The Home Game

This was originally written a little while back.....


The nachos were filling. So filling that, along with the two beers I had just downed, these nachos were making me feel a little bit on the gross side. This is not a good feeling after running my mouth for the past few weeks about the big “weight loss challenge” I had levied to my best, good friend, Johnny. John and I have continued to gain weight at a dangerous rate since our glory days, at least our physical glory days, of high school and college. I would not say that we have gone completely overboard, but for a couple of young, active guys we were obviously on the verge of not being able to challenge our kids on a basketball game in the driveway. We have become middle aged, couch potato guys and I, for one, am sick of it. The nachos may not have been the best choice for dinner that night, but hey, I aim to please. I’m not going to let some diet keep me from making my baby mama happy.

My wonderfully amazing wife had called me earlier Friday, while I was playing cards at the local poker room, and asked what I had planned to make for dinner. It has come to pass, and I must admit I enjoy it, that I be the person responsible for planning and making dinner. In part because of the fact that in my current job state I have far more free time than she, but also because it is fun. After I make the meal, and we finish dinner, it’s also my job to convince someone else to clean the kitchen. I mean, I did go to the store, pick everything out (which is way more difficult than I ever thought it could possibly be), unload the car, and cook the entire, glorious meal. Someone else can clean the kitchen. Once I get the three of them, my wife, and my kids Myah, age 13, and Sam, age 10, to agree I did a lot that day, then they start attacking each other in an attempt to save their own necks from the cleaning duties. At that point I usually just sit back and watch until two of them convince the third he or she is cleaning the kitchen.

But, I digress, Michelle had called to ask what I had planned for dinner, and since I had eaten a sandwich for lunch, and was having fun playing poker, I hadn’t thought of the subject at all. She had obviously not had much to eat that day because she was interested in nachos. For the next two minutes all I heard about was the virtues of nachos. Nachos are salty, and nachos have cheese, and she wants refried beans, and chili peppers, and black olives, and sour cream, and ALL OF IT! I, OF COURSE, cannot say no to that because even though she seems to like nachos an awful lot right now, I LOVE nachos! I put nachos on par with watching Phil Hellmuth blow up on tv about some schmuck calling him with a jack-six offsuit. For those of you not familiar with poker talk, on par with CBS giving you a full on close up of tiger woods molesting Stevie after winning yet another golf tournament. So, even though I’m trying to lose weight, there is no way we’re not having nachos. I wonder if Michelle is in cahoots with my best, good friend Johnny? Probably, but it won’t work. Sorry suckas, I’m onto both of you.

Since I was feeling like a tub of lard, after filling my gullet with nachos, I decided to punish myself and go play poker in a new home game I had heard of. I usually avoid home games for a variety of reasons. I would much rather play in a public poker room. Home games are not legal, although it is rare to hear of one getting busted anymore. You used to hear about it every few months, but with the poker explosion in the United States, and it becoming more socially accepted, it has lost much of the stigma that was once attached to it. In turn, arrest have gone down. Home games are not secure. Initially they are, but as time goes on eventually the wrong person hears about the game, puts together a posse, and busts in to rob the place. This occurs much more often than police action, and is the main reason I avoid the games. Home games are sometimes hard to get paid in. Nothing is worse than playing your heart out all night, and then when you go to cash out the guy running the game says “hey Eric, can I just give you half of what you won? I’m a little short with me putting Tommy in the game. I’ll hook you up at next week’s game for sure!”. Be forewarned, if the guys running the game request this of you, agree to it, but get your money next week and never play again. That game is getting ready to go belly up and the only thing that will keep it going is the “owners” ability to convince everyone the money is coming.

For all of these reasons I prefer to play in a public card room. Every once in a while though, someone tells you about, or you hear through the grapevine, something about a good game, in a secure spot, where winners get paid, the food and drinks are free, they have nice looking cocktail waitresses, the dealers are good, the houseman plays and poorly, and there is plenty of poker action. I was promised the game I was going to was something just like that. I’d still rather sit home, drink about 10 beers, and watch tv all night but I can’t pass this up and continue to call myself a poker player. Besides, I’m still working on the “To Prevail Takes Apathy” poker strategy and I need different environments and games to test it on.

