being the only one that it mattered to, no one else cared.

I said, “Yup, just how I want to start my night out, getting my butt chewed out for doing my job.”

Tom, a player that used to live in town and now only comes to town on occasion, was in the 5s and he gave me the ‘just forget it’ wave…he knew I was right. I did drop it. The game went on.

*****

A few hours later, $4-$8 Holdem. They were gambling. The 10s bet a hand on the River and got called by the 3s. The 10s turned up pocket 4’s. There was a pair of 10’s on the board.

As the 3s was throwing her hand away, she turned it so the other end of the table could see it – all of this happened very fast – and I could see she had paired the 7 on the board with her J-7. The 1s quickly exclaimed that she had a winner just as she dropped her hand. She did drop it face down but she didn’t pitch it in, it was within a few inches of her hand.

Before I could think about mucking it, she grabbed it back (thanks to the 1s informing her she had a winner). I told the 1s that he couldn’t say anything unless her hand was turned face up on the table. But it was too late, the damage was done. Her hand was NEVER going to be declared dead by our house rule so I awarded her the pot.

The 8s and 10s thought it was unfair. The 10s had a small fit that the 1s had said anything.

I tried to be diplomatic, “We can’t stop conversation at the table and I’ve already told him that he cannot read a player’s hand unless it’s face up on the table.”

The 10s continued a bit longer (hey the pot had about $16 in it) and I said, “I’m not taking anyone’s side. The way our rule reads, she would get the pot.”

The 10s now got a little hot with me and told me I was definitely taking someone’s side.

I just let it go with, “Ok. I am.”

The game went on with the 3s mouthing at me, “I’m sorry.”

*****

My last game of the night? $600-$1,200 7 Card Stud…what else? Don’t worry, Cuckoo was in the 8s. He was calm while he visited with the players and got involved in a few hands. He won a big pot in which he beat Morad’s trip Jacks with a straight. After I pushed the pot to Cuckoo, he stood up, then dropped a couple of $1 chips for a tip by the rack.

I said, “Thank you.”

He said, “You really take it personal when I get out of line at the table,” and gave me a finger poke in the right shoulder.

‘Uhmmmmhhhmmm! Hell yes I do when you’re pelting cards at my stomach and chest. Why shouldn’t I?’ Those were thoughts that ran through my head but I waited until he sat back down before I responded.

As I dealt the next hand, I said, “As long as you’ve been playing cards…”

His reply was something like, “I know. And I know better.”

It’s like he was trying to make amends and expecting me to think it’s all ok. Well damn it, it isn’t all ok. How many times should someone throw cards at me and then apologize or try to smooth it over and then repeat the same process over and over?

Grow up Pros, figure it out. You’re poker face is leaking when you’re throwing cards and swearing. Fix it.

I’ve hit the wall. It’s the black poker hole that opens up and slams you into it and just when you think you might sift through the cracks, you hit the wall. I can’t stand anyone in the poker room right now…don’t take it personally…I can’t stand myself. That’s the crux of the problem. I don’t want to be there, don’t want to think about it and don’t want to see anyone.

Well I am there, too many nights a week and after the tournaments and high limit games, I’m ready to dive into the black poker hole, head first just so hitting the wall will knock me out.

Sick, ain’t it? Yup. Can’t be helped though, we all go through it from time to time but lots of us just won’t admit it. Consider this my confession.

I can’t stand to look at Cuckoo. He was in the room tonight, not playing but hanging out. I wondered how he’d look with a deck of cards shoved down his throat.

Israeli Mike or Mike D. He’s been loitering in the Sports Book for the last six months or so but hasn’t played poker that I know of. He cuts through the room now and then and give me the LOOK if we happen to cross paths. Tonight he was playing A.J.’s chips in a $75-$150 Stud game with A.J. sweating him. I can’t stand to look at Mike either. I don’t want him to breathe in my direction as I prefer fresh air.

Sam G. has been doing a lot more walking and talking than he has playing but since he’s the greatest player on Earth, he must just be giving the other players a break…yeah, right!

I sat down to deal a five handed $80-$160 Omaha 8 or Better with a Kill and Sam sat down to post between the Button and the Blind.

I announced, “Time Pot.”

He jumped up mumbling that he ‘wasn’t paying no time,’ and made a phone call. A few minutes later Nate came looking for him. Sam stayed on the phone. The game I was dealing broke up. Grant was still sitting there with chips and Sam jumped into a seat trying to conjure up a Holdem game.

Grant said, “Ok, what limit?”

Sam said, “$80-$160.”

I looked at Grant and said, “There’s a main game and a must move game. If you start a game it has to be a different limit.”

Sam tried to waltz his way around all of it and told Grant they could start anything.

Nate scurried up and told Grant to pick up his chips, he was locking up the table.

Sam said, “Well, what if we want to start a game here?”

Nate replied with a long line of explanation that went something like this, “Didn’t you tell the dealer down there,” and he motioned to another table, “to deal you in, you were going to get chips?”

Nate paused but didn’t even give Sam a chance, “And the dealer did deal you in and you never showed up…and I have several player’s word on your statement.”

