Sunday, July 25, 2010
Here, in chronological order, is the evolution of the first-ever Soldiers Home Texas Hold ‘Em Poker Tournament:
1. Gary tells me about his idea to create a poker tournament. I am desperate to play a role.
2. I pass my grueling “dealers’ audition” in a trial-and-error game with Gary and Ken Levick. I am giddy.
3. Gary tells me he’ll postpone the tournament until after my vacation. I am thrilled and grateful.
4. Gary tells me to show up, ready to deal, by 8:45 a.m. On a Sunday. I am a little surprised.
5. Gary tells me the tournament will “break for lunch” for an hour at 11:30 a.m. On a Sunday. I am a little worried. “Good one,” I say. Silly Gary. But Gary is not joking. The tournament is scheduled to last until 4 pm.
6. I go to bed early Saturday night. I am thinking: “Good Lord. What have I gotten myself into?”
7. I wake up a little crabby and self-pitying this morning but drink a very tall cup of coconut coffee with sugar-free vanilla creamer. Suddenly, I am bubbly. I make my own dealer's cheat sheet of rules and winning hands.
8. I actually get to the Soldiers Home before 8:45 a.m. On a Sunday.
9. Gary is in charge. Gary is intense. Kathleen, of the Activities staff, hands me an orange Soldiers Home visor. It is my Official Dealer gear. I am almost smug.
10. There are two tables and two dealers: Gary and me. Fourteen players have signed up, but a couple, at the last minute, have opted for church instead. Players draw numbers for tables and sift through their personalized bags, each containing $2,000 in chips.
11. Gary gives a little official introduction (dealers are not to help any player in any way), and we are playing poker. I am a little nervous.
12. At my table: David Fox, Other Mike (a very nice man, but not my “usual” Mike), Lyle, Leo Martell and Danny. They are all smart and On Top of Things, and we are playing well together. (Well, except for that one time when Danny bet big, but had folded two turns ago, and we all had forgotten.) We laugh and applaud, and everyone is polite and encouraging. From time to time, other residents gather around to watch (and even cheer).
13. We’re sitting at a huge round table, so I have to stand and bend and stretch to collect bets and cards and dropped chips. My back is sore by 10:30, and I did have that very tall cup of coconut coffee, so I make an Executive Dealer Decision and call a bathroom break. Everyone is a little relieved.
14. No one is betting much, and with $2,000 apiece, I have a vision of us playing till next Friday. “When is someone going to start betting hundreds?” I ask. Other Mike sneers back: “When you deal us something better than a King and a 2.” I like this Mike, too.
15. Finally, just before lunch, Danny starts betting big. “Are you really confident?” I ask him, “or just tired of playing?” He smiles. "Kind of tired of playing," he says. But he’s still in it.
16. For lunch, I grab the Sunday paper, stop in Mike’s room to tell him I’m heading to the pond—and head to the pond. Mike never comes down, but the fresh air and solitude are kind of invigorating.
17. Players start dropping out after lunch. One guy falls asleep at his table. Leo is betting big, and winning big. Danny finally runs out of chips, and Other Mike never really rallied back after all those hands of Kings and 2s. Around 2:30, we consolidate the remaining players around one table. Gary keeps dealing; I start stacking everyone’s chips in piles of 20 so they’ll be easier to count when we get down to business. And today's prizes are big business. Unlike Bingo, where Blackout winners get $5 in scrip (to use in the general store, mainly), today’s three poker prizes are real cash money: $25 for first place, then $15, then $10.
18. I take another fresh-air break, this time with (usual) Mike, and we have a wonderful chat in the sunshine. By the time I get back, David Fox has abandoned his chips, and there are only three players left: Ken Levick, Leo Martell and Leonard. Leonard busts, which automatically puts David in third place, even though he’s not there. Leo is the obvious winner, judging by his cascading piles of $25 blue chips, but we count his and Ken’s, just to be sure.
19. Gary distributes the prize envelopes. Leo wins. He is very happy. Ken comes in second. Ken is only slightly less happy. David is still absent, but Kathleen promises to deliver his winnings. I congratulate Gary on a job well done. (He’s hoping to make the tournament a regular event.) He thanks me for coming. I feel happy, and useful, and totally spent.
20. It is 4 p.m. On a Sunday. I stop in Mike’s room to say goodbye. “You are pooped,” he tells me. Yep; that I am. But I’m also strangely energized: I am SO glad I threw in my ridiculous “poor me” attitude and put on my happy game face. This day, this tournament, these guys deserve nothing less.
