One-Match Rich

All of us who detest cardroom smoke should give thanks for the efforts of activists like Richard Tatalovich, Tom McEvoy, Wendeen Eolis, Casey Kastle, and Paul Ladanyi, players who have either started nonsmoking tournament petitions, written anti-smoking articles, or launched smoke-free tournaments.

Thankfully, the momentum is now on the side of the clean air brigade, but we still have a lot of opposition to overcome, as I recently discovered.

I was sitting at a table at Big Denny's Barstow Card Casino, waiting for the start of a no-limit crazy pineapple tournament. Great tournament – unlimited rebuys for the first four hours, and good luck on getting an honest prize pool count. Anyway, as I waited, some guy sat down right next to me with a lit cigarette, and blew a cloud of smoke roughly the size of the Mount St. Helen's volcanic eruption.

I ran up to Big Denny. "Denny," I complained, "that guy's smoking a cigarette."

"So?

"What do you mean? I thought it was illegal to smoke in California cardrooms."

"Well," Denny started to explain, "Barstow ain't actual part of California. Technical-like, it ain't even part of da United States. Ya see, durin' da Civil War, Barstow succeeded …"

"You mean seceded," I corrected him.

"Yeah, dat's what I said. Dey succeeded, and nobody's told 'em yet dat da war's over, an' …"

"Cut the crap, Denny. You know it's against the law. Tell him to put it out."

"Can't, Maxey, he's a real good customer. Ya got a problem wit' dat?" he added menacingly.

This was one argument I wasn't going to win. I stared at the smoker in dismay. As I watched, he consumed his cigarette with a few furious puffs and lit another one with the still-smoldering butt.

"He's a chain-smoker's chain-smoker," I remarked in dismay.

"Yeah," Big Denny said. "He smokes six packs a day an' never has ta use more 'n one match. Dat's why we calls him 'One-Match Rich.' He even gets up every couple a' hours durin' da night ta smoke."

"Wow!" I exclaimed. "The poster boy for the cancer ward. I've got to talk to him and see if I can show him what he's doing to himself."

I suffered through a two-hour onslaught that was like being in the middle of a forest fire. The smoke was so thick, I had trouble reading my cards. It took two porters to keep bringing him fresh ashtrays. I finally got a chance to talk to him during the first break. Fortunately, the break was for 90 minutes. The extra time was needed because the Barstow Card Casino's only restroom is an outhouse in an adjoining field – and you need a quarter just to get in. I walked up to One-Match Rich, introduced myself, and told him that his smoking was bothering me a lot.

"Tough luck, buddy," he answered politely. "Talk to Big Denny; I'm his best customer."

I tried another tack. "Do you have any idea what all that smoking is doing to your health? Didn't you ever hear about lung cancer, emphysema, heart disease …"

"Hey, none of that stuff is true," he protested. He had to stop in midsentence, overcome by a violent coughing fit. "Must be coming down with a little cold," he apologized. "Anyway, that health business is all phony propaganda from those California wusses and health nuts. My granny smoked all her life and she lived till she was 96."

I'd heard that one before. "Did they bury her or just hang her in the smokehouse?" I asked. "Look," I said, trying to change direction again. "I have to sit next to you in the tournament and can't move away from your smoke. Doesn't that put me at an unfair disadvantage?"

"Hey, what about me?" he responded. "Smoking relaxes me. If I can't smoke, that puts me at a disadvantage. Smokers got rights, too. I read that in a Phillip Morris ad."

"You have a very good point there," I said sarcastically. "I know what you mean, because I love to play the bongo drums. It relaxes me. If I'm not allowed to play the bongos at the table, I'm at a disadvantage, too. Maybe all of us smokers and bongo drum players should get together and file a class-action discrimination suit."

He nodded his head in thoughtful agreement. "Good idea," he said. "Maybe we should."

I could see that sarcasm wouldn't work. I tried again. "Have you ever figured up how much money you pay out for cigarettes?"

"Sure. About 25 bucks a day. No problem. I just stiff the dealers to make up for it."

I tried every argument I could and got the usual stubborn and stupid responses, including the classic line: "You drive a car and your smog is worse for me than secondhand smoke is for you." (Yeah, right. Maybe I should also stop breathing because I'm inhaling oxygen and exhaling carbon dioxide.)

I tried one last time. "Look, Rich. Think hard. Why do you smoke in the first place? Other than satisfying a terrible addiction, what's the point?"

His answer was immediate: "Real men all smoke. All my heroes smoked. John Wayne, Humphrey Bogart, Steve McQueen …"

"All of them got cancer from smoking," I pointed out.

"My granny …"

I threw up my hands and walked away. After the tournament, I called the Barstow Police Department to complain about smoking at the Barstow Card Casino, and was told by the desk sergeant to call back in six months. "Right now we're investigating them for loan sharking, skimming, money laundering, prostitution, illegal slots and craps tables, operating without a license, a few assault and battery charges, and two homicides. Don't bother us about smoking, OK?"

All right, guys, I did my best. Now it's up to you, so keep the anti-smoking pressure on and keep those petitions coming. I don't want to keep fighting One-Match Rich until he's 96 like his granny.