The Poker Report

5-9-01

"Taking Money Where We Find It Since 2001"

Well, by last Friday Cooney was already telling the world he was ready to make a comeback. He did not call Ben his mark this time, remembering the devastating beating beating he received last Tuesday. This would be a week of redemption for the Coonster. Jon, Ben, and I didn't expect him to show. Nobody returns from that far back. And sure enough, he didn't.

Meanwhile, the midget pulled what may go down as the most infamous move in the history of poker night, reneging on his promise to spring for this Tuesday's pizza. In retaliation we burned his high chair.

There was a new grudge going into this weeks game. I was hanging out at Ace Rankings on Monday, the place where search engine dreams come true, when I let it fall that Andrea might be coming by. "We’ve got a new sucker," I said. To which Ben responded, "I’m sure she’s no more of a sucker than you." This would have been bad enough, but then Jon Berry chimed in, "He just called you a mark!" I looked over at Cooney who shook his head knowingly. I’m from Chicago, I can’t let people call me a mark. The small office on Mission crackled with tension. Ben looked scared, he hadn’t meant for this to go as far as Jon Berry had taken it, but we were all in it now. I decided to walk away, slowly, watching my back, and let the cards speak for me. I didn’t want to have to kill Ben and tattoo a teardrop under my eye.

It was another sunny Tuesday. The sky was miles above Twin Peaks with no tufts of grey hovering along her sides. I had been drinking half the day with my publisher, going over the difficult task of deciding on a cover photo, http://www.chiplehman.com/g/urb-dumpster.jpg. I got back home and leaned far out the window in time to watch the hooker with the monkey face get in a red Celica with a mean looking Armenian. She was wearing her red cotton skirt and looked bored. Staring at the chocolate factory and the line of hookers across the street I became worried: was I already too drunk to play well? Was my life style catching up with me? Then I saw Jon and Ben appear down Folsom, bottles of beer in bags with burritos and tacos and chips.

But that was it. Andrea came by at 9pm but she didn't have any money on her. Ben suggested I front her stake. Andrea lives in a bhudist temple. I looked at her. I looked at my stack of chips. Then I shook my head and said, "No, you stake her." She hung out for an hour and then split to the cities dark streets.

Not much more to report. Just me, Ben, and Jon playing poker. Jon kept lecturing us on the art of between the sheets and at one point Ben threatened to punch somebody in the face. Oh yeah, there is one thing. I won all of their money. Twenty bucks each. Jon was swearing that I was a total jerk for not staying in every hand seeing as there were only three of us, but I was like, no, that's monopoly. In poker you're supposed to fold. I mean, I stayed in some hands I shouldn't have, trying to give back, but they didn't appreciate it. They just drank more beers and harped about an acknowledgement in my next book. It was very strange. At 11:04 on May 8 poker night ended with Jon and Ben leaving my apartment penniless. I've always felt if you're going to lose a friend it's better to take all of their money first. I still feel that way. In Chicago you don't let someone call you a mark.

Steve Elliott

Editor

The Poker Report