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. 🙂

Mike D. or ‘Israeli Mike’ as he’s known in the poker world, is a subject of more than one post in the Diary. When he first started playing at the Mirage, he appeared to be happy and friendly. Time passed and he became the Briar Patch in the rock pile. Not only did he play high limit but he could be the most antagonistic and hard to get along with player out of a group of players, that didn’t even like their moms, that ever sat at the table. His mood of the day always depended on winning/losing.

Over the years, I’ve called a floor supervisor many times because he chose to throw the cards into my shoulder when he lost a hand or he’d start gesturing at me and swearing and a few hundred other little moves that made me very aware that he was going to try and make me miserable. Lots of dealer put up with it, which of course, makes my job and everyone else following those dealers, have a miserable time with a tyrant that knows he’s got you trapped for half an hour. He’s claimed, many times while playing, “I’m an asshole!”

The update is that he’s not been playing much poker at Bellagio. He’s been in the Sports Book and I’ve passed him many times. Each time, I’ve greeted him with, “Hi Mike.”

He occasionally grunts back a ‘hello’ or mumbles something that would be classed as a greeting.
Why do I bother? Hey, kids, you just aren’t going to wear me down. I might take a recess in greeting you but I always come back around because I believe people should get along.

Last week Mike was playing $75-$150, 7 Card Stud but I didn’t deal to him. A few nights later he was in a $15-$30, 7 Card Stud game and I did deal to him. He started with backed up Kings, made trips on 5th street and got beat by a flush on the river. He did the ‘masturbating motion’ with his right hand at me and started speaking to the guy next to him in a foreign language. I ignored him as much as possible.

The following night I dealt to him again, same game and limit. He zinged the cards into the rack once but was fairly civil through my down.

The next night, I walked through the Sports Book and he was sitting alone at the end of an aisle. I walked up with, “Hi Mike. Can I talk to you?”

He couldn’t escape as I stood right in front of his chair. He looked down and wouldn’t give me eye contact as he asked, “What do you need?”

I said, “When I deal to you, it always turns out bad.”

He said, “Tell me about it.”

I wasn’t conceding anything with win or lose, I just meant the whole situation was always unpleasant, for both of us.

I said, “I don’t know why. It really never changes.”

Still looking at the floor, he said, “I give up on poker. I don’t care about it anymore. I’ve been sick for 8 months and I only have 60% chances.”

I reached over and rubbed his shoulder for a few seconds and said, “I’m really sorry you’ve been sick.”

I walked away. He never looked at me once during the conversation. Am I sorry he’s been sick? Yes. I think health is the most important part of our lives, if you aren’t well, it’s difficult to clear your mind to anything else.

Is he a bad guy? I don’t know what he’s like away from the casino but I judge people’s actions towards me as a guideline for how I feel about what goes on in their ability to deal with other people and situations. When I see you across the table, and all you ever give me is the shitty side of your attitude just because I deal poker, how could I possibly think you were a great, wonderful, humanitarian type of human being? Maybe you don’t give a damn how the poker room staff views you…if so, carry on. You’re the one that’s trapped in there.

You would think that since Bellagio’s Tournament is over, the room would slow down a little. Not even close. It’s impossible to even spread enough games and have enough dealers to handle everyone that walks through the door. Our 30 table room was running to full capacity on Saturday night, with game lists so long, players were hanging off the drapes and ceilings, trying to spot an empty seat before the dealer called one and the brush filled it. Ok…that’s a slight exaggeration on the drapes and ceiling thing but it was totally insane, body heat, steam, people, noise, the dueling microphones, the sort of scurry and hurry you’d expect to see inside an anthill.

Some of the funniest things are said and done at the table. A friend of mine, Bernie, from Europe, comes in every year for the WSOP. He’s arrogant, cocky, funny, and has his own view of himself and the world. He’s, of course, No. 1 in the world rankings of Who’s Who and the most important person in the world, scored and tallied by himself and he’s the judge.

