Holding the Nuts Read online

  We toyed with the idea of a dealer’s visor. I actually saw a baseball cap one time in Peacocks. It had a splayed royal flush embossed on the front. I was thinking of buying it and forcing the dealer to wear it, passing it around as we passed the dealership around. Instead we just settled for the cliché dealer chip. Why be different when you can conform, eh?

  We don’t have the lights turned dim, we don’t have a smoky atmosphere, we don’t strain to see the cards. We do have the heating turned up really high sometimes, but that’s only when Nicky’s being especially mischievous. She has it in her head that players are under more strain when hot, so if she cranks the heating up and doesn’t tell us she reckons she has an immediate advantage. No idea whether that’s true, would have to perform some proper scientific tests before I even had an opinion on something like that.

  There are, of course, people who treat poker as far more than what it is.

  A game, by the way. And if you think poker’s anything else, you’re a Muppet.

  (OK, you may be one of those rare really good players who make their millions off poker. If you are, sorry if I just insulted you, but you can afford to throw this book away and not feel you’ve wasted any money. What I meant was, if you’re not one of those rare really good players who make their millions off poker and you treat poker as anything more than a game – then you’re a Muppet. That’s what I meant, but the sentence was way too long.)

  Anyway, there are people who treat poker as more than what it is. I for one play it because I like it. I enjoy playing it (although I don’t enjoy the football talk at all), I enjoy winning, and – yes – I even enjoy losing sometimes. I hate being dealt a succession of useless hands and end up bankrupt purely because I never had anything to play with. But I have no problems with losing all my chips because I’m holding a queen-high flush when my opponent happens to be holding a king-high flush. That’s just bad luck, and faced with the same situation again I’d happily do exactly the same thing.

  The point is we never play with more money than we can afford to lose. We come to the table every week with ten pounds each. Ooh, so I lose ten pounds, not going to kill me. (In fact, I wouldn’t complain at losing ten pounds; and I really wish I hadn’t just said that cos now you think I’m porky.) Sometimes we get two or three games in, and then it gets expensive (especially for Arnold, since he hardly ever wins). But most nights we play the one game, which means I come out having lost ten pounds, or I’ve made fifty. And if I win fifty, I could conceivably save the money and play the next five weeks for free.

  In reality, I go out and spend it on shoes, but that’s beside the point.

  I had a mate called Stacy, used to actually bet with shoes instead of money. No, I tell a lie, I made it up to distract myself from the football talk. I did have a mate called Stacy though, didn’t make her up. Strange girl, used to like Celine Dion. Say no more.

  In my weird little self-involved world as I’ve been, I’ve actually missed what’s been happening in the game. Seems there are quite a few chips going into the pot and suddenly (big surprise here) Arnold’s left without any. I try to see what he lost with, but the cards are all gathered by now and I’ve missed my chance. Whoops.

  “Don’t worry, Art,” David says. “Might get another game in yet.” (And, no, don’t worry about why we call Arnold “Art”. Yes, we all know Art is short for Arthur, but it was a name which stuck. Infinitely better than some.)

  “Whoa, don’t think so,” Henry says, glancing at his watch. “Some of us have work in the morning.”

  “Second that,” says Nicky. The oldest and youngest in our group in agreement.

  I look at my own watch. It’s approaching midnight, which is never a good time to still be out when it’s only Thursday – or, I should say, when it’s Friday the next day and you need all your energy for the next two nights. “Captain’s right,” I say. “Besides, there’s only one of us out so far. This game alone could go on forever.”

  As I said, Art isn’t such a bad nickname. Nicky’s surname is Scarlet, so on a good day she’s Miss Scarlet, otherwise she’s the Captain. (I’ll let you figure that one out: it’s not too hard.)

  And now comes the confusion. Arnold should now be on the small blind, but clearly he’s not because he’s out. We always seem to get confused here, but it’s quickly sorted and (surprisingly) without much argument.

  I often wonder whether anyone else has the level of argument we get at our games. Not that it's ever hostile. Comedy poker, it's been called on more than one occasion, and that’s how it's best summed up. If you could bottle it and sell it as an anti-depressant we'd probably make a packet.

  The evening's winding down now, I can sense it. It's not so much to do with the time as it is the players. Some of us have work tomorrow, some of us don't, but that’s not the only thing pushing us to end the game. Jenny's got most of the chips and if any of us stands a chance of winning we have to transfer some of those to ourselves. Of course, we could just attack one another and gather everyone's minimal chips, but at this stage we know whoever manages to take down Jenny will probably have the game in hand. Or (more likely) Jenny will just wipe the lot of us out. Wouldn’t be the first time and sure as porridge won't be the last. (Barring natural global disaster happening over the weekend of course.)

