“What a beautiful piece of heartache this has all turned out to be.
Lord knows we’ve learned the hard way all about healthy apathy.
And I use these words pretty loosely.
There’s so much more to life than words.”
I was beat down and nearly broken at the tail end of a week that, at one point, had me in tears telling my supervisor I was about to give her my resignation.
Our ship was sinking and we had be given six days to plug the leaks in order to stay afloat. Friday was day three and when I left work, all I could think about was escaping to the casino for a long session of cards.
My boss got a hair-cut and a massage. Me… I needed poker.
There is a me you would not recognize, dear. Call it the shadow of myself.
And if the music starts before I get there dance without me. You dance so gracefully.
I really think I’ll be o.k. They’ve taken their toll these latter days.
The traffic was backed up across the bridge – I’d expected that. Rick Springfield would be onstage pining for Jesse’s Girl that evening, so folks were streaming in early. I opened the sun-roof, cranked up the volume of my plugged in iPod and let Visions of Johanna carry me across the river.
I opted for my new-found luxury of valet parking. One dollar saved me from having to hunt for spot and gave me a smile from the attendant.
I arrived at the poker room in time to get a seat at a fresh 1.2 no-limit table – except there wasn’t a seat. The floor had mis-calculated, but advanced me to the to the top of the list for the next available seat.
Before I could turn around, my name was called. I was taken to table 14 at the back of the room and given seat 6. All but one of the players were young and sporting the proper World Poker Tour attitude. The 5-seat was around my age.
It was apparent most of them had played with each other numerous times. In fact the 1-seat and 9-seat were roommates (which I didn’t learn until they left). It was a friendly table – which I was glad to join.
Smiles. I needed smiles.
Nothin’ like sleepin’ on a bed of nails. Nothin’ much here but our broken dreams.
Ah, but baby if all else fails, nothin’ is ever quite what it seems.
And I’m dyin’ inside to leave you with more than just cliches.
I was up and down for quite a while. Mostly down, eventually needing to do a half rebuy. It only took a couple of hands to get back to a little better than even, though.
I listened to the conversations of my chatty table-mates. The 7-seat on my left was a dealer at Firelake. The 9-seat was quiet, taking everything in, and doing a stellar job of building a sizeable stack. The 3-seat had a habit of showing one of his cards after most hands.
My other neighbor, the 5-seat, asked me what I did for a living. I really didn’t want to say because I didn’t want to talk about work, but before I could stop myself, my job title was tripping across my tongue. I hoped he wouldn’t pursue the details of my eight-to-five, so I deflected and added, “…and I do a little writing, too.”
So I got outed as a poker blogger. But it made little impression other than tagging me as “knowledgeable” about poker. Yeah, right.
I did manage to impress the table by correctly naming the 7-seat’s hand after he’d raised the table out of a pot. The 5-seat said “Queens” and I said, “Naw, feels more like tens.” My dealer friend flipped over his pocket tens. Score.
The 5-seat was having a rough night. He folded his full-house face up after a big bet on the river indicating a made flush. He didn’t see he’d made his boat. He left soon afterwards.
There is a me you would not recognize, dear. Call it the shadow of myself.
And if the music starts before I get there dance without me. You dance so gracefully.
I really think I’ll be o.k. They’ve taken their toll these latter days.
Eventually the one and nine seats also left, taking with them a good portion of the table stakes. Not long after, I did a rough count – there was a total of only $800 – $900 on the table. Slim pickings. I’d wanted to double up, but it was looking like I was going to have to settle for a break even session.
Neil Young was in my ear, letting me know about the Needle and the Damage Done when the A-K of clubs slid across the felt to me. I popped it up to $12 and got two callers – the Firelake dealer next to me and the newly inhabited 1-seat.
The flop came 2-3-5 all black – two of them clubs.
I checked. Followed by check, bet – $50. I called the $50 then the 7-seat, without hesitation, pushed all-in for about $150. I was confirming to myself I’d call that when the 1-seat pushed all-in for $140 on top of that for a total of $290.
“$240 more,” the dealer prompted. I shut Neil up and pulled plugs from my ears. My brain was grinding gears trying to calculate the things poker players are supposed to calculate. Once I’d calculated whatever it was to be calculated, I was blank.
But my gut, my intuition whispered “call.” I looked at my stack, assured myself I could weather the loss – emotionally and in regard to the bankroll. After what was only a minute or two, but felt like an eternity, I made the call.
The 1-seat flipped over a pair of queens – one of them the queen of clubs. The 7-seat declared he had bottom set. I kept my cards face down until the dealer laid out the turn.
It was a club.
But tell them it’s real. Tell them it’s really real.
I just don’t have much left to say.
They’ve taken their toll these latter days.
They’ve taken their toll these latter days.
The dealer pushed the $700 plus pot to me while the rush of the win ran through me. A hand of poker that meant more than the $700 it was worth. It was a validation of sorts – yes, however I knew before the turn card even appeared that – win or lose – I’d be ok.
Yes. I’ll be ok.
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Song lyrics: Latter Days – Over the Rhine