Sam hemmed and hawed that he didn’t do that and him and Grant wanted to start a game.

Nate just laughed and said, “Not for you Sam, maybe someone else but you’ve got no shot here,” as he locked the box and I left chuckling.

Well…that’s how sick I am right now. If I didn’t laugh, I’d cry. Hello black hole!

What if you woke up in a poker game to find that you were the slum lord of the sick and twisted, suspicious and stupid poker players? Would you just give in to all that gut twisting mental anguish and give up control your kingdom, siding with your subjects on any issue against a dealer or the house. Or would you try to fight it off and improve your little piece of real estate so other war mongers and freaks would not be welcome there?

The foundation for the questions:

I tapped Thai out of Table 2. All seats except the 3s had chips/players at them but the only game going on was between Tab – 4s, and Larry – 8s. Larry won the hand and Tab picked up five of his cards and threw them into Thai’s chest. All the cards did the, “Woops! Gravity got me,” thing and fell to the floor.

Carmen was trying to return from her break and walked by. I yelled, “Carmen, cards down on two!”

Carmen turned around and demanded, “Where did they come from?”

Both Thai and I pointed to Tab. Carmen told Tab that he could not throw his cards. Tab made excuses for himself by stating that the dealer kept lifting the card before he dealt it each time…he even went into the hand motion.

Carmen informed him that whatever the case may be with the dealer. He, Tab, “Could not throw things!”

Table two sets up against the wall in the High Limit Section. Larry had the entrance to the Dealer’s Box blocked off on the right side of the table by a spare chair that he puts his legs up on.

Ralph P. was in the 1s and he had the entrance/exit to the Dealer’s Box blocked on the left side because his chair was tipped back to the wall. A pogo stick would have been nice here.

Thai stood up, leaving the cards laying on the floor, and touched the back of Ralph’s chair with, “Excuse me!”

Ralph jumped right down his throat, “Don’t touch me!” and refused to move his chair.

It was a stand off. Ralph refused to move even though Thai asked again and told Ralph he didn’t touch him.

Ralph barked, “Yes you did!” and sat there.

Carmen had disappeared, Lisa was the Relief Brush, and I would have liked to walk across the street and called in sick. I did something that went like this, “Carmen, can you help us out here?”

Even though she wasn’t around, Ralph decided he would straighten his chair up and we were able to switch places. Now how childish do you have to get to be a Slum Lord?

I bent down, picked up all five cards and threw them face up on the table. I declared, “Time Pot!” Pulled out the new deck, spread it, and shuffled up to deal.

Larry jumped in with, “No! No time pot,” as he went into bargaining for $400-$800 7 Card Stud.

The game was really $800-$1,600 Mixed but Renee was on a break and no one wanted to play until he returned. Ralph – 1s, was sitting out but at the table, Renee – 2s, absent, 3-s open, Tab – 4s, and having a fit about the last dealer, Cuckoo – 5s, The Elko Kid, Jason L. – 7s, dining but at the table with a missed blind button, 8 -s Larry, ready to play and bargaining for any game.

Cuckoo and Larry decided they would play $400-$800 7 card stud while they waited for Renee to return. Tab kept talking about the last dealer and how he exposed/lifted each card before he dealt.

Ralph stated that that must be the reason that Bellagio had a such a bad reputation…”because of dealers like him.”

Get the gag here and get ready to tie my mouth shut…where the hell are these people coming from? Oh yes, the Slum Lords are having a meeting and they want to control their section.

About three hands later, Larry makes trip Jacks on the River and Cuckoo locks and loads his throwing arm with his losing hand. He hits me in the stomach with four of his cards with this statement, “That’s why we throw cards.”

I’m spewing, “Don’t throw your cards at me.”

As he throws the other three into my stomach and I’m repeating, “DON’T THROW YOUR CARDS AT ME.”

Let’s do a little multiple guess here on ‘That’s why we throw cards.’

(a) Because I’m an idiot and I can’t take a beat.

(b) Because Larry won the hand.

(c) Because Linda’s dealing.

(d) Because if I lose tonight, I might have to consider work.

(e) All of the above but mostly A.

Cuckoo then jumped up and went to play on Table 1…I’d just gone through there, it was a $400-$800 Mixed Game…but he left some chips on Table 2 because he was going to come back when Renee returned.

About five minutes before the end of my down, Renee returned. Ralph, Tab, and Renee discussed playing 7 Card Stud or playing the games in order. Ralph wanted to wait. Larry reappeared. Cuckoo came over and took his blind. The game was Omaha 8 or Better.

Not to worry, when I left the table, Cuckoo was whining like a whelped Slum Lord, “It’s always the same fucking thing…” Tears, sobs, whines, gutteral swearing…

Shoot! Hope I don’t see you there! I’d rather see you where real people live and breathe and don’t base their lives and existence on a poker game.

