Friday, August 27, 2010

Post 1342 - Well, I Have The Face For It

 I am pretty sure I haven't told this story before.  It doesn't put me in the best of light, but doesn't fall in the "Dumb Things Bevboy has done" series either.  It is just an area in which my education is lacking.  It has always been this way, and I don't care enough to do anything to change it.  You understand.

I don't know how to play poker.

I don't understand the concept.  I can't tell one hand from another.  And I sure as frig don't know how to keep what they call a poker face.

As luck would have it, I have seldom been called upon to play poker in my life.  One time, at my previous job, a quick hand of poker broke out, and I couldn't escape from its evil clutches in time.  Like an illiterate man whose glasses are always broken, or who is too busy to read what is proffered him, or who needs you to confirm something for him so please read this already, I have a million excuses for not playing that game.  I've used them all.

They all failed me that morning.

I had no choice.

This was a variation of poker I had not seen before, and haven't seen since.  Everybody gets a few cards, and one by one, each person drops a card in a big pile, until someone in the crowd smiles and announces he's won 

Somehow, with one hand, I won.  To this day, I have no idea what it was about my card that was so special that it would result in my winning a few dollars.  I was congratulated, took my winnings, and went back to work.  I was bemused, confused, and suffused with a desire never to play that game again.  I wanted to quit while I was ahead.

I am convinced that, if some fella named Job taught me how to play poker, and another dude  looking like my supervisor took over for him after he jumped to his death off the Macdonald Bridge (the note he left behind would blame me entirely, of course), I would remain absolutely stupefied by this game.  I'd sit there with the hard-core players, looking at my hand, and not have a sweet clue if it was a good one or not.   Or, if I did develop an inkling, I'd  be the cock of the walk.  I'd be showing it to the other participants.  "Look at this!  Hah!  I've got a royal flash!  That beats 5 of a kind, right?  Sure it does.  Ha ha.  Give up now.  Just give me your money and leave!"  I wouldn't last long there. 

In any event, in any context, I'm a waste of time as a poker player.  I am a lost cause.   Better to shoot me now, or never invite me over for a poker game with the boys in the first place, than to have someone of my ilk over to ruin your evening with my foolish questions ("What is this card good for?"  "What does it mean to raise you?  Am I Lazarus or something?"  "What time does Oprah start?")

I guess poker is a sport.  People take it seriously, sometimes deadly seriously.  I hate sports.  I will never see the point. 

Give up on me.

I already have.


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