I still can’t believe the strategy works, it seems so simple, and so weak, that it goes against everything I’ve ever been taught or read about in any poker publication. Still though, after reviewing my sessions of play, I have lost when I have obviously strayed from TPTA strategy. To Prevail Takes Apathy is a reminder for myself about TPTA, which translates into Tight-passive Tight-aggressive. I don’t really want to get into all of that again since I’ve covered it all before in previous writing’s. Let me get back to this new poker game I’ve found.

I live in the far southwest corner of Jacksonville. I actually live in St. Johns county, and Jacksonville is Duval county, but come on, I live in Jacksonville. The poker game is in the northeast part of Jacksonville, in a gated community, out towards Jacksonville Beach. This sounds good to me, and I kiss the wife good bye, tell the kids to be good or else, and hop in the car for the 45 minute drive I have ahead of me.

I’m not sure how it can still be raining. It started raining Sunday morning, six days ago. It had stopped now and again throughout the week, usually for about a good 10-15 minutes. One time the sun broke through and I actually heard a bird sing outside the window. It was all a tease though because 5 minutes later it was raining again. The bird was gone. The other night I left the dog dish on the back porch and a raccoon was sitting there eating Kibbles and Bits, while looking right at me. He was soaking wet and looked pathetic. There was glass between us, thankfully, so I did not have to run away, but raccoons use their front paws exactly like hands. Very cool. He was harmless and just went back into the woods after finishing off the kibbles and bits, still wet and still pathetic.

The rain makes idiots out of so many people. The going is slow as every motorists is accelerating to about wheelchair pace before getting uncomfortable with the conditions of the roads. I fight the urge to bump the car in front of me and turn on the radio. It’s set on an AM sports station, but there is a commercial running, and then another, and then another, and then I move onto FM. The only reason I just wasted a minute and a half of my life listening to commercial on the radio is because I was thinking about that stupid raccoon. The FM station I tune to is an alternative rock station. I don’t know any of the songs by name, but they all have that same upbeat, “but I may come into your school and gun down your children” kind of attitude about them.

Wait a sec, do I have everything I need for this poker game? Hat? Check. I have to have a hat. First off, the hat shields against any headache causing lights. Secondly it’s great for shielding your eyes from your opponents. Sunglasses? Check, but I never wear them anymore at a game. They just sit on top of my head more a symbol of what we’re doing rather than a tool to be used. So cliché, sunglasses at a poker game. Money? Check. I have almost a grand with me. I hope no one tries to rob me, but I am “prepared to lose it all”. I am really ready for it too, whether it gets stolen, the cops take it, I get set up in the game, or just get a bit unlucky. I am ready to lose the whole shot tonight. It’s kind of invigorating when you put it in that perspective. I guess THAT’S why they call it gambling. IPOD? Check. But I bet I won’t use it tonight. I will be going out of my way to be sociable tonight. If it turns out to be a good game, and I win, then I at least want to keep em laughing to increase my chances of getting invited back. I’ll know I have them if I win a big pot and can get the guy I just whacked to laugh shortly thereafter. I know it sounds cruel, but is it really? He could either lose the money and be grumpy, or lose the money and keep laughing. I’d rather lose and laugh. I just hope he doesn’t lose AND think I’m an asshole. That would be very bad for getting asked back.

Sitting in the car, driving in a rainstorm, and thinking about how much money I’m going to win, I realize something. I am not being humble. I caught myself though, so I say a little prayer that includes some stuff about respecting my opponents and believing they are not inferior, that they have good rational thoughts and I only want to “make better decisions” than they do and I do not expect to “get lucky”. I do this quite a bit, especially to myself at the table, because overconfidence, or being “cocky” has ALWAYS caused me to play below par. It’s that simple, and I’m not sure if by praying to God for humility that I am actually getting God’s help, or if it just makes me feel peaceful, but I believe it helps, either way.

I’m almost to the front gate so I call my boy, B, to see how I get into this place. B is a good friend who told me about the game. He plays in a bunch of the games around town and he was nice enough to mention this one. He said something about never losing in this game, and I start to think that’s impossible because I’ve played a lot of poker with B. Never losing is not an option for B. He’ll find a way to lose. Wait, what was that prayer about humility again? Oh Jesus, do I have to do it again? I decide I don’t.

B finally answers and tells me there are 15 people playing in a small $25 buy-in tournament, but the cash games are getting ready to start. He tells me to give my name to the guard at the gate and she’ll give me directions to the house. “OK, see you soon.” I say, and hang up.

