The Sporting Life:
The Public Professor’s
Saturday Sports Column
The A/C in Patch Adams’ minivan was broken. That’s fine by me, but America’s gotten soft, so our group of six divided among two sedans so everyone could get a freon facial. Patch drove Irish Andrew and one of his neighbors, a newbie hell bent on trying out some craps “system” he learned in a book. It would end up costing him four C-notes. Expensive book. Dollar Bill drove Stanley and myself in his put-put Pontiac. I sat in the back and tried to stay warm.
Patch Adams drives fast, Dollar B
ill drives slow, so by the time we rolled up, the details were left to the valet. Hell with it; at only $4 plus tip, it’s cheaper than a pint of beer at the Hipster bar down the block from my house.
I’d stuffed myself on egg rolls and shrimp lo mein on the way up, so I was non-plussed to find Irish gorging himself on pot-stickers, salad, and some remorseless entree, the details of which now escape me. I slurped a ginger ale through a straw. Newbie Neighbor had already trundled off to meet his fate at the tables.
After the feedbags were emptied, we went looking for the brush. They’d closed down the main poker room in Delaware Park and all the action had moved to the auxiliary room at the far end. We told them we were interested in Omaha Hi-Lo. They were willing to spread a Fixed Limit 4-8 game for us: blinds of $2 and $4, betting increments of $4 pre- and post-Flop, $8 on the Turn and River, three raise limit. There was also a Half-Kill; if anyone scooped a pot over $40, blinds and increments for the next hand rose 50%.
The five of us bought in for $200 and settled down with a couple of strangers. Others would come and go, many of them attracted by the opportunity to play something other than Texas Hold `Em for a change. The old lady to the dealer’s right was a pigeon. The young, bald guy to Stanley’s left w/ the one ear-bud and the sometimes mirrored shades was the best player at the table. Tough position for Stanley. That was just the beginning of his bad luck.
Enough people came and went to keep the money flowing, subsidize the rake, and feed the semi-pro in shades. Irish Andrew broke first. After three hours of big ups and downs, he was ahead by exactly $4. It felt right, and he rambled off to join Newbie Neighbor at the craps table.
Not too long after that, Stanley busted out. They say that if you watch a baseball game everyday, you’ll see something you never saw before in each game. You know that’s true for cards. Stanley was dealt bullets four hands in a row. And quite amazingly, he lost three of those hands and got his Ace-Deuce quartered on the fourth. The brutality that descended upon him was both quirky and savage, and he has the scars to prove it.
About a half-hour later, our table collapsed and they sent the four of us who remained over to the another Omaha set. Much better, it was a full table with bountiful pots and had no Kill or Half-Kill. Down about a buck and a quarter walking over, I popped a wheelie on 4th street and turned that shiznit right around, slow-rolling it as other people led the way. A couple more wins, and I finished $20 up for the night, handing half of that over to Dollar Bill for gas and parking. All the better since he was a little down. Patch Adams finished $40 up, which is exactly the amount we buy-in for at our weekly home game, so he was feeling certified.
And then Stanley returned with the news. While Newbie Neighbor had crapped out via his new system, Irish Andrew had played it to the tune of $400. He then wandered over to a slot machine, and on his fourth pull hit three red 7s for another two bills. In just a matter of minutes he had raked in $600.
Dollar Bill flew out solo since he’s well north of the city, and the rest of us squeezed into Patch Adams’ vehicle. An hour later, we returned to Baltimore to find acres of shuttered roads and power outage in the county. We’d sucked a little piece of the universe dry.