I first met him through my friend, Christoph, also from Europe. I take them out target shooting when they come in, if their and my permits. They pay for everything, including the gas, and we end up laughing our butts off during the trip, the experience, and afterwards.

Bernie always asks me about my daughter, even tho I don’t have one. I do have several daughter-in-laws. He met Stacy, mother of my little girlfriend, Kayanna, youngest of my granddaughters. Stacy is a sultry beauty and he always inquires through email and when he’s here, ‘how she is, what’s she doing’, etc. I don’t blame him, if I were a guy, I would too.

Now that the ground work is laid for the story, he appears on Thursday night, just got into town the day before, jumps into a $30-$60 Holdem game that I happen to be dealing. We exchange, “Hello, how are you,” and all the stuff you do when friends arrive. I push him a pot, he throws me a $10 chip and says, “Give me back $9.50.”

Yes, he’s joking, sometimes he wants me to give him $9.99. I make the change, keep $1, and state, “Thank you! Sorry, no other change in the rack.”

He emphatically says, “Ok. You owe me a shooting.”

I cracked up.

On Saturday night, he’s in the 8s in a $40-$80 7 Card Stud game when I sit down. We do the ‘hi’ thing. He asked me if I’m still married. I said, “No.”

He pursues it, “Why not?”

“I haven’t met anyone I want to marry.” Trying to move the conversation away from myself, I countered with, “What about you?”

He quickly replied, “Well, you never called me. You send me emails but you don’t call.”

Hysterical. I was trying to ask him if he was married and he threw me a curve ball. I started laughing again. Thankfully I got pushed shortly after that.

*******

During the hectic screaming noise of the poker room, while I was trapped in high limit and dealing a lot of Pot Limit Omaha game, somewhere…out in the nether regions surrounding the poker room, someone intermittently screamed, “WOOF, WOOF!”

It seemed to happen right in the middle of intense action and was very disrupting. The first time it was sort of funny, brought a slight titter to the room. The second time it was wearing thin and a few players grumbled. The third time it happened, everyone was up in arms with, “Get them out of here! Throw them out! Who the hell is doing that?”

I asked Carmen about it when I was out on break. It was a player in the $30-$60 Holdem that was doing it when he went out to smoke, tourist, just having fun. She talked to him about it each time, asking him to cease and desist. The final time, number 3, she said to him, “If you do it again, make sure it’s on your way out the door because if it isn’t, Security will be walking you out!”

*******

While dealing a $30-$60 Holdem game, the 10s was Asian and filled with gamble, gamble, gamble. He was the Big Blind and called a raise with 8-2. Deuce on the flop, bet, raise, call, blank on the turn, check, bet, call. Deuce on the river, bet and got called. He was jamming and ramming with any two cards, when I first sat down, and winning every hand he took to the river. Several players mentioned ‘California action and play’.

The 10s jumped right into the conversation, agreeing that he was from CA and he could play, play, play. He was pretty bubbly and excited, started talking about the action there and how you had to know how to play in that type of game.

The 6s was quiet, a young man, that appeared to watch everything that was going on at the table, and the 10s caught his watchful gaze. The 10s directed his conversation to the 6s, “You come to California, I’ll teach you how to play in those games.”

The 6s dryly replied, “Well, let me know when you’re going to do something really spectacular and I’ll pay close attention.”

I exploded with laughter. It’s better than a front row seat in a comedy show.

A little history is in order here. In October of last year, I posted about a bad exchange I’d been having with Cuckoo. Everything seems to resolve itself, one way or another. In December, he was standing in the high limit section and I walked by and touched his arm, and asked how he was doing. His reply was that everything was “Ok.”

A little later in the night, he passed me again and this time said something along these lines. He was just being mean when he gave me the heat, during my conversation with Freddie and him, that night in the Sports Book. Since then, each time we’ve passed each other, it’s definitely a more sincere, “Hello, how are you?” exchange.

