Table Talk: Don’t Ask What The Losing Hand Was
If you play poker regularly you will know how rude it is to ask what the losing hand was. Perhaps you are mischievous enough to try and tilt a player by asking him what he had when you are raking in his chips. Be careful, for you may just tilt someone over the edge of reason.
It is World Series season in Las Vegas. The cardroom in Caesars Palace is heaving with $1/2 No Limit tables, filled with a blend of tourists and serious poker players. The table captain where I’m sitting is Tammy, a housewife from Iowa, in Vegas for the weekend. Its Friday night, and Tammy has had a couple of vodka and cokes, enough to make her very friendly and talkative.
Tammy is here to enjoy herself. She is quite a contrast to the other players at the table, who squirm a little as she asks everyone their name and where they come from. Every time someone new comes to the table, she welcomes them and takes the time to introduce herself and all the other players. Tammy goes through this routine whenever we get a new dealer. All of this is delivered with the heavy accent and the emphasis on the ends of words that some people find quite grating. Her voice rises and falls like a skateboard in a half-pipe.
“Hi I’m TammmEEEE, and this JohnnNN, ChrissSSS… and TonnnnEEEEE!”
There are no awkward silences when Tammy is around. She fills every moment with endless patter about her husband, where she’s from, why she likes Las Vegas, or whatever else is passing through her mind. She pauses now and then, when she asks someone a question. This gives her a chance to breathe and take a sip of vodka and coke, before she starts speaking again. This is a technique commonly used by annoying bores, to dress up their speech as something called a ‘conversation’.
Next to Tammy is a middle aged Iranian guy, with thinning hair, tobacco shades and a blue suit jacket. The jacket seems as if it was once part of a good suit, a long time ago. He seems a tiny bit out of place amongst the revellers and pokerheads here in Caesars Palace, the kind of character more at home downtown in Binion’s Horseshoe, or one of the other hotels untouched since the 1980s, with vast swirling colourful carpets that are not colourful anymore, trod dark by billions of feet, and reeking of old cigarettes.
When Tammy asks him his name he just sits there, perhaps hoping that she will give up, or conclude that he cannot speak English. Tammy is not one to give up, however. She wants the whole table to be one big happy family. As she continues to probe him, he begins to get a little agitated, gritting his teeth and shifting in his chair.
“Aw come on” says Tammy, “This is a friendly table!”
The Iranian does not say anything, and picks up his next hand. He raises, gets one caller, bets the flop, and slows down on the turn. On the river, he faces a large bet from his opponent. The Iranian dwells up for a moment, then makes the call. His opponent shows him the winner, and the Iranian tosses his cards into the muck, having lost most of his stack. He seems a little pissed off. During the hand, the table has been respectfully quiet. Now the hand is over, Tammy chirps up.
“What did you HAVE?”
These four words set the Iranian’s brain on fire. This innocent question, delivered by a woman who is genuinely friendly, who is genuinely puzzled and interested in what cards he held, has triggered an explosion of fury and frustration building up in this man since he sat at the table. He bolts up from his seat and turns to Tammy, hands waving in the air as the entire cardroom turns to look.
“Yap Yap YAP! Thats all you women ever do is TALK! … Its Bitches like YOU… that end up DEAD IN THE RIVER!!!!!”
In a different part of America, the bodies of a number of murdered women had recently been found… in a river.
Caesars Palace seems to take quite a hardline view against death threats in its cardroom. The manager, who had heard what the Iranian had said, came over.
“Sir, could you please step away from the table”
The Iranian was raging now, shouting loudly “Meeee? You get this bitch away from meeee!”, as he hopped from one leg to another.
The rest of us sat there open-mouthed, staring. Tammy was still in her seat, somewhat shocked. We watched as the security guards escorted him from the building. The cardroom manager asked Tammy if she was OK.
“Ya, I’m fine. I only asked him what he had!”
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What a great piece, really enjoyed reading that.
haha that was great