Viva Las Grand Canyon (PART II)

OK, so after the Grand Canyon, it was back to Las Vegas.

On Easter Sunday I woke up unusually early, as I still hadn’t fully adjusted to Pacific time. At around 8 am, I left the little lady asleep in the room and headed down to the casino. Besides the few dollars we had flushed into the slots earlier in the week, I had never really gambled before. I looked at the Blackjack tables, but didn’t know exactly to play. I contemplated roulette, but even with my C-minus in statistics, I could see that was pretty ridiculous. Then, I found myself standing at the threshold of the poker room.

I figured that the hours of watching Celebrity Poker on Bravo had more than prepared me for what lay inside. I sucked up my courage and walked in.

I bought into a game of Texas Hold ‘Em for $60. It seemed like low enough stakes with a maximum $8 bet. You can cash your chips in at any time. But once you’re out of chips, you’re done (unless you buy in again). There were already seven guys sitting at the table, drinking at this hour of the morning. There was an empty seat for me. The usher showed me in.

I took my little tray of chips, swung my leg awkwardly over the chair, and sat down. In my nervous attempt to look cool and confident, I managed to spill my chips on the floor and knocked over a drink. For that moment, I was Peter Sellars. But I collected myself, took a deep breath and focused on the game at hand.

Having never played at a real poker table, I wasn’t sure what was going on at first. I folded the first half-a-dozen hands until I could figure out how everything worked. The fact that the hands totally sucked didn’t exactly make these difficult decisions, either.

As the action moved around the table, I casually checked out each of my competitors. The cast was just as you would expect. To my immediate left was an older looking gentleman wearing a denim LA Looks baseball cap tipped slightly to one side and a pair of round-rimmed sunglasses that barely concealed the crows feet around his eyes. His T-shirt hung loosely off his gaunt shoulders. His well-worn leather jacket was draped over the back of his chair. I noticed, as he continually ran his fingers around the rim of his whiskey glass that he wore several rings. He never played a hand. He would look at his cards, thrust out his stubbly chin, and toss the cards in without ever looking up.

Next to him was a heavier man who sat high and upright in his chair. He wore a white polo shirt with a brown horizontal stripe that stretched tightly across his midsection. Someone needs to tell this guy horizontal stripes are not his look. His wide fingers shook each time he reached down for his chips. I was glad to see I wasn’t the only one with nerves at the table. He had an obvious tell. He’d run his hand across his head, slicking down his comb-over. He’d do this over and over until he’d fold. Sitting behind a meager stack of chips, it was obvious he was not having a good morning.

On the other side of the dealer was a thin Korean man in his 50s. His jowls hung motionless from his stoic face. His thick, over-sized glasses reminded me of something you’d see sorting through the lost-and-found of a dinner theater. He was a careful player who always managed to win split pots. When he spoke, his voice was soft, but his words were sharp.

To my right was a young guy with a goatee and backwards baseball cap (Cleveland Indians, I think.) He knew all the little tricks you can do with your poker chips. He shuffled them with his fingers. He spun them out on the table so they would roll back into his hand. We would swallow and regurgitate them. It was mildly impressive. Too bad his playing didn’t really back it up. Plus, he was sitting backwards on his chair, and these chairs really weren’t designed to be sat on backwards. Instead of looking relaxed, he just looked ridiculous.

To his right, was an uptight little guy with a neat haircut and a tucked-in button-down shirt. He had a little good-luck gold token he kept on top of his cards. He also had a very small stack of chips. But every time he went all in, he’d win the pot. He had a silly little laugh and an aw-shucks way about him. But he was completely out of place. He looked better suited to be a salesman in the men’s department of JC Penny, to tell you the truth.

Then, there was the other end of the table. The far end was occupied by two slightly more intimidating characters. One of them was very shifty looking. This guy hid behind an enormous stack of chips. Keeping in mind that this was a low-stakes game, he must have had at least $5,000 in $1 dollar chips teetering all around him. I didn’t quite understand this. Is this supposed to scare the competition? Or does it keep foreign objects from falling you’re your drink. No matter what the reason, everyone found an opportunity to razz him about it – right before he’d take their money. He had really messy blonde hair and probably hadn’t slept in days. He talked to himself constantly in a language I’m not sure was English.

Then there was George. George was a round fellow wearing a bright yellow Seattle Supersonics jersey. He wore two thick gold chains around his neck. It isn’t immediately clear what race he is, but you know he’s a NYAWG (Not Your Average White Guy).

