Last night was one of those nights when there just wasn't much on TV. The Boston Red Sox didn't have any spring training games to yawn through. The Celtics had the night off. And the Bruins flat out took the night off. Just when I thought it looked like the Bruins might have found their identity, they went back to skating on thin ice. They lowly Maple Leafs drowned the B's 8-2. The Big, Really Bad Bruins seem to be back to their old habits, losing. But luckily for me, I could care less. I won a whopping $20 bucks in a poker game.
A group of 6 of us play Texas Holdem on Thursday nights. Holdem's a good game and according to Mike McDermott, it’s considered to be the Cadillac of poker. None of us are Rounders by any stretch; most of the games kick off at my place. You’d think it would be a luxury for me since I don't have to leave my apartment. I don't have to drive. And I don't have to worry about spilling beers all over a friend’s crummy carpet, which is probably the best part. But there is a big time draw back to being the holdem host. Rounding up the 5 regulars and getting them all to commit, is about as fun as drinking a bottle of warm Wild Turkey before heading to Six Flags.
It's amazing to me how many phone calls and text messages are needed before my friends can say, “I'm in”. All I say is…. are you in or out? Simple question. If they can't make it and say out, I'm fine. As long as someone is dead it's acceptable. I'm working on a more lenient policy if someone is just dying, but I'm not there yet.
For some reason, week after week, I have to put up with the same old pre-poker crap. No one can just say “I’m in” right off the bat, accept for one guy, Pat. Pat has learned very well over the years how I roll, and knows that a quick in will give him high marks in my fictional fag book. (I'm married, she's hot, so don't take it any further). Pat's that chain smoking, high rolling, bluff guy with $100 bills in the bottom of his shoes just in case. No socks ever and all, he'll knock back a casual 12, smoke two butts at once, and go all in with worse cards than Hallmark during the Hanukkah season.
To his credit he can pull it off though. You know he’s so full of it, but you certainly don’t want to be wrong and give him more incentive to celebrate with a third ciggy lodged under his lip. A good bluffer or not, Pat's doused himself in gasoline many times and certainly isn't afraid to go down in flames with the best of them. Aside from violating my apartment fire code, Pat pretty much subscribes to my poker rules. He says, “ I'm in” right after I ask him, and doesn't leave until there is some sort of combination of no beer, no money, no cigarettes in the country, or no breathing. He’s got it down Pat.
Now that Pat's in the clear, I'll get back to the other guys who week after week make me the star in ground hog day. Even after multiple calls and texts, these guys really, really can’t say,” I’m in.” I go through the same useless, meaningless, pointless conversations time after time, with the same blood pressure raising questions. Let's start with victim numero uno, Day By Dave. Dave is pretty much in for all the games, but loves being the star on my show, Frustrating Factor. Every week I give him a call and say are you in for game tonight? He will then give me that paiful monotone pre- programmed auto response. "Who's playin', what time, is it at your house?" It's not like I asked him to stand in fresh cement to determine which point a jackhammer will be needed to free him. I'm like, who the f cares, just say in or out! I'm not asking you to come over so I can try out my new chainsaw. It’s poker, ya know, the same game we play every week, with the same guys, same place, same fat time, same fat channel. Got that boy wonder?
By now I've got the Homelite purring like a kitten in one hand and my cell in the other, praying I won't have to cut the sucker. After hearing a few disturbing background noises from my saw cutting the leg off his usual seat, he gives in and says those words that make a gambler (that would be me) smile. "I'm in." Cool, Dave's in. Now all I need to do is get him a 12 pack, a couple bottles of red wine,and a few lung-loving cigarettes. Mix in a little Pink Floyd and he'll be comfortably numb. Conscious or not, Dave's got game. His only problem is that he's got less patience than Dr. Kevorkian.
So now I have Dave and Pat probably in and I'm not even a Texas Holdem Chaninsaw Massacre suspect yet. But this documentary is far from over. Okay, Rob's up next…. Ring....Ring.. Ring.... “ahhhh, hello” Rob, you down for playing tonight? "Ahh.... ahhh....ahhhhh... who's playin, what time, is it at your place.?" I'm like, Dave's your freakin’ roommate and you two give me the exact same garbage to process over and over again. Don’t you guys know that I’m sick of playing this same lame game? I'm like, are you in or out? I know it's a tougher decision than deciding if 35 cigarettes will get you through a TV commercial, but sometimes I have to put my friends on the spot. You in or what, Rob?