I dealt to him a couple of times this week. Last night he was playing $400-$800 Mixed Games, on table 1, and in the 4s. The game was 7 Card Stud. He lost a huge pot. Held his cards for a little longer than necessary, but laid them down instead of throwing them at me. A few hands later, he held his two hole cards by the edges between his thumb and index finger, horizontal to the table. He meant to give a squeeze and have them pop out to the muck as he was folding. He squeezed too hard and one of them shot right into my upper chest, a few inches below my chin. My eyes popped open, it was so unexpected. I looked at him and he apologized immediately. I know he didn’t mean to do that. I didn’t say anything, just went on with the hand.

Curtis and Jason were sitting next to each other and a few hands later, they started a commentary, “Wow! Wish I could learn how to do that…that was pretty smooth…”

Cuckoo blushed, “Did you see the look on her face?”

I said, “He didn’t mean to do that.”

They both went into “That’s what you think, he knew what he was doing…”

I said, “He’s a professional card thrower. I’ve seen his moves. If he wanted to throw them, he’d just throw them.”

Sam G.’s comment, “Can you do that with a saw blade?” Well what else would you expect from a professional, high limit, railbird?

Hey, shit happens. You can’t always think someone’s out to get you or everything’s intentional…I do know the difference. There’s a time to scream for a decision and report someone’s bad behavior and there’s a time to just get over it and get on with the game.

So here’s the difference:

A week ago I’m dealing $80-$160 Holdem. Taz is in the 8s. He’s a regular – sort of off and on – bad tempered when he’s losing but otherwise he’s easy to get along with. He flopped a set of 4’s in a pot raised pre-flop. The raiser held 7-7. Board, 10-5-4-8-6…lots of action, action, action. He raised the River and got raised and called. His cards sailed up in the air and one landed in the muck and the other flew into my hand.

I immediately said, “Just set your cards down.”

I’ve dealt to him many times and this is typical for him, there’s no reason for me to let him get started with his ‘I’m having a bad day’ routine when I’m the one that has to do the dodging.

The next hand I dealt, the action was still on the 3s, when Taz’s cards flew through the air about nose level, out in the area of the 3s. I sternly said, “You are going to need to fold in turn and set your cards down. I’m not going to dodge them while I’m dealing to you.”

The next hand, when the action came to him, his hole cards were setting a few inches from his chips, right between his arms which were resting on the table. I waited a few seconds and when he didn’t move, I said, “It’s up to you.”

He motioned to his cards and said, “Take them.”

I yelled for a decision. The 5s, a California player, said, “It’s ok. It’s ok, you don’t have to call anyone.”

I said, “It’s not ok!” and screamed again for a decision.

Nate appeared. I told him exactly what happened. He told Taz that he would have to fold in turn and push his cards in. That if he didn’t want to play while I was dealing, to take a walk. Otherwise he’d be dealt out. The 1s gave Nate a tip and said, “Good decision.”

Taz was fine with that. He behaved. A little later I stopped and visited with him for a second, after the game broke (it was a must move). Hey…he’s really not mad at “Linda”, he’s just mad at the dealer, no matter who it is. His behavior is terminal…never ending…always the same. Mine might be too….

I started my night in an unfriendly, little $300-$600 Mixed Game on table 1. I announced, “Time pot!” as I planted my tush in the dealer’s chair, checked the game plaque so I knew what I was dealing, pushed the ‘green light’ on the Shuffle Master and put in the used deck and took out the newly shuffled one, quickly scanned the rack to make sure it was right, and then just before cutting the cards to deal the 2nd hand of Omaha 8 or Better, I took a $100 chip from the Small Blind and made change and took the time. I then moved a button over to designate that hand #2 was being dealt.

I dealt the hand and it ended up being the Button and the Small Blind with the Button raising. The odd change from time was in front of the Small Blind, Brian, as he called the raise. Magic was in the 4s, and the Big Blind, and he grabbed change from his Big Blind of $300 and pushed it to Brian. He was wrong!!!! Not just because he made the change, but he gave Brian the wrong change. It took him two attempts to get it right. D-a-m-n! It feels kind of good to see a player trying to make change and run the game and even they make mistakes.