An enigma. Merriam-Webster’s definition:

Main Entry: enig·ma
Pronunciation: i-‘nig-m&, e-
Function: noun
Etymology: Latin aenigma, from Greek ainigmat-, ainigma, from ainissesthai to speak in riddles, from ainos fable
1 : an obscure speech or writing
2 : something hard to understand or explain
3 : an inscrutable or mysterious person

Let’s pick number 2. It totally fits Frank T. I’ve been dealing to Frank for a lot of years and there’s never a bright spot. If he wins, he’s never going to give up anything other than a couple of bucks and if he loses, he’s going to try and slam the cards through the chips in the rack…and during all the hands that he doesn’t get involved in, he’s going to peer at me as if expecting me to come up with a reason that he’s not winning.

He’s never happy, at least at the poker table, never loosens up and becomes boisterous or even acts like there’s anyone else at the table besides him and an adversary. If there are seven other players, there is still only one adversary…is it me or them?

He never speaks to me or even acts like I’m human or capable of carrying on individual thought and having anything worthwhile to add to the poker environment so I stay away from “Frank’s World”. I’m not invited and I don’t want to get trapped in it.

I dealt to him in an $800-$1,600, Mixed Game that was running eight handed on Wed. night. He peered at me relentlessly, as I dealt the hands, and I refused to even look at him. He threw in more than one $5,000 chip and I gave him the correct change each time, even though he counted it down, after watching me stack it out of the pot.

I’ve never had an exchange with him that ever made me feel the ‘human side’ of Frank. Although I did laugh my butt off one night, years ago at The Mirage, when he was playing Jessica’s chips in a $3-$6 Holdem game.

Jessica is/was Mason M.’s secretary and she was in the learning stages of poker. How and why Frank and her got together in the poker room is none of my business and I really don’t care. Frank was playing her chips and she was sitting behind him. Frank got involved in a hand and was slamming raises in each time he could. Jessica and Frank were visiting during the action of the hand. One of the players had a fit and told me that he didn’t want the sweater telling Frank how to play the hand.

I was dumbfounded. I even tried to explain that she wasn’t telling him how to play. That didn’t work so I had to ask them not to have any conversation during the hand. I still find it to be quite funny when it comes to mind. Frank didn’t laugh then and he still doesn’t…maybe this is the only time in history that I will find any part of Frank’s poker play to be enlightening and humorous.

*****

The big game has moved to the Nugget…or so the story goes. George P. told everyone last week that he would be playing at the Nugget…yoo hoo…makes my day.

It appears that the biggest game we’ve had lately is the $800-$1,600 Mixed Game. The room is super active and filled with lots of ramble/gamble. The games are much more ‘dealer friendly’ now that the wannabees have moved off and let the newbies play.

I did get the terminal question again tonight…$8-$16 Holdem, nice little game, lots of great action and the 5s had sort of taken an instant ‘like’ to me. Towards the end of my down, he asked me if I liked the movie, A River Runs Through It.

I had to be truthful and tell him ‘no’. I felt it was dark and dismal. It took a few more words than that but when I left the game, they were still slamming and all appeared happy with my having been there for a half an hour.

God! I should start keeping track of the number of times I get asked that damn question.

The next question should be: Can you keep a straight face when you get asked if you’ve seen or liked A River Runs Through It.

I went to work Monday night, the 26th, dealt through the shift, and hit the work out club with my friend/dealer Suki, at 3:00 a.m. We did an upperbody workout, went for a long walk in the early a.m. pre-dawn Vegas hours, in the area of the workout club.

We spent most of the time visiting about our kids and our lives trying to raise kids and adjust to being parents when we were kids ourselves.

We’re still trying to adjust to our kids and helping them while they are having kids. That’s where I’m at now…

I have three granddaughters, the children of my middle son, Josh. My youngest son, Darian, has been expecting a son to be born any day…due date on the 27th of April.

What a glorious way to spend the day. I came home from the workout club, refreshed, relaxed, ready to write a post and bed. I got a glass of wine and just when I thought I’d get into writing, the phone rang. Darian reported his gal had been having labor off and on all night long. We hung up with the promise that he would call me as soon as they were at the hospital.

I went to bed, leaving the phone on, and got all those idiot ‘fax’ bitch telephone calls and wrong numbers that seem to happen all the time. I slept like crap. At 10:00 a.m. the phone rang and my family was at the hospital, she was dilated to 4. I jumped up and hit the toothbrush and grabbed my camera.

I was there by 11:00. We spent the next five and half hours, talking, laughing, jumping, patting each other, helping Mom turn over, and giggling over the anticipation of the birth.

There was a lot of confusion over the Dr. as the regular Dr. had been out of contact for a day. The physician that administered the epidural came in…he was funny, but then he wasn’t in labor. Mom settled into pre-birth with the epidural and relaxed.

More confusion as to which Dr. would deliver the baby. Finally…the original Dr. would be there but I had to question if she would make it on time. The baby’s head had started to crown when the Dr. arrived (there were two nurses in attendance that knew what the hell was going on…YIPPPPEEE!)

I watched my grandson’s head appear, then his body, I patted Mom’s head and cheered her on…my son held her hand and gave her more compassion and strength than I would give most men credit for, and we had a beautiful, healthy baby boy! Born on the day he was due. Mom, Dad, and Baby…wonderful.

No time for poker when one of the biggest events of life is happening so put me on hold for a day.