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Why can’t I go to Bay 101?” I whine. Ever
since I met Phil, a year ago, he’s done his best
to keep me away from the casinos. “Jennifer, for
you to play in that tournament is just throwing your
money away – it’s negative equity.”
He has actually taken a poll, asked some of the best
poker minds in the business if I should play. The answers
all come back in the negatory, from Chris Ferguson’s
gentle “maybe you can start her in smaller tournaments,”
to Antonio Esfandiari’s downright tactless “Phil
– she’s a terrible player!”
I am indignant. A little over a year ago, I had the
misfortune to play a televised match on WPT’s
Hollywood Home Game. It was before I knew what I was
doing. Although I knew basics, like a flush beats a
straight, I had no idea what constituted a good starting
hand. Hence I was the Gus Hansen of the telegenic set.
J-3? I’ll play it. Q-7? Weeeeeee! I actually came
in second. My aggressiveness scared everyone else out
of the game.
At the Invitational a few months later, my super-aggressive
style worked against me. Buoyed by alcohol, and misunderstanding
the difference between celebrities and real poker players,
I was gone in 25 minutes.
After that, I bought some books and started reading.
I discovered a little knowledge can be a terrible thing.
The more I read, the more I realized how little I knew.
I became the squeezer from hell, sitting steadfastly
in front of my dwindling pile of chips refusing to play
a hand, until eventually I was blinded out of the game.
But that was a year ago. Now I think I am pretty good.
I have played in some celebrity freerolls, some online
tournaments, and I even know how to shuffle chips. As
far as I’m concerned, I’m ready for the
big time.
Eventually Phil gets tired of my nagging. He corners
Matt Savage at a wedding, and talks him into giving
me a discount. “She’s essentially dead money,”
he explains. “I’ll pose for pictures…”
I add helpfully.
Matt agrees with Phil’s assessment of my skills,
or perhaps my celebrity status is a factor. Whatever
the reason, I’m in for a reduced fee.
I’m just as happy as can be. The day of the tournament
I pack a big bag with everything I could possibly need.
My Ganesh (remover of obstacles), Emergence-C, Salonpas,
protein bars, cigarettes, a baseball cap and sunglasses.
Phil likes to show up at the games just under the gun,
so as to cut down on the schmooze time. We arrive with
ten minutes to spare, gulp down some coffee and eggs
from the buffet, collect our seat assignments and head
for our respective tables.
Seven sunglass-shrouded faces stare at me as I arrive.
I am somewhat taken aback. At the celebrity tournaments
and charity freerolls it’s all jocular trash talking
and bonhomie. I usually begin by introducing myself
to the table. But somehow I get a feeling nobody is
here to make friends. Only Ron Rose stands up to greet
me. Great. Ron Rose has placed first in numerous poker
events, and is an excellent player.
“Are you sitting next to me?” I inquire.
Ron says no. There is an empty seat between us, which
I soon find out is going to be filled by the legendary
Johnny Chan. Ron Rose and Johnny Chan at my table! I
try not to be intimidated. I remember a shred of hokey
wisdom from one of my poker books. “Remember,
all players – no matter how great – get
dealt the same two cards as everybody else.”
“I’m not afraid of Johnny Chan,”
I announce, by way of breaking the ice. “Matt
Damon bluffed him out of a hand.”
Only one guy laughs – a guy named Steve (he is
wearing a nametag). Everyone else stares at me blankly.
I suddenly recall Phil saying there are certain times
that it is bad protocol to talk, and since I’m
not sure when they are, I decide brevity is my best
defense. I put my sunglasses on and subside into silence.
By the time Johnny arrives I am almost happy to see
him. Ron Rose has a disconcerting habit of taking a
long pause before he acts, with his hands folded over
his cards to hide them. Already twice I have looked
up, thought everyone was waiting on me and thrown my
cards away out of turn. “The next time I do that
you can slap me,” I offer with a nervous laugh.
I like Johnny. He has a calm energy, and the most beautiful
diamond and jade ring on his index finger. “I
designed it myself,” he tells me. “I found
the jade and created the ring around it.” I am
suitably impressed. I am homesick for my Very Large
Diamond. I usually wear it when I play poker but I didn’t
want to travel with it.
Now I am peering down at pocket jacks. A huge preflop
raise is not enough to fold my opponent. The flop comes
up K-rag-rag. I check, he bets big. After a great deal
of thought I reluctantly lay down my hand.
“I put you on an ace-jack!” crows my opponent
raking in the chips.
“Do you think he had it?” I ask Johnny.
He nods in the affirmative. “You can’t get
too attached to those pocket queens,” he murmurs.
I am impressed by his ability to pinpoint my hand within
one
denomination.
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