This whole game isn’t worth getting into. It wasn’t any fun. They were adamant about “Don’t touch the chips or give change.” Hey, I never touch the chips when it goes to heads-up in an 8 or Better game so I don’t need the lecture.

Right after that game I was in a $200-$400 half 7 Card Stud and half Deuce to 7 Triple Draw. Carmen was trying to answer a question from Yen, 3s, while O’Neil, 6s was interrupting her. Apparently they had a little war going on between them about Yen insisting that O’Neil call his last $50, because of the ante in 7 Card Stud, during a hand of Deuce.

In the meantime, the 7s, a youngster, kept dropping his cards on top of my hands when he got a hand beat. I find this to be very insulting and irritating. My hands are always back, clear at the edge of the table when a hand is completing…I never lean on the table and lean out with my arms blocking the players view of cards, chips, and other players. So in order for him to drop his cards on my hands, it’s very deliberate. I picked the cards off once, like I would a spec of lint on my shirt, and dropped them face down onto the felt. He apologized then and went into a bit of conversation about how he felt that he was being cheated when he played.

I said, “Really!”

He said he knew he wasn’t but it felt that way. Don’t worry…just before I left the game, he dropped his damn cards on my hands again. Wonder how he’d like it if I stood up and dropped my chair on his head?

Well here we go with table 3 and my qualifying round for winning the W. D. O. Y. Award…yes…The Worst Dealer of the Year. It’s the good old $80-$160 Omaha 8 or Better with 1/4 Kill. Not to worry, Boony was in the game and we’ve had our little differences…up until now our differences were that I just wasn’t pushing him winners…hence a post to the ‘Diary’ last year. This time I made a mistake. One player was all-in, Boony and another player had $220 each, sitting in front of them, $20 chips. Boony got quartered.

I started out knowing exactly what I was doing. I gave $120 of Boony’s $220, to the other player which was right, but then for some reason, I went right into Brain Lock. I chopped up Boony’s last $100 and Boony ended up with $40. Needless to say he had a fit…hey, I didn’t say I blamed him.

The other player relinquished everything I’d given him, the 3s tried to grab the chips to straighten it out, I told him he couldn’t, Boony yelled, “Is this your first day, Linda?”

I said, “It looks like it.” It was a yelling mess for a few minutes. I apologized but that wasn’t good enough. The chips got squared away, the all-in player got half of the main pot and Boony and the other player got a quarter. The 3s told me that since I didn’t know what I was doing, I should let them help me. I told him that eight people yelling at me wasn’t going to make it any better, no matter how much help I got.

I related this even to another dealer, Dave, a few hours later and we both agreed that we are so tired (6 day work weeks for 3 weeks) and so many players in from all over the world that try to run the game themselves, and so much tension and stress, that we literally lose our concentration and focus in the midst of everything that’s going on…he’s having some of the same problems I’m having. Another thing we agreed on, most of these are California players and he said if he had to deal in California, he’d quit and become a taxi driver. Ditto here, baby!

I always pride myself on being a good dealer, for a lot of reasons, not just pushing the pot and reading the hands, but being aware of body language and what’s going on around me along with great mechanical skills that I’ve fine tuned over the years.

Well tonight kind of blew that right out of the water…I think I qualify for the worst dealer of the year award. I made a mistake in the $50-$100 Pot Limit Omaha game when Jan – 5s, bet $2,000 using four $500 chips, and the player in the 1s called using $100 chips.

The 1s stacked them out neatly in four stacks but there were only four to a stack. I just didn’t see it. I pulled the bets into the pot, and thankfully didn’t slam the pot together so they couldn’t be identified…those four stacks were still setting on the edge of the pot barely tipping over.

Sammy F. caught it. As brutal as he is to some of the dealers, he was extremely gentle and soft spoken with me. He said, “Linda, he only called $1,600.”

I did something like, “Oh my God!” I looked at the pot and sure enough, he did. I pushed the 1s’s bet back out and he corrected it. I apologized profusely as the 1s showed Jan a Flush which was King high.