My first thought is, why in the hell am I driving to the other side of the world for a $25 poker tournament? This does not sound good. I’m here now, so we’ll see, but it’s probably better he didn’t mention the $25 deal when he told me about the game. I can drive five minutes from my front door to play small stakes stuff. I thought this was going to be good action? It could be that B wants me there so he has someone to talk to the whole night. That’s cool, I suppose. I’d rather be home sippin on gin and juice, but we’ll see. It may be a good game despite the rinky-dink tournament.

I make a left hand turn into the development and the time is almost nine o’clock. I roll my window down and come to a stop at the front gate. There is no cover above the car and the rain is still coming down. I can see into the guard house and notice, bent over something, the back end of a woman. She is obviously in good shape, and her rump looks like she is smuggling two cornish game hens in her security guard pants. I am staring, and then notice the camera. This is perfect, busted, looking at some shapely figure, by a security guard’s camera.

She won’t turn around. I look away and wait for her, she must be busy. She still won’t turn around. Does she know I’m sitting here? How could she not see me as I pulled up? She’s facing towards where I had just come from! I sit there for another 30 seconds and then finally yell to her.

She turns around and I am flabbergasted. She’s gorgeous. She has long, black, curly hair and her skin is the color of milk chocolate. Her facial features are soft and round, and her eyes are large, round and perfectly brown. She has red lipstick and her nails are red as well. She has long finger nails, but not the really long, curvy kind that a lot of black women wear these days. They are of regular length and well manicured. Her eye shadow has a bluish tint and her eyebrows are obviously waxed, or plucked, or whatever torture women do to themselves to feel attractive.

I mumble my name, and the name of the host, and she turns away to call him to verify I can be admitted. She comes back a minute later and informs me it’s ok to go on, and here are the directions to the house. I consider saying something witty to her, but stop myself because A. she is not into me, and B. if she were, then what do I do? I’d have to go the next step, and affairs are way too taxing.

She let’s the arm of the gate up and I say “thank you” and head on my way. As I drive along I start to notice the homes. Wow, these are nice houses. I’d estimate most of them are in the 4000 sq. ft. range, and there are some actual mansions also. Yes, this is what going to a poker game is supposed to be about. I’ve been to games in some truly frightening places, and I am now on the opposite end of the spectrum. There is nothing scary about this neighborhood. I wonder how many of these homes are in foreclosure? Who cares, where is this damn house? Finally I find the street and immediately know where the poker game is located. There are cars everywhere, and I can see people through an upstairs window at one house in the corner.

I park on the street behind a pick-up, and walk up the driveway. I approach the door and look in the downstairs window. I can’t see anybody downstairs. They’re expecting me, but I’m not going to just walk in, so I ring the door bell. It rings some goofy door bell ring tone, and I wait for someone to let me in.

Nothing.

No one.

What the Hell!?!?! I call B again and ask him if anyone is going to let me in this mother. He says just come in, but before I can hang up She answers the door. She is tall, slim, bleach blonde, short haired, wears too much makeup and has two perfectly round, totally unadulterated, fake breasts. Her fake breast look nothing like what a person of her build could ever receive from our Lord. They are fake and meant to look that way.

She introduces herself as Heather, I think. I can’t remember, as awful as it sounds, I’m just not sure. It could have been Beth or Jill too, but I think it was Heather. From here on out though she will be known as sweetie, as in “Thanks for the drink, here you go sweetie” as I hand her a tip. The booze and food are free, but the fake boobs serving them are not, and tips are necessary. I follow her up a long, winding flight of stairs. This house has three floors, and the game is on, at the top.

As we walk up the stairs I start to think about the white, shag carpet that is steadily being ruined from people walking on it with their shoes still on their feet. I guess the carpet was put in prior to the poker game being a thought. That’s when I realize the owner is a single man. The house is neat, but he may want to invest in a maid service because there is dust and grime everywhere. Gross.

As we walk into the game room I look around and see some familiar faces. They are all foes I have battled before across the felt. I see B sitting in the tournament, and say hi. He doesn’t have many chips and I immediately tell the crowd at the table to put him out of his misery cause he has no chance anyway. They all laugh, B laughs, I laugh, and we’re off and running.

There is poker paraphernalia on every wall, and the poker table has drink holders and good felt. They have designated dealers, and chips are flying. I can tell this group is happy to be out of the house this Friday evening, and they are gambling. All of the signs are pointing to a fun and profitable evening. Plastic Boobs offers me a drink, and see the huge bottles of liquor on a shelf behind her. There’s a big bottle of Crown and my mouth starts watering as I ask for a crown and coke. While she makes the drink I get introduced to the owner of the house. He will be referred to as Perfect Hair.

