Big Denny Goes to Oxford – Part II

In Part I, I reported how the students at Great Britain's Oxford University, scholastically brilliant but a touch behind the times, were finally discovering poker. Their representative, Chauncey Crumblecake, had contacted me, requesting that I secure the services of Big Denny, whom they had heard about from my columns, to teach them the game and set up a poker tournament. After a trip made miserable by my friend's normal outrageous behavior, we arrived at the university, where Denny's first question was, "When does we eat?"

This would be the first poker tournament at Oxford, perhaps at any British college. Oklahoma Johnny once tried to stage a senior's tournament for students in their senior year, but it never came about. I was apprehensive at how Big Denny would behave at an institution of higher education, since the highest education to which he had ever been exposed was at reform school. Perhaps, I thought, some of the rarified atmosphere might rub off on him. I was soon disabused of this naïve notion. "Hey, Maxey," he said to me after Crumblecake took us on a tour of the campus, "what kinda joint is dis, anyhow? Dey ain't even got no bowlin' alley here." "Oxford University is no amusement park," I informed him. "It is a place where students learn things." "Like what?" "Everything. Literature, economics, history. Their physics department, I understand, is among the finest in the world." "Oh, yeah, den maybe dey can help me. I been havin' trouble wit' my bowel movements lately." "Denny," I tried to explain, "physics is the study of energy and matter." "Yeah, dat's what I means. I ain't got no energy lately, 'cause no matter how hard I tries, I can't get my bowels ta move."

I decided to let the matter drop. "Well, it's almost time for your poker talk, so let's go to their study hall." We entered a room filled with students eager to learn poker. Crumblecake was waiting for us at a lectern and smiled as we walked in. "Chaps, it's my pleasure to introduce Mr. Big Denny, proprietor of the Barstow Card Casino, who will now elucidate for us the esoteric intricacies of poker." "What da hell is he talkin' about?" Denny whispered to me. "Just tell them about poker," I sighed. "And please watch your language." "Don't worry none about me, Maxey." The gargantuan

creature ambled to the lectern. "Evenin', youse bums," he greeted them cheerily. The students bristled in anger. "Denny," I warned him. "In Britain, 'bum' means 'buttocks' or 'anus.' Apologize." "Just kiddin', youse mugs," he apologized. More anger. "Denny, 'mug' here means a stupid or gullible person." "Is 'gents' OK?" he asked me sarcastically. I nodded wearily and he continued.

"OK, gents, I'm gonna teach ya poker now. Poker is a game where ya gets two cards when yer playin' hold'em, an' four when yer playin' Omaha, an' five when yer playin' draw poker, an' t'ree when ya plays crazy pineapple, providin' yer crazy enough ta play dat game at all. Da best hand wins, 'cept when yer playin' lowball, when da worst hand wins, only unless ya playin' deuce ta seven lowball, when aces an' wheels don't count fer low, an if yer playin' a split game like Omaha high-low, where both da best an' da worst hands wins, unless dere's a qualifier. Ya followin' me, guys?"

There was a baffled silence, and then one student raised his hand. "I say, old bean, is this game anything like cribbage?" "Who ya callin' a bean, ya little punk," Denny snapped. "An' I ain't never heard of no game called cabbage." As the student sat down, puzzled, another jumped up. "Tell me, Mr. Denny, what is the most important thing in poker?" "Bein' able ta see da other player's cards," he smirked. "So always try ta sit next ta a player what flashes his cards, an lean back so's ya can see 'em even better." "I say," the student persisted, "is that cricket?" Big Denny was starting to get annoyed, not a good sign. "What's wit dis beans an' cabbage an' crickets, Anyways? Don't youse guys know how ta speak English?" Another student rose up. "I assure you that we enunciate pure Oxfordian English, Mr. Denny. Quite distinct from your barbarous dialect, Yank." Oh, boy. "Yank?" Big Denny exploded. "I'll yank yer head offa ya an' sit on it!"

He started to move toward the student, but I intercepted him. "OK, fellows," I called out. "That should be enough poker instruction for now. If you need to know more, I have copies of Phil Hellmuth's new book, Winning and Whining, up here for sale. We'll see you all here tomorrow for the big tournament."

I hustled Big Denny out of the hall before violence could erupt. That night, Denny toured the local pubs and rounded up a crew of guys to act as dealers. The next evening, the students filed in and saw a handful of makeshift tables populated by a handful of unsavory-looking, bleary-eyed dealers who had just undergone a few minutes of rudimentary training in dealing poker. "OK, youse bums … I means, gents," Denny bellowed. "Welcome to da first annual Big Denny's Oxford University World Poker Championship. "Da entry fee is only a hundred bucks, along wit' forty bucks juice." "Blimey," one student exclaimed. "How are we expected to drink that much juice?"

Denny explained that "juice" meant the entrance fee. Since the students were all first-time tournament players, he knew they wouldn't realize that the amount was extortionist. He also announced that 6 percent was being withheld from the prize pool for the dealers and staff, but students were welcome to toke additionally if they wished. Just as I feared, the tournament was a disaster. The students had little if any idea what they were doing and the dealers certainly were no help. They dealt slowly and uncertainly, continually misdealt, shuffled slovenly, called the hands wrong, counted the chips incorrectly, forgot to move the button, and repeatedly got into violent disputes with players. Big Denny only added to the confusion and turmoil. The decisions he was called on to make were arbitrary, based on how he felt at the moment, and bore no reality to the Tournament Directors Association rulebook.

Getting bored and wanting the tournament to conclude, he kept shortening the rounds and doubling and tripling the blinds and antes at each new level. Mercifully, the tournament finally staggered to a conclusion as Big Denny shook down the last winners while they counted their meager payoffs in a daze.

I would like to report that a date has been set for the second annual BDOUWPC, but there won't be any. When the dean of students discovered that a poker tournament had been held in Oxford's hallowed halls of learning, he suspended each of the students. When he learned that Big Denny had run it, he increased the suspensions to six months. And for their part, the students unanimously voted to return to cribbage.

Part I of this series can be found at www.CardPlayer.com.