Jan held his hand for longer than necessary and then chastised me for missing the call. I apologized again. He went into a wee bit of a rant, “What if I had an Ace high Flush, my pot would be short…..”

Again, I told him I was sorry. Hell, I feel worse about it then he does. I know it sounds crazy but I like to be on top of what’s happening in the action. As it turned out, the 1s won the hand but this type of lapse on my part is really bad.

A player came into the game a few minutes later to play over, chips were counted down and a play over box was in place and I started to deal the player in. Ugh!

Sammy said, “No!”

I countered with, “It was done last night.”

Sammy looked at me like I was a 5 year old that didn’t quite understand why I couldn’t fly a kite in a lightning storm and said, “He’s playing over.”

I just went with it. But believe me when I tell you, they were being dealt in last night.

Earlier in the night, I dealt a $20-$40 Omaha 8 or Better game with a Half Kill. I did another ‘pot mistake’ there. The 10s was the Big Blind of $20, the bet was raised. He threw in a $100 bill and pulled back his two $10 chips. I counted his change out of the pot and gave him back $80. As I pulled the pot in, I knew I had to have $160 for four players and there was only $140…I had to think about it before it dawned on me what happened. I told him he owed $20 more to the pot and explained what I did. Luckily for me, Jim was in the 8s and he verified my error. The 10s put his money in without saying anything.

Making a Fizz ball mistake is one thing, (something that doesn’t affect the pot or the hand), but this type of mistake makes me really leery of my own ability to focus on the game and then I get a little ‘stretched’ as the shift goes on. I beat myself up, threw me against the wall, drop kicked myself through a plate glass window and now I’m ready to write a green felt tale.

I started my day/night in the Tournament. Antes were $200, Blinds were $800-$1,600. Three of the players at my table I knew by name, Bruno, Bob Stupak, and Dave AKA The Devil Fish.

I barely looked up during my down because I didn’t want to miss anything in the action at the table. Several hands were long and quiet while a player faced a large bet or raise but no one went broke and there were no screams of agony. At one point, while waiting for an exceptionally long time for a player to make a move, four players were walking around and all of a sudden, “Oh, when the sun beats down and burns the tar up on the roof
And your shoes get so hot you wish your tired feet were fire-proof…”

It was Devil Fish, microphone in hand, singing Under the Board Walk, a sweet old tune performed by the Drifters.

Then I was out of the table, on a break, and looking for Andy Bloch. Suzie brought him up to me as I was dealing heads up Razz to O’Neil and Vasilli on table 1. They were shooting it up in a little $300-$600 duel so I did manage to get a few words into Andy. He was heading home.

Now just to show you how much attention some players pay to what’s going on in the game, table 1 has the Shuffle Master installed. It takes approximately 45 seconds for the machine to shuffle. The first hand was raised, fold, and the machine was still shuffling. Vasilli asked me if I would go ahead and shuffle and deal the next hand instead of waiting for the machine. I smiled at him and said, “Sure, just for you.”

It worked out well, I had the hand shuffled and dealt by the time the machine finished. In almost all instances when there was no action past 4th Street…machine one hand, Linda one hand, alternating shuffling action. Half way through my down, O’Neil said, “Use the machine too.”

Well…Ok!

My next game was Doyle and Barry playing Chinese Poker. They were playing two hands each. The player in front of the Button got the 1st and 3rd hand and the Button player got the 2nd and 4th hand. Lyle arrived and so did Minh. They had a little mini argument about what games they would play and in what order and I ended up dealing a few hands of Deuce to 7 Triple Draw before I got pushed. Funniest part of it to me is that they never argue about the limit. It was $2,000-$4,000 Blind Pot Limit when they hit the Omaha game and No Limit when they hit the Deuce to 7 Low Ball.

Then off to $80-$160 Omaha 8 or Better with a 1/4 Kill, and then $30-$60 Holdem in which the 7s won two hands back to back and then couldn’t wait for me to leave as he kept motioning and groaning, “Come on, Linda. Do something.”

