Michael Craig's Journal

Some kind of scene was going on between Grizzle and Matusow to which I was not privy, and did not want to become privy. Sam was holding his cell phone away from his face, and it sounded like someone was talking very loud on the other end. I think he was trying to get Mike to take the phone and speak to that person.

I think that’s what it was. In any event, they both treated the cell phone like it was radioactive.

“I’ll, uh, wait in the car, okay?”

A few minutes later, Sam came out carrying a large piece of molded plastic, which held in place many, many dollhouse accessories. He also held a pink box.

He mentioned that he and his wife had some kind of falling-out (which someone else had already told me) and he was trying to set things right. He was hoping the toys would help with his young daughter.

I felt bad for him and didn’t really know what to say.

“What’s the address, Sam? I’m going to enter it in my navigation system. That way I can keep track of when to turn while we’re talking.”

“I don’t know the address.” He must have seen the look of alarm on my face - he’s a professional poker player so he should be good at that, and I wasn’t exactly hiding it - because he quickly said, “I’ve only been over there twice, but I know how to find it.”

So we rolled down the driveway into the night, getting lost before even leaving Mike’s neighborhood.

It was not nearby. We took one highway, then a surface street, then another highway. At one point, Sam said, “Take this exit, where it says ‘Toward Reno.’”

“Sam,” I insisted, “HOW FAR TOWARD RENO?”

“Oh, not much farther.”

He was good to his word on that account, and a few exits later, we were cruising on some street in the far northwestern corner of the Las Vegas Metropolitan Area.

The ride gave us time to talk - forced us to, almost. I told Sam about my poker writing. He was familiar with the Andy Beal game, but didn’t know about the book or my involvement. Naturally, that passed some time.

We both talked about Matusow, though it was hard for me to say anything. Mike’s broke? Mike’s an addictive personality? Mike’s all messed up? Look who I was saying it to!

We got onto the subject of medication, which was actually convenient. None of what I would say could sound like it applied to Sam, because Matusow and I take some of the same medications.

So we talked about how Mike was so tired, either from the medicine or from not taking it. And Sam said, “I don’t know how he can be tired. I tried one of those pills and I couldn’t sleep a lick.”

Rather than comment, I shifted the subject to sports betting, hoping that was safer.

Wrong.

“I stayed with Mike for a few days because I hoped we could bet some games together and make some money and maybe that would help things at home.”

Wait a minute, Grizzle? You’re trying to get healthy The Mike Matusow Way? By taking his pills and betting on his sports?

We finally got near our destination, a sprawling apartment complex. It was gated and Sam apparently had neither the code nor the means of acquiring it. One half of the “out” gate was partially open. He directed me to drive through.

My car barely made it without being mangled. I thought, Nice security system.

At that same moment, Sam said, “Nice security system.”

The way to Sam’s destination was serpentine. When we finally reached the building where he told me to stop, I hustled out and helped him gather up his doll accessories. I wished him luck - I’m still not sure for what - and we shook hands.

As he walked in, I made a silent vow:

I am certainly going to get lost on my way out of here. But no matter what, I am going to keep my bearings and NOT come back this way. Because if I do, in five minutes, there is a reasonable chance Sam Grizzle is going to be sitting on the curb, shaking off doll accessories, and asking me if my room at the Wynn has a spare couch.

THE END

This entry was posted on Friday, October 27th, 2006 at 7:59 pm and is filed under My favourites:.