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It’s very nice to meet you, Poker Goddess.
Dang son, you ‘bout as polite as a preacher talkin’ to the Devil himself, as cordial as the bartender to the sheriff. So lemme pay you the compliment of being blunt. I been the Poker Goddess for a very long time, and there is one reason and one reason only varmints like you come sit here bowin’ and bendin’ like a tinhorn gambler on payday. There is only one reason you bothering to talk to an old Montgomery Ward gal like myself, and it ain’t because I’m pretty as a little red wagon. Last I checked, I have wrinkles as big as creases in a boiled shirt. All you varmints are the same; when your luck start gettin’ as muddy as yours is, you come runnin’ to the Poker Goddess. So sit down and I’ll pour you a cup. I makes real good coffee. It’s like Pa says… the uglier the gal, the better coffee she makes.
So you really DO exist then?
Do I what? Exist? Hello? No wonder you never win. You is about as chuckleheaded as a prairie dog. Yes I exist, put here by the Man himself ‘cause he needin’ someone to direct all the misdirected prayers comin’ his way. It’s one thing to have all you flesh puppets prayin’ for rain, health, and love… but quite another thing when you all start puttin’ your hands together asking him to bring a spade on the river, just this ONE time. That’s where I come in. I answers all the “poker prayers.”
I’ve often wondered, why a Goddess? Why not a Poker God?
Haven’t you ever heard of “Lady Luck?” Well now you’ve met her. Seriously, Son, haven’t you played this sick game long enough yet? Haven’t you suffered enough? Have you not witnessed with your own eyes the sheer lack of justice served up from my trailer in the sky? No man dead or alive could do my job, because no man could possibly be
as cruel as a woman can. No man could be as fickle. They even write songs about me… this one is from Guys and Dolls.
They call her Lady Luck And there’s no room for doubt
Sometimes she has a very unladylike way Of runnin out.
That’s ME they singin’ about!
Who’s going to win the World Series Main Event this year?
You mean the one at Benny’s? There so many of those shootin’ matches goin’ on these days that I lose track. All I know is that Benny started that game with nine of the toughest varmints in town. Fast forward a few dozen years, and it became the biggest kettle o’ fish anybody has ever seen.
Actually the Binion family sold their casino to Harrah’s a few years ago, so the WSOP is played at the RIO now.
The what? The RIO? You funnin’ me, boy? I mean, okay, the rooms at Binion’s smelled so bad that the candles were ashamed to burn, and it was hard to find a cocktail girl with a full set of teeth. But the RIO? Do they even have bathrooms at the RIO? I imagine the cocktail girls there at the RIO are ‘bout as pretty as a basket of chips… that said, they have ‘bout as much warmth as an icicle. And you have to walk for miles to find your table. Most them old timers like Doyle don’t exactly travel like a colt no more, am I wrong?
LOL, probably not. Anyway, who will win the Main Event this year?
Now that’s my little secret. But, I’ll tell ya this. The winner will be as unexpected as a fifth ace. Just like when Jamie won it. The varmint who shows everybody the nuts over and over ends up with the chips. And we all know it don’t take a whole lotta figurin’ to turn over the nuts.
So are you saying there is no skill whatsoever in poker?
Son, without my help you have about as much chance to win as a one-legged man at a kickin’ contest. Just ask Johnny about the time he won it, when he won twelve flips in a row. I’m sure you know about the way that Jesus won it a few years back. I mean, THINK about it son! The Man Upstairs puts his own SON in the game, you think he’s not gonna give his own child a little help on the river, when Chris was sittin’ there facing off with TJ?
But what about the laws of probability? I read that all players are treated the same in the long run.
What, you been readin’ David and Mason’s books again? No wonder you is poorer than a toothless coyote. Math is for the SUCKERS, son. You go watch any poker game on television. You think varmints like Unabomber, Antonio, or Gus care about the math when they stick it in the middle? Most guys like you flop a draw, and you is thinkin’ that maybe you should shove it in on the flop, giving you two ways to win the pot. But not these varmints. When Gus flops a little flush draw, he figures “Wheee! I’m doubling up”… so why risk losing his opponent on the flop who is terrified to call with any possible draw on the board? The real guys, like Antonio and Gus, have learned to slowplay their draws, to let their opponents catch up a bit, before making their move on the turn.
So do you favor some players more than other players?