He liked to play…he was sure I did it to him every time. He went out to smoke on the last hand I dealt. He was leaning over the rail from the Sports Book when I left the Dealer’s Box and he yelled…yup…yelled, “Go on! Get out of here!”

I started laughing and told him I would check with my supervisor and see if I could come back through in half an hour. The night seemed to last forever. I could’ve sworn that I was at each table for five years but the Time Clock said I’d only been there eight hours when I clocked out. Must be a full moon.

Last night found me dealing a Satellite with Erik S. and Mike M. seated next to each other. Erik asked if I was the one with the website…yes. We had a little exchange back and forth on what did it cost me to run the site, did people, including management mind my writing about the game, Bellagio, and them. Erik is a very calm, easy to deal to player…no steaming there…it’s the first time he’s ever really spoken to me about anything away from the play of the game and I enjoyed the exchange.

Erik had a humorous smile on his face when he looked at Mike and told Mike I wrote about him.

I emphatically said, “I love Mike. He’s defended me against a few of the high limit ghouls that want to punish me just because I deal.”

Mike agreed that that’s one reason he hates to come in and play, the grim faces of the players and the fact that they attack the dealer when they’re losing. He said he’d rather play online. When Mike’s on a ‘down rush’, he says things like, “I’m just an empty chair.”

Meaning that he’s never a contender to win a pot. While in the sense that he’s losing isn’t funny, the fact that he views his position in that manner is.

No damn it!…this isn’t negative. A lot of things in life are so sad and ugly, you couldn’t stand the day in, day out, if you didn’t find some humor in the situation and laugh. Look at Red Skeleton, even though he injured himself falling down, show after show, people always laughed at his act. Ok, I’m past that now.

From Mike’s side of the story, he ‘used’ to be a poker player. I believe he still is and knows it…he’s just in his ‘blue funk’ mode.

Three more satellite downs and I was off to table 1 where they were playing $50-$100 Blind, Pot Limit Omaha. No sugar in this game…the only friendly face at the table was Ben R., always a pleasure to see him in any game I’m moving into. They were all arguing and hounding each other. Eskimo was walking when I sat down, Ming (comes to town upon occasion) was playing over another stack of chips…total noise and confusion…chips slamming into the pot, one player all-in heads up, both players had their chips out on the table, three players demanded, “Just deal, don’t worry about the change!”

Another player said, “Give him back his change!”

As I tapped the table and burned to put up 4th Street, I said, “Alright you guys, some of you want me to give him change, some of you want me to deal. Make up your minds.”

They clammed up but it was momentary. Sammy F. was sitting across from me in the 5s. He was the small blind and elected to call $50 more when it came around to him. He threw out a $500 chip and started reaching for his own change from the pot. I grabbed his hand and said, “I’ll make the change.”

He shrugged, looked at me as if I’d lost my mind, and asked, “What difference does it make?”

I countered with, “If nine of you are reaching into the pot, how will I ever know what’s going on in the game and what’s in the pot?”

He tolerates me…sometimes even smiles at me. Most of the dealers have a very hard time dealing to him because he has his little tizzes and sizzles over anything and everything. But if you just get past his explosions, he’s not that bad. He’s the post from last year in the Diary that Carmen found tape to put across his mouth because he had a bet with one of the players that he would be quiet and leave the dealers alone. The tape is used in the slots, it reads “Out of Order” and it’s hysterical when you associate it with him. He’s out of order most of the time but is definitely part of the tapestry of poker.

They were noisy, unbearable to deal to, arguing between themselves, and another little sizzle when Ming changed his play over position by moving to another seat that was allowing him to miss paying the blinds.

When I asked if he had to post, all of them went into the “NO” like I was a retard for asking…all except Sammy. He said, “You know the rule. Of course he has to post. Don’t even ask because then you make the person that objects look bad.”

Argh!!!!! Can’t win here. I told him that everyone said “No” so he left me live through that one without continuing the lecture.

Everything changes in these games, depending on who the starting line-up is. One day they don’t have to post, the next they do. A lot more on my menu for that night but it’s time to move on, time to think about sleep.

