Monday, January 25, 2010

DIPSICK DAN RECEIVES A WAKE UP CALL

There is a word in our little poker club, one single syllable, the utterance of which draws sharks from all corners of the local map. In fact, when the phone calls go out (and they do go out), there is no long explanation of the nature of the other players at the table, the action in the game, the amount of money on the table or any other information to transfer. A single name on the answering machine will cause the local poker players to abandon any project, ditch any date, turn off the last few minutes of any ball game and beat a path to the front door of the poker room. That name is Sam. There is only one Sam, and if there were two, we would give the other one a fancy nickname. The real Sam doesn’t need one.

Sam is a Frenchman with a slight build and an indecipherable accent. While the French have a reputation of being stylish dressers, Sam’s style, both in dress and manner, is not representative of the French culture. He does have a certain joie de vivre, infectious and fun, but none of the je ne sais quoi traditionally associated with the French. He wears white socks with plaid pants. He wears striped ties with striped shirts. He wears a beret on his head with a full-sized cowboy belt buckle on his belly. It is safe to say that Sam is eccentric. More importantly, no one has ever enjoyed playing poker poorly more than Sam.

Sam has never bought his own drink, never had anyone doubt his dubious tales about his exploits, never been questioned on his poker play and has plenty of sympathetic ears for his “bad luck” stories. In fact, when Sam is in the game, there is no doubt that the whole evening is all about him. The man will drop several thousand dollars into the game, so why upset the applecart? There is a contract between the players and Sam which, in the final analysis, is intuitively perceived and agreed to by both parties; Sam gets to be the center of attention, to say what he wants, be whomever he wants for the night, and the poker players, well, they get to make money. Everyone is happy.

Enter Dipstick Dan, a cocky young player with slicked-back hair, an annoying giggle when he wins a hand and an even more annoying temper tantrum when he loses one. Dipstick Dan seems completely unaware of the existence of anyone but Dipstick Dan. While we occasionally get poker players in our club who are still wet behind the years, Dipstick Dan is unique because his entire body is still underwater.

Immediately upon his appearance at the table, Dipstick Dan began to criticize and needle Sam, spouting off his knowledge of odds, outs, mathematically proper game play and a whole host of things of which Sam is scarcely aware. A man of considerable means, Sam not only doesn’t care about these things- he doesn’t even care that he doesn’t care. Able to buy and sell any man at the table, a few hundred or a few thousand spent having a great time and being the center of attention is money well spent to Sam. However, Dan’s annoying banter was beginning to bring Sam down, so the whole system began to fail. This was a problem.

We didn’t have the time, as a group, to convince Dipstick Dan to shut his mouth, and removing his head from where it was lodged required major surgery, so a bold, swift plan of action was required if the game was to be saved this night. Since we had Sam chauffeured to the club (by yours truly), I arranged to have one of the other poker players (with the majority of the chips on the table) say he had to leave, offering to drive Sam home immediately. I even brought them racks. After they went to the cage to cash out, Dipstick Dan was on their heels. They all received their money, shook hands and we waited. Soon Dipstick Dan was gone, and Sam and the other player bought back in for the same amount they were just paid.

It would be nice to report that the plan went off without a hitch. It actually did, right up to the point where Dipstick Dan came back from the bathroom to see both Sam and the other player back in their seats.

As Dipstick Dan left the poker room that night, a loud popping noise served as confirmation that he had experienced a spiritual awakening. Extreme social embarrassment had accomplished the recto-cranial removal, at least for one night. Oh, and Sam got to drink, tell wild stories and thoroughly enjoy his evening.

TALES FROM THE FLOOR is written anonymously by the manager of a small, Northern California card room. The intent is to offer anecdotal insight into the poker world, as seen through the eyes of an industry professional. Some elements of the stories are changed to baffle and confuse involved parties who may be reading their own stories. In other cases, the whole article may be a complete fabrication to baffle and confuse everyone.

4 comments:

  1. Hey Scott, great story !! Was this a recent game ?? Or did you just make this up. I am guessing that this is a game that has happened, let me see, the cast memebers are ..... T think I know the characters. I will talk to you later and see if I am correct. I hope you are doing well, say hello to all, Ursula, Tony, Brent, Matt, Jeremy, Vickie, Noll, Terry,...... and all. Kirk

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  2. Only my hairdresser knows for sure, Kirk!! Thanks for the comment- Will say "Hi" to all for you!!

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  3. Nice article, Johnny!

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  4. Matt told me he didn't realize Trapper Coldeck's travels included a stop at Scotty Nguyen's hair dresser. Great article! Remember Dan an education is a terrible thing to waste. Frank

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