The poker games my friend Tony and our free-wheeling college buddies took part in sometimes involved an initial ante as high as a quarter. I preferred playing for lower stakes, but then as now it was tough finding people wanting to spend an entire evening playing nickel-limit five-card draw.
But times change, I thought nostalgically the other night, when I found myself sitting around a card table with Tony and five others, including a boyhood friend, the athletic director at my old high school, Baseball Hall of Famer Rollie Fingers, and two other individuals I confess I didn’t recognize.
The game was seven-card stud, and aside from two jokers, nothing was wild. This was no-frills poker: everyone got two cards down and one up on the initial deal; after that there’d be bidding between each successive round.
After the initial distribution everyone at the table had two hole cards, plus one face up in front of them that was somewhere in between Tony’s ace and my deuce. Tony opened with a quarter; everyone matched him.
On the next round the dealer flipped up another ace for Tony, eliciting a grin from him and grimaces from everyone else. I had a two and a six showing, but despite that, I pushed fifty cents into the center of the table, entitling me to another card.
When the dealer turned over a joker for Tony on the next round, the pained facial expressions around the table transformed into audible groans. Four players folded. I didn’t, although I knew the deuce, trey, and six I had in front of me wasn’t going to scare anyone off.
After the three remaining players were dealt their final face-up card (a jack for Tony, a queen for Rollie, and a second three for me), Tony pushed his entire pile of chips into the center of the table and declared, “All in!” At that point I uncharacteristically but boldly suggested a ten-dollar limit on bids. This was partly common sense, but also because I didn’t have enough money to cover Tony’s towering stack of chips. Ordinarily changing the rules in midstream is a poker non-no, but thankfully the other players, irritated by Tony’s smug expression and undeserved good fortune, were with me. After the rule was changed by acclamation I seized a nearly crowbar, opened my wallet, reluctantly extracted a ten-dollar bill, and placed it in the middle of the table.
After the final card was dealt, face down, Tony, plunked down another ten-spot. With a flourish, and smiling broadly as he stroked his trademark handlebar mustache, Rollie did the same. Then, after several moments of counting and praying, I pushed a five-dollar bill, fifteen quarters, eight dimes, eight nickels, and five pennies to the center of the table.
Looking, slightly less confident than he had moments earlier, Tony showed his cards. Three aces were all he had. Grinning broadly, Rollie revealed a five-card straight, nine through king. Then everyone who’d wondered why I’d stayed in with a pair of threes, a two, and a six watched as I turned over the pair of deuces I had in the hole. That tiny little full house won me the largest pot of the night.
I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again: I have no idea what these nocturnal illusions signify; I just dream ‘em. But even if I could discern some deeper meaning in these overnight fantasies, I wouldn’t have time to do so right now.
I’m too busy trying to spend all that imaginary cash I just won from Tony, Rollie, and those four other losers.
Andy YoungReturn to main page
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