This guy’s hair is so perfectly in place that it seems almost as fake as Heather and her boobs. I also recognize him from the public card room, and I think I recall he is a loud, obnoxious idiot. Sure enough, just as I process that thought he grabs my hand, shakes it wildly, and in a very southern drawl yells “Eric? Hey do yoooou remember that day I flopped a full house and you caught a miracle 4 on the river to beat me with quads?!?!” He’s guffawing and now yelling to fake boobs telling her I’m that guy!

Meanwhile, I’m feverishly trying to remember the hand that Perfect Hair is babbling about. I can’t remember it, and I half think he’s full of it, but it doesn’t matter anymore because he’s being dealt into another hand and is quickly losing interest me. I laugh and agree that I remember, and he moves on. Plastic breasts calls me over for my drink, and hands me a big, red plastic cup filled to the top with ice, crown, and coke. I taste it and realize it’s mostly crown and ice, with a splash or two of coke. This won’t work. I’m not so much worried about playing poker with a buzz on, because I have done that so many times I’d rather not think about it, but what about the drive home at four in the morning? Spending the night in jail, and paying thousands for a DUI offense is not my idea of how I want to top off a night.

I explain to her, in a hushed voice, that the drink is too strong. No sense alerting my poker brethren that I am a big wimp when it comes to drinking (and driving). She says something about not being able to see how much liquor she was pouring in because it is plastic and not glass, and she may have poured in too much. Really? Ya know, I think she’s right! She says she can fix it, and she does. I don’t like her because she is fake and it becoming obvious she’s probably dumb too.

I decide to sit in a chair and watch the poker tournament for a while. These guys are playing loose, and pushing chips into the middle of the table in bunches. I’m glad because it means this tournament will be coming to a close soon. After what seems like forever they finally finish up and B actually chops it up (splits first place) with three other guys and they each win 90 bucks. Good job B! Miracles abound…

We finally sit down to start the poker game, and since I’m not quite sure about this place yet, or these players, I decide to buy in low. I get three hundred in chips for the game of 2-5 No Limit Hold em. Anything less than 100 times the big blind, in this instance five hundred dollars, is pretty short. Being short kind of restricts the moves you can make during a hand, but my “To Prevail Takes Apathy” style will help offset that disadvantage.

I look around the table and see we have an action oriented line up. We have Perfect Hair, who I KNOW to be loose with his money, in seat 8. Seat one and two are young guys, and hopefully inexperienced. It used to be that young age equaled poor poker playing ability, but with the onset of internet poker this is no longer a guarantee. Occasionally you run into a young guy (under the age of 30) who is simply a lights out kind of poker player. So, I’ll watch these two, but I’m not overly concerned. In seats three and four are two black guys. These guys I like and I will try to keep them laughing all night. As a rule black men are usually looser with their money than white men. This is a sweeping generalization, I know, but true anyway, as I have discovered over time. Seat 5 is my buddy B, I’m in seat 6, and seat 7 is open, but reserved, I would find out later, for Shake. I don’t know Shake, but apparently everyone else does, and Shake can play some poker. Alrighty then, we will see….

The first hand dealt out gets raised to 30 dollars by black guy in seat 4. He gets called by Perfect Hair, and they proceed to each put in around two hundred dollars into the pot. The hand is won by the black guy, who had one pair, and Perfect Hair had stuck his money in on some kind of wild bluff. That was hand number one, and I buckled up and prepared for what could be a wild, exciting game. All I needed to do was be a little bit patient, play solid, and wait for them to hand me the chips.

I win my first hand of the night by playing the 7c8c. The flop comes 9c 10c Jd, and I quickly try to figure out how best to get more money into the pot. I have flopped a straight, but the bottom end, and there is a small possibility that someone could have Q8 or KQ for a bigger straight. I do, though have a straight flush draw to go with my made straight, and I am going to look to play a HUGE pot here, as all of my chips are likely to go into the center of the table. I don’t get to do anything fancy though because one of the young guys tries to bluff me out, after I make my straight flush when the jack of clubs falls on the turn, and he is now busted and leaving. Nice game son, next time try to last longer than 20 minutes. I think I’ve forgotten about humility, again. A quick reminder for myself as the youngster walks out.