Here, in chronological order, is the evolution of the first-ever Soldiers Home Texas Hold ‘Em Poker Tournament:
1. Gary tells me about his idea to create a poker tournament. I am desperate to play a role.
2. I pass my grueling “dealers’ audition” in a trial-and-error game with Gary and Ken Levick. I am giddy.
3. Gary tells me he’ll postpone the tournament until after my vacation. I am thrilled and grateful.
4. Gary tells me to show up, ready to deal, by 8:45 a.m. On a Sunday. I am a little surprised.
5. Gary tells me the tournament will “break for lunch” for an hour at 11:30 a.m. On a Sunday. I am a little worried. “Good one,” I say. Silly Gary. But Gary is not joking. The tournament is scheduled to last until 4 pm.
6. I go to bed early Saturday night. I am thinking: “Good Lord. What have I gotten myself into?”
7. I wake up a little crabby and self-pitying this morning but drink a very tall cup of coconut coffee with sugar-free vanilla creamer. Suddenly, I am bubbly. I make my own dealer's cheat sheet of rules and winning hands.
8. I actually get to the Soldiers Home before 8:45 a.m. On a Sunday.
9. Gary is in charge. Gary is intense. Kathleen, of the Activities staff, hands me an orange Soldiers Home visor. It is my Official Dealer gear. I am almost smug.
10. There are two tables and two dealers: Gary and me. Fourteen players have signed up, but a couple, at the last minute, have opted for church instead. Players draw numbers for tables and sift through their personalized bags, each containing $2,000 in chips.
11. Gary gives a little official introduction (dealers are not to help any player in any way), and we are playing poker. I am a little nervous.
12. At my table: David Fox, Other Mike (a very nice man, but not my “usual” Mike), Lyle, Leo Martell and Danny. They are all smart and On Top of Things, and we are playing well together. (Well, except for that one time when Danny bet big, but had folded two turns ago, and we all had forgotten.) We laugh and applaud, and everyone is polite and encouraging. From time to time, other residents gather around to watch (and even cheer).
13. We’re sitting at a huge round table, so I have to stand and bend and stretch to collect bets and cards and dropped chips. My back is sore by 10:30, and I did have that very tall cup of coconut coffee, so I make an Executive Dealer Decision and call a bathroom break. Everyone is a little relieved.
14. No one is betting much, and with $2,000 apiece, I have a vision of us playing till next Friday. “When is someone going to start betting hundreds?” I ask. Other Mike sneers back: “When you deal us something better than a King and a 2.” I like this Mike, too.
15. Finally, just before lunch, Danny starts betting big. “Are you really confident?” I ask him, “or just tired of playing?” He smiles. "Kind of tired of playing," he says. But he’s still in it.
16. For lunch, I grab the Sunday paper, stop in Mike’s room to tell him I’m heading to the pond—and head to the pond. Mike never comes down, but the fresh air and solitude are kind of invigorating.
17. Players start dropping out after lunch. One guy falls asleep at his table. Leo is betting big, and winning big. Danny finally runs out of chips, and Other Mike never really rallied back after all those hands of Kings and 2s. Around 2:30, we consolidate the remaining players around one table. Gary keeps dealing; I start stacking everyone’s chips in piles of 20 so they’ll be easier to count when we get down to business. And today's prizes are big business. Unlike Bingo, where Blackout winners get $5 in scrip (to use in the general store, mainly), today’s three poker prizes are real cash money: $25 for first place, then $15, then $10.
18. I take another fresh-air break, this time with (usual) Mike, and we have a wonderful chat in the sunshine. By the time I get back, David Fox has abandoned his chips, and there are only three players left: Ken Levick, Leo Martell and Leonard. Leonard busts, which automatically puts David in third place, even though he’s not there. Leo is the obvious winner, judging by his cascading piles of $25 blue chips, but we count his and Ken’s, just to be sure.
19. Gary distributes the prize envelopes. Leo wins. He is very happy. Ken comes in second. Ken is only slightly less happy. David is still absent, but Kathleen promises to deliver his winnings. I congratulate Gary on a job well done. (He’s hoping to make the tournament a regular event.) He thanks me for coming. I feel happy, and useful, and totally spent.
20. It is 4 p.m. On a Sunday. I stop in Mike’s room to say goodbye. “You are pooped,” he tells me. Yep; that I am. But I’m also strangely energized: I am SO glad I threw in my ridiculous “poor me” attitude and put on my happy game face. This day, this tournament, these guys deserve nothing less.