The Poker Report

"Informing the Uninformed Since 2001"

5-2-01

It was a long, hot, Tuesday, longer for some than others. The sun had been kissing twin peaks all day and some people should have know better than to ever come inside. Cooney was back in the deal after months of hiding in his highly fortified enclave in the Richmond staring at the fog. He was ready to stack some chips. Earlier in the week he let it be known to the world the Ben Peterson was his mark. To make sure we all heard it he said it twice and maintained his assertion even under questioning. The rest of us were pretty surprised that Ben didn’t even seem to take offense at the distinction. Cooney and I both know, being from the midwest, you never let someone call you a mark.

Mark Shaw, Chris Donahue and Dave Jons were all in attendance for the first time at the palace.

While the heat and the sun were still baking the hookers on the concrete on Folsom Street, Chris Cooney and Jon Berry started out with a blizzard of victories, their colored chips reaching to their eyes in psychedelic waves. Cooney, after one particularly spectacular win playing between the sheets, turned to the stunned audience and stated calmly, "I’ve played that game before."

Unfortunately, as high as Cooney was to climb, he was also destined to fall. By the end of the night he was poor and muttering strange epithets to himself about the dawn of man and the end of the world which would surely be reckoning upon us.

My boy Jeremy, from the kick ass punk rock ensemble The Zodiac Killers, was once again the big winner. Even with the looming deadline of an 11pm shift at Orphan Andy’s in the Castro he still pulled piles calmly like he knew they belonged to him anyway.

Probably the big surprise of the night was Abby who gets the award for most improved player. Seated comfortably on her boyfriends lap she counted out eighteen big ones plus five in hard, cold cash before skipping happily out the door promising next time to write me out a check for something or other. Thing is she owed me twenty five, and she only had twenty three in her pocket.

Monica showed up a little late after the big pot of chili I cooked using her famous recipe was already gone. She waited until somebody said they had liked it and then let everybody know that I had simply followed her instructions, which of course was true. But then, who wouldn't follow Monica's instructions?

If I remember correctly Mark Shaw and Ben also came out smiling while Donahue, Berry, and Dave all pitched in to make the winners pots fatter. The saddest thing about poker is that not everybody can be a winner, just like in life. There’s always that one guy that gets nothing so that someone, somewhere else, can have everything. Worse still, winners tend to die happy, and losers, well... Personally I came out pretty good depending on how you look at it. On the one hand, there’s still five beers left behind in the fridge and I’m ten dollars richer. And that’s the only hand I’m interested in anyway.

Next week the midget’s buying pizza for everybody so it should be a good one. See you then.

Steve Elliott

Editor