Son, you got nuthin’ under your hat but hair. What you think? Dang right I favors some varmints more than other ones. For some players, like you for instance, you got about as much chance as a jackrabbit at a coyote convention. When you sits down at one of them shootin’ matches at the WSOP, you ‘bout as helpless as a cow in quicksand. Ain’t NUTHIN’ you can do. NUTHIN’, you hear me? You just ain’t ever gonna find enough spots on your cards. All that thinkin’ and figurin’ and books ain’t worth a barrel full of shucks; they is about as useful as a four card flush. For others I make sure they find this game ’bout as easy as lickin’ butter off a knife. For these varmints, they don’t have to do nuthin’ but sit. I takes care of the rest. They don’t have to lift a finger. Like Barry, he just sits there. At this point, that varmint’s too lazy to even smile.
So some players are just destined to be “lucky” then?
Look, they all starts as pups. They come by the thousands, every day. Bright and clean as a new mirror, with a fistful of chips in one hand, and a milk bottle in the other. None of them can play a lick when they starts. Why, they’d sport a better chance posing as a rabbit in a hound’s mouth. But I do have a job to do. So I makes it that most of them leave the game without a tail feather left, and then to make sure that this here game don’t die, I makes sure a few of them young varmints leave purrin’ like a kitten in a creamery.
So does this mean that all top players caught a big rush of cards early on?
Dang, Son, you slower than a snail on crutches. Yes, sireee, that’s exactly what I is saying. Inside of every one of them “top players” who walks around with a fat old case of big behavior, is a guy who came into this game ‘bout as blind as a rattler in August, who I decided deserves a fat old slice of what you may call “beginner’s luck.” Every pro starts out by hitting a huge run of cards, otherwise, they mosey on down the razorblade of life and find themselves “real” jobs. Same thing happens online. For every thousand of them young varmints, one or two finds themselves with calluses on their hands from pattin’ their own backs, congratulatin’ themselves for their talent.
And how do you decide who the “lucky ones” are? Are they somehow deserving?
Deserving? Son, I’ll say this about the nature of a poker player. None of you ain’t ever been accused of pickin’ any grapes in the Lord’s vineyard. I just choose whoever I fancy at the time. Like last year I picked Jeff. He came stumbling into the WSOP about as out of place as a pig in a pawnshop, and he left singin’ with his tail up. Now he’s finding that poker is a game with doors that swing both ways.
So nobody runs good forever? Eventually it all evens out, right?
Well, yeah. That’s my job; I brings them in, and then one day I busts ‘em. Eventually they start runnin’ not so good, findin’ nothin’ in their hands but some very young clubs. Soon afterwards, their pockets start springin’ leaks, and they start puttin’ that money they won back into circulation. The smart ones finally figures out that it’s just a job like any other job, many days they gonna spend sittin’ waitin’ for the nuts, same old thing every day. Playin’ poker for a living ain’t no different than a miner sweating on the blister end of a damn shovel; it’s boring, and it’s hard work. Then one day, they wake up and realize that their best possible day is to sit round a table with eight varmints stupider than they is, and that’s the day they think maybe they wasn’t that lucky early on after all, that maybe gettin’ lucky way back when was really the unluckiest thing that ever happened to them. But by then, it’s too late.
So wait a minute … I’m confused. Are you saying that getting lucky early in your poker career is actually a misfortune?
Don’t be so surprised, Son. You look like somebody just showed you four aces and a joker in a big pot. What I is saying is this… ain’t necessarily the case that a varmint who keeps takin’ down pot after pot is getting “lucky”… he’s just winnin’ pots. There be one day soon enough that same varmint find himself on the losin’ end, and then you can be sure he’s gonna let out a string of cuss words that would sizzle bacon. The weak ones start callin’ me names that wouldn’t improve a Sunday School none. Because they gave me their souls thinking I was never gonna stop given them the nuts.
Are you always this callous? I thought Goddesses were benevolent?
Why you think that, Son?
Because everybody knows that Heavenly Beings are fundamentally good, that they exist to make people’s lives better.
Did I say I was a Heavenly Being?
Well, I assumed you were. Don’t you live in Heaven?
Son, where I live is so damn hot the prunes start a stewin’ in their own juice. Like that cup of coffee you drinkin’, it took me two hours to blow it cool. That said, you wanna ‘nuther cup?
Uh, no, I think I get it. Thanks for your time, Poker Goddess.
Any time.
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