FOLLY

                                               

              I was hardly settled in place at a $1-$2 No Limit Texas Hold ‘Em game last night when a young, curly-haired fellow sat up and proclaimed:

 

            “Watch out for me, man.  I am totally crazy.”

 

            Imposing a lopsided grin on his face, he stuck out his tongue and wiggled it from side to side.  I could see his pupils were dilated and glassy.

 

            “I’ll take note of that,” I replied, accepting $100 worth of chips from the dealer.

 

            “Don’t bother,” said a player a few seats to my right, “unless you want to suffer with the rest of us.”

 

            “You don’t believe I’m a nut?” said the young fellow.  “Watch this.  Raise twenty bucks on the blind.”

 

            Two players called.  Dealt KH-3D, I had no trouble folding.  I really do not like playing against idiots, drunks and fruitcakes.

 

            The flop was a rainbow A-5-3.

 

            “All-in,” said the young guy.   “Wow, am I crazy!”

 

            A player with suited A-5 called.  The turn was a nine, the river a six.

 

            “Whopee!” shouted the self-proclaimed lunatic.  He turned over a four and a seven.  “Now will you people believe me when I say I’m insane?”

 

            “Let us not confuse madness with luck,” said the bloke (a Brit) who had lost the hand.  “You might try talking a bit less while you are at it.”

 

            His request fell on deaf ears.  Rather than elaborate a host of meaningless details, let me assure you that aside from state capitals and Washington D.C., you would have to search far and wide to find a bigger windbag.  Refusing to shut up, Curly continued to mention his absence of sanity. 

 

            I’ll say one thing for the fellow: he certainly animated the game. Betting hand after hand and bluffing continuously, the only thing he seemed to fear was exclusion from the action.  While such play was sure to see him eventually go broke, for the moment he kept kicking my ass as well as that of the tall, heavyset gentleman on my immediate left.  In a matter of minutes both of us were obliged to re-buy chips at the expense of the non-stop talker.  I’m telling you, I’ll take the quiet, serious poker player over the loudmouth blusterer any day of the week.

 

            I guess he had about $400 in chips in front of him when he went all-in with pocket queens.  Deciding to dodge a bullet with suited A-9, I watched my neighbor count his chips.

 

            “Call,” he said.  “I'm afraid I have far less than you do.”

 

            That was the beginning of the end of the wordy one.  Holding KH-QS, the gentleman hit a straight on the river. 

 

            “How could you call with that?” asked the young man in amazement.  “You must be as crazy as me.”

 

            “You’re not crazy, you’re drunk,” replied my neighbor.

 

            “I’m crazy, I tell you.  I really am.”

 

            “No sir,” said the heavyset man. “Anyone can tell you that an ignoramus will never admit to stupidity.  By the same token, a truly irrational person will do everything possible to conceal his disorder.  An admission of stupidity or madness may give pleasure to a fool who enjoys making a spectacle of himself, but nothing is more frightening to the authentic idiot or madman than the possibility his condition might be revealed.”