Money Hater

I was interviewed Wednesday night on Cactus Jack’s show Bibliotech.

I just got back from another week of live poker in California. I got to the hotel at 1am on Thursday, and I did not play poker until Thursday evening. When I got into a game, there was a gentleman in the 5 seat named Ted. (The seats are numbered clockwise starting at the dealer. The seat to the dealer’s immediate left is the 1 seat, the next one is the 2 seat, etc. The 5 seat is directly across from the dealer.) Ted is renowned for a variety of reasons.

I first heard of him when a good friend of mine won a pot with the QJ of diamonds in some Canterbury game and referred to the hand as the “Ted-beater.” He has played with Ted a lot, and simply ruins the guy’s life with that hand. It seems that no matter what Ted has, if someone is in the pot with the QJ of diamonds, Ted is gonna get wrecked. The only time I have witnessed Ted go up against the Ted-beater was on this trip, when Ted held the QJ of clubs and his opponent held the Ted-beater. On the turn Ted was all-in and the board was 899T with two clubs. There is no way Ted can lose this pot, and he is freerolling with his flush draw. But since he is up against the Ted-beater he can never win this pot either, as the river came a red 2 and they chopped it.

Ted plays for several days straight, thus the nickname. When I saw him for the first time on this trip, he was in the same seat and wearing the same shirt as when I left last time. I was in shock for a moment, and then realized that there was no way that he had been there for 12 days. This is 3-day Ted, not 2-week Ted.

Sometimes Ted sleeps at the table. He has become quite adept at sneaking these cat-naps.  He folds his hands in front of his chips on the table, and when the dealer pitches the cards they strike his fingers and he wakes up.  Occasionally Ted hits the snooze on this phalangic alarm system and slows down the action, but it doesn’t happen that often and when it does someone is usually kind enough to startle him back to consciousness with a firm slap of the table in front of him.

I flew out late on Monday evening. I checked out of my room and headed down to play some poker before I left. I was initially in the must move game, and then got moved to the main game and took seat 4. In seat 5, just like he was when I started playing on Thursday, was Ted. He had been there for over 4 days, and it showed. I got lucky on him in a pot when he had AQ. I had AJ and the flop came A82 and I caught a jack on the river. When I raised the river he said, “Oh, you caught your jack. OK. I’m running bad. I pay you off.”, as he tossed 8 chips into the pot.

I play a few more rounds and then pick up, as it is time to head to the airport. As I am racking up my chips, Ted turns to me with a wry smile on his face and says, “You think I’ll be here when you come back?”. I laugh and say, “Probably, Teddy. Probably.”

I have been in Los Angeles for about a week now. I flew in with 3 friends. We all were in first class, but the 3 of them were in the same row. I was 2 rows up. We wanted to play Chinese, so I asked the lady sitting with them if she wanted to switch with me and take my seat. She seemed reluctant, so I let it die and went back to my seat. Next to me was a woman who must have been in her mid 40s. She was friendly, and even said she was willing to move if I wanted to sit next to one of my friends. I thanked her and told her we may be taking her up on that offer later. She then ordered a can of Budweiser, which she promptly downed in 3 gulps.

We take off and now this woman (I later learn her name is Jami) tells me she is willing to switch spots. So, a friend comes up and sits next to me. We play 2 hands of Chinese poker, which takes maybe 5 minutes, and now Jami is back. She does not care for (a) the woman who was next to her and (b) one of my friends across the aisle from her (she repeatedly referred to him as “a little bitch.”). She wants her seat back, so my friend leaves.

Jami repeatedly tells me, between swigs of The King of Beers, that she thinks one of the flight attendants is “good for me.” I don’t say much in response, which has a two-pronged effect. It gives anyone with a clue the impression (a) I don’t want to talk and (b) maybe I’m gay. I am fine with both of these potential repercussions. Jami, however is now drunk and thus cannot be deterred. She asks if I like girls. Then asks if I like boys. I tell her I like girls and hope that this will shut her up. It does, but only for a little while.