Earlier this week, I pushed into an eight handed $2,000-$4,000 Mixed Game. The only person I’m really not familiar with was in the 8s, but I’ve seen him somewhere along the green felt trail over the years. That’s an amazing limit. One pot would pay off my mortgage, my truck, all my little ‘nitty’ bills, and set me up with a savings account to boot, yet they fling those Flags, ($5,000 chips) into the pot with reckless abandon…as if they had a factory at home and produced more each time they needed them.

It’s fascinating and bizarre to watch this game – even if you’re familiar with it. This game is the one game that you never get a bunch of petty crap from players, as a dealer, unless you really aren’t paying attention or make mistakes. They just GAMBOL. The only one that is prone to act like a crybaby is Sammy F. and even he can be really quiet at times…such is the way it was in this game.

The line-up: 1s – Chip R., 2s – Lyle B., 3s – Gus H., 4s – Doyle B., 5s – Minh., 6s – Sammy., 7s – Barry G., 8s – Stranger.

The first game was Deuce to 7 Triple Draw and only 6 players are dealt in. Two players in front of the Big Blind, receive yellow buttons, and are dealt out. At the end of the hand, when the button moves, the yellow buttons are moved to the next two players. Well let’s cut to Lyle. He always brings a gold brick to the table and sets it in front of his chip stacks. It’s a standard with him. Now he has little, lumpy gold nuggets that he’s added to his collection. The nuggets are about the size of a breakfast sausage. No yellow buttons in front of the players now, just gold nuggets. Each time a hand finished, I moved the gold nuggets to the next player.

The first hand I dealt was a ‘time pot’ and the winner of the pot would pay it. Lyle had a sweater behind him and they were conversing and not paying too much attention to the game. Lyle won the pot and after I pushed it to him, he stacked it and went back to talking to his friend. I shuffled the deck and said, “Lyle, I need $80 for the time, please.”

He just kept talking.

I said again, “Lyle, the winner is supposed to pay time. $80 please.”

He waved at Gus, “Then he has to pay.”

I started laughing and I was dealing by now, “No. The winner of the first pot has to pay time.”

He threw me a Black chip and after I finished dealing the hand, I broke it down, took the time, and he said, “Keep the $20.”

Yahoo! Big bonus for me. It might be all I make out of this game.

Gus was running over everyone in the Deuce, drawing two and three cards and making the best of it each time. He ran over Doyle and then backed up and ran over him again. It’s not that Gus outplayed Doyle, he just caught what he needed on every draw.

The game was changing to Deuce to 7, single draw, $1,000 ante from each player, $2,000-$4,000 Blind, No Limit. Get real, huh? They had a short discussion on whether or not each player got dealt in, Minh took a walk, Sammy said he wouldn’t play this game, so Minh and Sammy got Missed Blind Buttons, and the talk went to Minh and how he always walked on this game; they forgave Sammy because he wasn’t familiar with it and didn’t like it, but Minh…they were talking about not letting him play the other games and forcing him to come back in on this game. Hey, they make their own rules with this type of thing…

Well back to the game. Gus was the $4,000 Blind, Doyle grabbed a stack of Flags and cut out 20 of them in front of him. Everyone folded around to Gus. Gus looked at his hand for about…say…a whole 15 seconds, and called. Apparently they had a cap on what each player could put into each hand, $100,000 as there was no more betting and they would never have checked it out.

Gus put his hand out to me and said, “Wait!”

He asked Doyle if he wanted to ‘run them twice’. Sometimes in Pot Limit Omaha and other board games, players may elect to run them twice or three times. That means that whatever action each player chose (as in drawing in this case), stood for all the ‘running of the cards’. If, on the first run, Gus won the hand, and on the second run, Doyle won the hand, they each got their money back. If Gus or Doyle won both ‘runs’, they just got the pot, nothing additional was added to it. They agreed to ‘run them twice’.

Gus drew one and made a 9 both times and Doyle had stood pat with a Jack. Grim City for Doyle.