Everyone at this game is very polite and gentlemanly. They all wish him well before he leaves. “Did you get enough to eat? Want another drink? No? Well, come back next week, all right, good night, drive slowly. Bye bye.” He walks out smiling. He’ll probably, if he’s not drunk, try to figure out how he lost his chips. If so he may learn something and next time play a bit better. After twenty or thirty years, if he’s not broke, he may turn into a winning poker player. He could accelerate the learning curve by reading everything he can, playing on-line, and constantly be thinking about the game. It’s far more likely though that he will not study, not practice, and not get any better and will forever be a donator to the game of poker. Which is not awful either, as long as he can continue to afford it. That will be his problem, and not my concern.

Shake arrives, and he looks the part. Shake is a stocky, and hairy, black man, who appears to be about 45 or 50 years old. His beard and mustache is tinged with gray hairs and he is completely unkempt. His clothes are too big for him, and appear to be dirty around the edges. He sits right down to my left with 600 dollars in chips, and takes up more than his fair share of the room the two of us occupy. Great, Shake is a gross, smelly, overbearing, and apparently masterful poker player. I’m moving out of my seat, and like, quick. A strong poker player, to my immediate left at the table, is not a good thing. Shake will have the opportunity to act after me on every hand. This is not good. Position at the table, in a no-limit game, is extremely important.

I was actually considering changing seats before Shake arrived. I want to get to the other side of black guy, in seat 4, who raises all the time. Once I busted young drunk kid there became an available seat right where I want to move. The reason I want to move is so I can trap raising black guy and take a bunch of his chips. Once I change seats I promptly have more room and feel much better. It takes about a half an hour, but the inevitable happens and I get a hand to play against raising black guy. It went like this.

I look down to see two kings, nice. I just call the five dollar blind. Now, I have called many five dollar bets, and when raised a significant amount I have simply folded. It amazes me that my opponents don’t take notice once I finally decide to enter a big pot. But, they never slow down. In this guy’s defense he actually had a hand, sort of, well, let me explain. The flop comes out with three small cards and two of them hearts. I check, he bets fifty dollars, and I raise it to one hundred and fifty, he quickly calls. The next card is another small card, this time black. I push all in for around two hundred and fifty dollars. He calls so fast that I think I am beat. But no, he has the king and jack, both of hearts. So, he is drawing dead to a heart on the river. Now this is the time of the hand that I hate. All of the money is in, and I have NO CONTROL. Thankfully, no heart comes and I double up now having more than 700 dollars in chips.

One thing that is irritating about this game is the color of the chips. The white (dollar) chips are nearly the same color as the red (nickel) chips. Maybe it is the glare of the lights, but I am having a hard time distinguishing between the two, and stacking chips was a process indeed. I hate being color blind.

Plastic Breasts offers me another drink. I agree and order a jack and coke. She makes this one much better and even tells me she got a shot glass to be able to measure the shot. Very nice, and thank you. I just win a nice pot, have a drink made for me (to perfection), and am now starting to like these perfectly round, obviously inflated, breasts.

The mood of Raising black guy changes after that. If I enter a pot, he no longer raises. I start stealing small pots. Twenty dollars here, fifteen dollars there, thirty dollars here. The game is coming to me now, and I don’t have to chase it. “To Prevail Takes Apathy” is once again working to perfection.

I play on, and another guy sits down. He hardly plays any hands, and he is not good for me. Perfect Hair keeps promising The Persian is coming. I decide to hang around and see because if The Persian comes, Benny by name, than we will have a crazy game! The Persian is completely out of control because he bets and raises until he has lost thousands, literally. I have seen him lose upwards of ten grand in a game before. I’m not sure if he’s ever left a winner. I believe he’s from Iraq, or Iran, or one of those countries. But, alas, I wait until 3:30 am, and no Persian has arrived. I recognize the promise of The Persian for what it is, a ruse used by game owners to keep people playing until all hours of the night. I have seen housemen actually carry on fake conversations with said player on a cell phone to trick other people into sticking around.

I am tired, very tired, and I am ahead for the night. I decide to call it an evening, and I’m glad I get to drive home sober. Everyone is still friendly as I cash out, and Perfect Hair gets my number to call me again for next week‘s game. We’ll see what happens. I may be in Biloxi, or Vegas, or the Turning Stone in NY, or maybe Foxwoods in Connecticut. Wherever I go, and wherever I play, I’ll be sure to be mumbling to myself “to prevail takes apathy, to prevail takes apathy..”