Michael Craig's Journal

So I go up the darkened stairs of the darkened house to Mike Matusow’s bedroom which is, naturally, dark. Except it’s not completely dark because the big TV is on. If Mike can save money by getting a TV without an on/off switch, he should jump at it because this set gets very little downtime. The Raiders-Cardinals football game is in its closing minutes.

As I always do in these situations, I take a mental inventory of the room. Then when it’s clear Mike is asleep, I take a written inventory.

“I got killed today,” he moans, then turns over on the bed. He briefly rouses himself, says, “Wake me on about 15 minutes so I can bet on the World Series game.” Then he’s out.

Here are the contents of Mike Matusow’s bed. I have done this exercise before, but I’ve done it from memory. Standing over his slumbering bulk scribbling on a note pad, I feel like I’m inventorying a homicide scene.

*Eyeglasses - better keep track of those [see the post from the link above - the alternative is braving the pterodactyl-sized dust bunnies under Mike's bed].

*Wilson’s Turbo Omaha Hi-Lo Split software [I ask Mike later, "Is this any good?" He says, "I don't know." "So why do you have it?" "It's been here forever." I tell him that I have to work on getting him a girlfriend. He shouldn't be sleeping with software.]

*An empty 75 oz. water bottle.

*One cell phone.

*A Louis Vuitton wallet.

*A Halloween-sized box of Red Hots.

*A bottle of vitamins.

*Two different phone directories, one of which has balanced a can of Minute Maid Light Lemonade on it.

I look up from my crime-scene work and noticed he has a digital clock on a dresser. 2:30. Is it only 2:30? I thought it was a lot later. I look at my watch. It’s twenty minutes to five.

On the floor, under a window looking out over the backyard swimming pool, is a framed picture I never noticed before. It’s Mike as a baby, next to a stuffed dog. Baby Mike is calm, very stern in this black & white photo. With his dark hair, dark eyes, and serious expression, he looks like he’s glaring at the photographer.

I pick it up to get a closer look. A sheet of paper falls, either leaning behind the picture or stuck to the frame. It’s a schedule for a poker tournament.

The Reno Hilton World Poker Challenge. January 4-24, 2002. Unless that clock is a timer on some sort of interdimensional portal (one that deposits infant pictures, old poker schedules, and Sam Grizzle inside Matusow’s home), that was 4 1/2 years ago.

I flip the paper over and am amazed by what I see on the back. It’s a line drawing, in pen, and very intricate. It is a drawing of a woman’s face, a very beautiful woman with long, flowing hair. The picture is almost hypotizing. Have I stepped through The Looking Glass? A million questions fill my head as I gaze at the baby picture, the drawing, and the digital clock.

Like an automaton, Matusow pops from the bed and says, “I have to bet on the Tigers.”

As he walks past, I show him the drawing and ask where it came from.

“I have no idea.”

TO BE CONTINUED

 

This entry was posted on Monday, October 23rd, 2006 at 9:16 pm and is filed under My favourites:.