FREE PUBLICITY

The kid couldn't have been more than twenty-one or twenty-two years old.   His hair was bleached blonde and stuck out like the needles of an albino porcupine.  He wore what looked like safety pins on his eyebrows, and silver thumbtacks on both earlobes as well as a gold one in the center of his upper lip.  A generation ago I think this style was called punk.  For all I know it still is.   Whatever the name, his poker playing contrasted totally with his appearance.  Talk about conservative, I'm telling you the man hadn't played two hands all evening.

 

            A flop came up 10-6-2 in three different suits.  As big blind holding the 9-7 of hearts, I figured such a display was worth a try at stealing the pot.  Hell, if anybody followed me, wasn't there a chance of my catching an eight for a straight, or two hearts for a backdoor flush?   So I bet fifteen dollars, which was no little amount in this particular $1-$2 No Limit Texas Hold â??Em game at the MGM Grand. 

 

            As I suspected, my opponents dropped out like targets at a shooting gallery.  Player after player folded until the action came to Le Punk, as I called him in French in my mind.

 

            "I'm all-in", he said, pushing into the pot an amount five times my bet.

 

            No doubt about it, as far as I was concerned!  He had been dealt wired tens.  Such bad timing merited a quick fold, but I pretended I might pay him just to see his reaction.   Give the man-child his due: he didn't bat an eyelash. 

 

            "Good bet," I said, throwing my cards away.  "What did you do, flop a set?"

 

            The kid attempted a laugh.  It came out more like a snort.

 

            "That was pure bluff, man.  I didn't have nothing."

 

            Including proper grammar, I felt like saying.  That's the way it goes.  You can't always get away with larceny.  I'll be Jesse James's cousin if the kid didn't raise the next hand fifty dollars. 

 

            "Wow!" said a tall gentleman after everyone had dropped.  "I put you on wired aces or kings."

 

            "Wrong, pal," replied the young man.  "Try the jack of diamonds and six of clubs."

 

            "Pretty cards," I said.  "Two draws to a straight flush, one in each suit."

 

            Somebody laughed at my oft-cited cliche.  That struck the young man wrong.  Maybe he'd had too many drinks or smoked something he shouldn't have.

 

            "You're all a bunch of stiffs," he said nastily.  "I play as large as anyone here."

 

            "Sure," said the tall man.  "Who said you didn't?"

 

            The young man was not to be appeased.  Grabbing his chips, he left his seat and stormed over to the cashier's window.   Intent on the next deal rather than on the departed lad's feelings, I doubt if anybody gave him a second thought.

 

 Not long afterwards, I too left the table.  I was only down a few bucks, but some games aren't worth the effort.  Due to a lack of action, I figured I would lose more rather than get my money back.

 

         On the long walk to the parking garage, I thought about Le young Punk. Doubtless there was a feeling of animosity towards him.  Not because of his tight play, but because of the way he looked.  Damn, I thought to myself, isn't there enough conformity around as it is?  Why should it bother us how a man dresses or what kind of goo he puts in his hair?  This is a game of individuality, isn't it?   For all I care, a competitor can stick straws up his nose and pencils in his ears.  And you know what? I have yet to meet the player who gives credence to an opponent who doesn't show his cards.   Because I'm telling you, in the whole great world of poker, there is not one of us who wouldn't jump at the opportunity to gain free publicity.

---

Do you Yahoo!?
Everyone is raving about the all-new Yahoo! Mail Beta.