Then he's like, "ahh..I don't know, dough is low, don't know if I can swing it." I can understand that and I don't try to push someone in if their wallet's thinner than the Olson twins. But somehow if Rob doesn't play, he'll find a way to stumble down to some sleazy chick dive bar, pound down a bunch of beers and a few jack and cokes, all while enjoying any kind of music. I could shuffle cards loudly and tap the ashtray with a bottle cap a few times and he'd buy tickets to my show. But that's a different story. Music freak and all, eventually I get him to say, “I’m in”. He likes poker and realizes he can win, and often does.
Now were at big Bob. He beats around the bush a little but nothing like the rudimentary roommate twins, Dave and Rob. Bob's not too tough to deal with; he just has troubles parking. He comes in from Malden around 6 and gets to the city somewhere around 6:30. An hour later he's calling me, telling me that he's still driving around checking out chicks, unable to find a spot. I don't get it. Bob's a big dude, with arms that are much bigger than most guys’ legs. I'm just like, get out, flip over some cars, park your piece of crap and get in here. How tough is it? I'm sure he could stack them nicely; he does seem to have nice manners.
After an hour or so he’ll find that spot where he’s not sure if it’s resident, valet, handicapped, visitor or just a spot for anyone without a Malden license. But he takes it, and as far as I know he hasn’t been issued any tickets. It probably doesn’t hurt that he has a blown up photo of his biceps on his windshield to deter those miserable ticket bitches. I like it. Intimidation is what makes Bully Bob a good player. Other than parking, Bob's pretty much in, unless, of course, he gets pulled over and arrested for having too many muscles in the car.
And lastly, there's Nicky Nick. Nick likes to play cards but usually has to think it over for the entire day because he's usually contemplating buying more stuff he doesn’t need for his DJ business. He does parties and the like and always has his eyes on some new toys. The toys are expensive and who really cares about things that will help your business prosper when you could come to my place and lose money to a bunch of degenerates. How could he possibly waffle on these two options? I'm pretty persuasive, but it takes more than that to keep Nick from going down to the Hip Hop Depot” to buy some DJ bling.
Here’s what I do. I siphon some info from him on poker day to find out what he's going to buy, then I put my plan into action. Last week I knew he was looking at a top of the line, $500 sub woofer on sale. Right before Nick left for the Hip Hop Depot, I was in there sticking my $1000 stickers over the existing ones. Worked like a charm. Nick called me up from the Depot parking lot (I was in my car about two feet away ducking down) and said, "I guess I'm playing poker, My dream Woofer somehow went up $500 today." Quietly, I'm like, wow, man, that aint right. Stay away from those hip off joints, come over to my place and I'll take care of you. The only problem is, he’s had my number lately. Nick’s that one guy who will call anything as long as there’s a 1% chance he will come close to getting the only card that will give him a winning hand. I’m not sure how, but he gets it, and somehow wins.
There you have it, the drab 5 and me. Sometimes after finally getting players 4 and 5 to say in, 2 and 3 will say out. It goes back and forth all of Thursday afternoon. I swear there’s more in and outs than a Paris Hilton weekend. I sometimes get worked up by it (not her), but it’s hard not to when the same guys say the same things over and over again, not realizing that my chainsaw has a silencer on it.
When we do get to an actual game, there’s a $40 buy in with all the buy ins you want until 10:30pm. After that its do or die. The pots are usually from $300-500. The games are pretty good; the guys know what they’re doing. The winners vary and it’s a good score for whoever wins.
I mentioned in the first paragraph that I won a whopping $20 bucks this past Thursday night. The reason I won so little is because we played 7 mini games, at $20 a pop. We only had 4 guys, which seemed a little queer at first, but was actually pretty fun. The games were quick, smooth and the usual smoke filled room that leaves my walls coughing, was free for the night. We played at Dave and Rob’s place. Dave, Rob, and me won 2 games a piece and Pat took one. I think it was worth playing. It was 7 hours of fun and a lot better than staying home watching the Bruins.
I’m sure that next week after rounding up the steer, I’ll rope them in for another Texas Holdem shootout. The regulars will be back in their saddles, looking to smoke, drink, swear and gamble. I’m not a smoker, first hand anyway, but the other 3 things make me feel right at home. I really am a good holdem host, and to go along with it, a pretty good player. I’ve won my fair share of games.
The funniest thing about my friends is that when they’re playing Texas Holdem, they can’t wait to say, “I’m all in.” They’ll say it left and right enthusiastically. My question for them is, would it be that tough to just say it once on Thursday afternoon when I ask them if they want to play? I mean, am I asking too much? It’s not like I’m that toothless tramp they picked up down at Kmart who was disappointed when they said, “I’m all in.” I’m Mike, the best Texas Holdem Host out there. If any of you all want to play.... you know what to say......... Hooray!
Keywords: bruins, celtics, mike mcdermott, poker, texas holdem, The Boston Red Sox