George talked a lot. I mean, a lot. George knew every dealer and attendant by name. And they knew him. George took almost every pot he played. Everyone at the table with half a brain knew not to go into a hand against George.

Then, there was me. I must have looked like a little kid lost on the floor of the New York Stock Exchange. I sat motionless with a confused look upon my face as money flowed from one side of the table to the other, and then back again.

Finally, after getting in the grove of the game, I was dealt an ace and queen. I went in for my first raise. My bowels went into spasm at this moment.

“Don’t you know what you can buy with those $2?” I asked myself.

As the flop came out, I immediately had two pair, aces and queens. As the betting went around the table, I kept my eyes focused squarely on the green felt in front of me. If the look of terror makes for a good poker face, I was in the money.

As the rest of the cards came out on the table, I had a full house. I kept raising and most of the players folded. Then at the end of the hand, only one player was left – Mr. Horizontal Stripe. We showed our cards. I turned over my full house, still doubting what I really had.

“Ooh, full house,” says George. “Who’s the big dog?”

Mr. Stripe had a pair of aces. The pot was mine. The dealer pushed the pile of chips in my direction. I leaned over and scooped the bounty to my side of the table. I casually tossed the dealer two chips. This was a courtesy I had quickly picked up on. I felt big. But my nervous fingers shook as I fumbled the rest of the chips into a pile, knocked them over and had to start all over again. I was tempted to just leave them in a messy pile in front of me, but this apparently will get you beat up. I wish someone would please explain this to me.

Over the next 90 minutes, I cruised along and won a few more pots. I was actually up about $30. Not bad for a first time out in a low-stakes game. I was ready for ESPN2. Of course, the thought of cashing out never crossed my mind. Surely if I were to walk away with $30 in winnings, I’d immediately go out and spend $40 of it. Instead, I stayed in my seat and confidently marched ahead.

Then the tide turned. Quickly.

I went in on a couple losing hands. And after 30 minutes my $30 surplus was gone and I was down to about $20. But I was looking at a great hand. I had two pair, Hooks and Ladies (jacks and queens in more common parlance). The pot piled up. Then, I went all in and everyone folded. Except for the creepy guy hiding behind his fort of chips. George sat back in his chair and started jawing at me. Something about my nuts, or being nuts. It all became a blurry pastiche of swirling cards, faces and voices.

I was all in. My hand was unbeatable. We both showed our hands. I moved in to scoop up my chips. Except that I failed to notice the straight sitting on the table. Oops. (If you’re not up on the rules of poker, a straight beats two pair. Every time.) I slumped back into the chair. The dealer quickly pushed the pot over to Creepy McCreeperson.

“Oh, snap!” George exclaimed.

“Nice hand,” Mr. McCreeperson said. “I got lucky.”

I got up from my chair in a stunned fog. George encouraged me to go buy more chips and keep playing. This could be translated into, “Go get more chips so we can take them from you even more quickly.”

I muttered something about having to meet my wife and slinked out of the room. I was proud of myself for not getting wrapped up in the adrenaline rush to gamble even more. Otherwise, I knew that by noon my car keys, the deed to my house and my marriage certificate would be on the table. I had to walk through the casino floor on the way back to my hotel room, as you are forced to. With blur of what had just happened and the extremely confusing layout of the casino, it was twenty minutes before I realized I was walking in circles.

The whole experience ate at me for the rest of the day. All I could think about was going back, buying more chips and getting back what I’d lost. My chips and my dignity.

But I resisted. I was just amazed at how quickly I had gone from being up to being down. It was easy to see. I was playing with found money. I was loose and it was gone. I’ve always thought of myself as an intelligent, well-disciplined person. It was now clear to me how people get so addicted to this.

To take my mind off things, my wife and I went that night to see the Blueman Gruop at the Luxor. If you’re not familiar with them, I’d liken them to a cross between the Crash Test Dummies (not the band, but the automobile safety spokesmen) and the Smurfs. Their deadpan comedy combines performance art and music. The show is hilarious and brilliantly crafted. It was better than Cats and I would recommend it to all my friends.

The next morning we got up early and headed to the airport. Passing through the terminal, I stopped at the slot machines. I had one last dime in my pocket. I’d be damned if I’m going to have that rolling out of my pocket the whole flight. So, I tossed in the dime, pulled the lever and watched the wheels spin.