Stubbornness, a Bad Win, and a Poker Phobia

Hi. Come on in. My sister sent her annual Christmas CARE package, with the old country goodies Grandma taught her and Mom to make. Delight your taste buds.

The last time we talked, I told you, "Never try to bluff a man wearing a bow tie." (I said I'd tell you why at a later time. It's now a later time.)

A man wearing a bow tie is stubborn. No one with any sartorial taste thinks a bow tie looks good – except the man wearing one. Most of us know such a man. We've talked to him, to no avail. People have been telling him for years to lose the bow tie. He won't. He's stubborn. Carrying this into a poker game, he will stubbornly call you down to the end. It's in his nature. You've been warned.

Moving on … Here's a question for you to ponder, along with some poker history. Which is worse, listening card by card to every agonizing detail of a bad-beat story, or listening bet by bet to every glorious detail of a big-win story? They both can be a drag.

When my friends start swapping bad-beat stories and crying the blues, I have nothing to say. I don't have any bad-beat stories – not one. I'm beginning to think there is something wrong with me. The closest I have come to a bad-beat story is actually a "bad-win" story (and wouldn't you just know that I'm about to tell it to you).

The game was $10-$20 draw poker in Gardena, California, many years ago. At that time, Gardena was known as the poker capital of America. In those days, the players themselves dealt, in rotation. It was my turn to deal. I adroitly performed my assigned task and put down the stub of the deck, taking care to cover it with a chip.

I carefully spread my hand so my eyes alone would see what was held in store: A-K-Q-J-10 – all spades. I had dealt myself a pat royal flush! The odds against doing that are huge. My heart immediately jumped into my throat and began beating a cadence I had never felt before. But my nerves of steel and the ice water in my veins betrayed not one iota of the powerhouse I held.

Looking up from my powerhouse, I noticed that no one had opened. I tossed in $10 and began hoping, hoping, hoping that someone had been sandbagging and would now raise. Fold, fold, fold … They all folded! I sat there stunned, like someone had whacked me in the head with a board.

Finally, someone said, "Show your openers and let's play the next hand." I turned over my cards, everyone gasped, and I collected the antes. A pat royal flush, and I won the antes.

I took a walk in the parking lot on the theory that no one wants to see a grown man cry.

I'm sounding an alert … There is a new – and as yet, unnamed – phobia that is striking poker players all over the United States. (A phobia is any obsessive or morbid fear. Morbid is the key word here.)

I believe that as a public communicator, I have the civic responsibility to alert you to the potential problem within the poker community. I strongly suggest that you be alert for any symptoms that might signal the onset of this phobia. Several friends have already been adversely affected. It's not pleasant, and once you have it, long and expensive treatment will be required for its cure.

Even as we speak, public health officials are mobilizing to meet the menace, but it continues to spread – and it is terrifying.

What is this unnamed phobia? It is the fear of awakening in the middle of the night to find an intruder in your home. The intruder turns out to be a poker player, and instead of robbing you, he ties you up and forces you to listen to several hours of bad-beat stories. Horrendous!

I suggest that each of us write a note to my sister, thanking her for the Christmas goodies. That way, she'll send more next year.

Editor's note: Roy West, author of the bestseller 7 Card Stud, the Complete Course in Winning (available from Card Player), continues to give his successful poker lessons in Las Vegas to both tourists and locals. Ladies are welcome. Call 1-800-548-6177, Ext. 03.