I listen to my ipod and play solitaire. The fact that I am (a) wearing headphones and (b) clearly engrossed in something else is of no consequence. This is a woman who, when given the choice, chose BUDWEISER over any other alcoholic beverage. Such a woman fears not venturing into the realm of the socially uncouth. So, she ignores the many signs she has been given and keeps talking to me. Toward the end of the flight she has me take off my headphones because “I HAVE to hear Dave Grohl cover Elton John’s Tiny Dancer.” I listen. I am not moved. She then has me scroll through the songs on her computer and tell her which ones I like. She stops at some Frank Sinatra stuff and looks at me and starts to sing. “Wouldn’t you love to be a moose?” Apparently this is some Sinatra song. I have never heard it. Well, I hadn’t until she started singing it. If I was a moose I wouldn’t be 30,000 feet off the ground next to some crazy bitch who misspells her own name.

Mercifully, we start to make our descent. When we are at about 2000 feet, she decides to pop open her cell phone and give her husband a call.

“Hi honey.” “I’m still in the air” “No, we haven’t touched down.” “Leave now, as we are touching down shortly.” “Bye”

“Bob, I can’t wait for you to meet my husband.”

“Will you walk to the baggage area with me?”

“Let me give you my email.” (To this one of my friends in the back yells, “Bob, get me a copy of that.”)

“Take a picture of us on your phone.”

“Wait. You didn’t really take one. You are just messing with me.”

“Do you hate me?”

At this point I would be perfectly content with the pilot driving us straight into the ground.

We’ll miss you, buddy.

My first experience with this affliction came during my 3rd year of teaching. I had a freshman who had it. I was rather nervous about having him in my class, as the only information I had about Tourette’s came from a guy I went to college with. There was a gal in one of his big lecture classes who had it, and one day she apparently just blurted out, “moose balls”. If my student was going to be saying such things, this was going to be hell. College kids are gonna find “moose balls” to be funny, but they can compose themselves. Freshmen cannot. This kid starts naming genitalia of hoofed mammals and I’m never gonna have control of this room. Thankfully, his tick consisted of him saying “No I’m not”, and most of the students knew him so they were used to him and simply ignored it. He was a nice kid, and smart as hell. One day he approached me with a distressed look on his face, and asked me some questions about the space-time continuum that had been perplexing him. Poor kid. He genuinely thought I had a clue. He took it well when I told him I didn’t have the foggiest idea what he was talking about.

I had not encountered anyone with Tourette’s since then, until the other night. I think this form is slightly different, however.

The afflicted was an Asian guy that I have played with before. He is not a regular, but I’ve seen him on several occasions. Maybe 2-3 times each month. We play for a while and he doesn’t do much. I see him play a hand where a guy limps, another guy raises, a stone-jackass coldcalls, an expert calls in the SB and the afflicted calls in the BB. The flop comes J82r and it checks to the preflop raiser who bets, the jackass folds, the expert check/raises and now the afflicted check/3bets. The preflop raiser calls and the expert calls. The turn is a 4. Expert checks, the afflicted bets, raiser calls, expert calls. The river is a 9. Expert checks, the afflicted bets, raiser calls, and the expert folds. The afflicted tables AJo and the raiser folds. The afflicted played his hand very well. He seems to have it together.

But then later, after not taking any stupid beats or enduring anything else that would seem to have put him on tilt, he plays the following hand:

2 guys fold and I raise KJo, he 3bets me next in, 1 guy folds and then a guy who I would describe as retarded (but am reluctant to because retards are not even this bad) calls 3 cold, folds back to me and I call. Flop comes A94r. I check, the afflicted bets, retard calls, I fold. The turn is a 2. The afflicted bets, retard calls. The river is a 7. The afflicted bets, retard calls. The afflicted rolls over T8s for T-high. The retard rolls over the 32 of hearts and takes the money. (I lost over $1,000 in this game. Wow.)

Now, I had lost the previous pot so it is possible the afflicted figured I was tilting and decided that it was time to fuck with the guy who was losing. At least that is what I assumed at the time. Not the best play, as I will torture his dumb ass if he tries that shit, but not the worst idea either.

But then I see the afflicted raise utg with 74s, get 3bet, and then 4bet it when the action gets back to him. I only know that is what he had because he made a flush and got to roll it over and scoop the pot. Granted 74 is a good hand for make a double-down gamboooool with and this guy is indeed a little Asian gamboooooler, but there has to be something else at work here. He plays some hands very well and others like a complete spazz. At this point it has become clear that he suffers from a unique form of Tourette’s. This form, however, elicits itself not in the form of facial ticks or verbal outbursts, but rather via random, spazztic chip-flinging with total shitbox hands. I sure hope there isn’t a pill for this.