In the midst of all of it, David G. came up and started talking to the group. They asked him why he wasn’t playing and where he’d been. His reply was something like, “I got tired of losing…”

Well, not to worry, the following night he was right in the thick of it, playing the same game with the boys, and girl, (because by now Jennifer was in action).

I got pushed. My trip through fantasy land didn’t end there, lots more games and noise followed for what seemed like days but was probably only a few hours.

I’m too tired to be alive so I’d better get right into a ‘green felt tale’ lest it never gets told.
Sam G., Archie, O’Neil, Tommy (not a regular), and Lee. Six handed game with one walker. $200-$400 A-5 Triple Draw and Deuce to 7 Triple Draw. Tommy is prowling the game, he’s got a missed blind button. Sam, Archie, Lee, and O’Neil are playing.

I announce, “Time Pot!” Spread the new deck, scramble, shuffle up, take a $100 chip from the small blind, break it down and have the change on the table and the chip in the rack when Sam yells, “Deal the damn cards!”

Ha! I glanced over at him like he was a nuisance fly on a cow pie and finished putting the time drop in the drop slot, moved a button over in the rack, (this is how we know how many hands we’ve dealt of each game), cut the deck, and dealt.

My job is to take time before I deal the first hand in $100-$200 and higher, and I never vary from it, especially for Sam and any others that object, except in the $2,000-$4,000 game where the chips are so big you almost need a ‘color change’ to break one down. In those games, the player that wins the pot normally pays the table time for everyone playing unless a player has missed their blind, then time is taken from the ‘missing player’s’ stack…one more “unless” here, if you’re the live one and missed your blind, they will pay it for you.

Archie wins the first few hands and is sane…hey, it’s only momentary. He loses the next few and he’s steaming. Slaps his chips, some of them shoot forward like a bet, then he reaches out and slaps them back to his stack. Like, BAD DOG, get on the paper! Another player asks if that’s a bet. Archie gives him a look that would send Godzilla quivering to his Mommy for protection.

He glares at me, “Scramble the cards.”

“Ok!” I spread the deck out in a small circle and scramble.

Now he barks, “Scramble all of them, honey, not just a few!”

Ridiculous. How in God’s name do you scramble them all at once? Maybe I should ask for a basket so I can throw them in, shake them up, and then dump them out on the table…or better yet a blender!

I gave him direct eye contact, as I continued to scramble, and said, “I will.”

It’s hysterical when, not only do they want you to scramble, they want to edit your scramble.
It’s like dealing with a 5 year old that’s always been allowed to have a temper tantrum when things don’t go their way.

Well Sam was obviously playing someone else’s money and losing. He got down to his last $400 and Hershel came over and said, “Let me play for you.”

Sam got right up. Hershel was playing in a $25-$50 blind, Pot Limit Omaha Game right by us. Hershel looked at a few hands and then raised it to $400, going all-in. He lost the hand and went back to his game. Sam sat down grumbling but then Hershel sent over a stack of Blacks for him so…

Blacks? They’re $100 each.

Then Tommy was having a cow and a calf and it must’ve been a breach delivery. He whinged his cards down the table as he motioned and pointed at me. Yup, I’m the bitch with the eye in the middle of my forehead that always knows how to make a person lose. Usually I stay awake at night planning it all out… But he just kept rammin’ and jammin’.

The game changed to Deuce to 7. O’Neil was watching TV when I changed the game plaques and announced it…he’s also very hard of hearing so I reached over, touched his hand, and when he looked up, I pointed at the game plaque so he would know what we were playing.

Tommy’s turn to go nut-z-z-z-! “Just deal the cards!”

“He doesn’t always hear the game change.”

“Doesn’t matter!” he barked. “Don’t say anything. Just deal the cards.”

“I’d do the same for you sir.”

After losing three or four more hands to Lee, Tommy threw the last hand, face up, into the rack as he jumped up to walk. Before he got his butt out of the chair though, I looked at him and said, “Thank you. Thanks a lot.”

He almost ran to get away. It’s that bitch thing again…he probably thought I’d put a hex on him for good. Umhhhh! Not a bad idea.