  Just waiting on a half decent hand now. The problem with playing with people you know, every week almost without fail, is that you get to recognise their strategies. You come to know their tells so well. I know, for instance, before even sitting at the table who I consider to be the good players and who I consider easy chips. Jenny, for one, I'm always wary of and I never go in against Henry if there are aces on the table (he tends only to play if he has aces). If we ever played with anyone else, it would be a revealing experience. And if we ever did one day all manage to get to Vegas (wow!) I think we'd all be in for a rather rude awakening.

  Jenny's good, but is she ready for Vegas?

  Is Vegas ready for Jenny?

  OK, all jolly aside now because this game just took a turn for the big time. While I've been rambling on about nothing, Dave's gone all-in. And Jenny's called it. Worrying is not the word, because if Jenny takes out Dave, that’s one fewer player in the game but it also means Jenny's empire has grown to Roman standards.

  Henry calls the all-in.

  Oh boy, this could be bad if Jenny takes them both out. I check my own hand. I'd love to be in this hand, it would be fantastic if I could win. I wouldn’t take out any of the players since my stack's the lowest around the table, but I would quadruple my chip-stack and would so be back in the game.

  Unfortunately I've been dealt a king of spades and a ten of hearts. I say unfortunately since it's a hand I'd ordinarily play. There’s a chance of a straight (so long as a jack and queen and either an ace or nine show up on the table), but not much of anything else. I'm assuming one of these guys is holding an ace and any one of them (possibly even more than one) has already made a pair. If I had ace ten I'd be tempted, if my cards were suited I'd be even more tempted. But as it stands I can't risk this. Three players already all-in and if I lose this hand I lose the whole game.

  Reluctantly I fold.

  Then so does Nicky.

  Since all the players left in the game are all-in there’s no more betting to be had so there comes the showdown.

  Dave's first to show and is likely to have the weakest hand, since he was the one who went all-in to begin with. If he was bluffing this could all now backfire for him, but he turns over a pair of sevens. Not especially strong, but what he's counting on now is that the other players are only holding high cards. If neither has a pocket pair themselves, Dave still has a strong chance of winning here. (Don't even bother asking me the odds: even if I could work them out at speed I'd hardly be doing it right now.)

  "Think you're in trouble," Nicky says, her arms upon the table, her tenseness obvious.

  "Still got a chance," Dave replies.

  "Not like you to go all-in like that," I tell him. "You usually sit on your chips ‘til near the end."

  "Just watch it pay off," he says.

  Jenny turns her cards over next. Ace king suited (both hearts). Oddly enough I thought I'd thrown away the king of hearts myself, but I guess I must have that wrong.

  "Ooh, power hand," Nicky says. "Still losing though."

  "Too many outs for me not to win, Cap," Jenny says. She seems oddly sure of herself; not sure I would be, sitting in her place. "Sal?"

  Henry (Salinger, hence the name Sal) winces. "OK, probably not a good idea to've called then," he says and turns over king queen unsuited.

  "Bad luck," I say, "I had a king." (Something probably not to say if we ever did all end up in Vegas. Don’t think they take too kindly to comments like that during live play.) With two kings on show and one discarded, that makes it very unlikely for the final king to surface. That means Henry’s relying on the queen to show. Three outs, that’s all he's got (unless he gets really lucky and hits the straight). Jenny not only has the three outs from her ace but also from the king. If the remaining king rears its head she takes the pot, since her ace automatically trumps Henry’s queen. Also she has the option of both a straight and a flush.

  Still, at this stage of the game, Dave has the winning hand.

  The flop is turned over, very slowly. Two hearts on the flop, but no numbers whose values help anybody. No pairs are made, which means Dave still has the winning hand. However, there are two hearts on the table, and Jenny has two. One more and she's hit the flush.

  The fourth community card reveals itself to be the three of diamonds. Useless to everybody, but there’s already a three on the table so everyone now has a pair.

  "Well that makes things interesting," Nicky says. "Anothe
r heart and Jen hits the flush, but if it's the seven of hearts Dave has a full house." And wins the pot. I hadn’t even noticed that, to be honest. Not that I'd admit that out loud.

  There’s one more card to come. The river. No idea why it's called the river, don't much care either. Look it up if you're that interested. Me? I prefer playing the game.

  Dave groans as the final card comes out. It is a heart, yeah, but it's not a seven. "Bad luck," I say. Jenny draws in all the chips: everything both Dave and Sal have. There are only three of us left now. Three people knocked out in almost as many minutes. Three people and Jenny has practically everything already. Any idea what that might mean? No? It means Jenny has a thing we call chip power. She has control of the game, she can make us play hands we may not want to play and make us fold hands we really did want to play. Few ways she can do this, but the most effective is to go all-in a lot. If she goes all-in and loses, she really doesn’t lose much at this stage. If either Nicky or I go all-in and lose, we're out the game. What Jenny should be doing now is every time one of us makes a raise, she should force us all-in. That way we may fold and she'll whittle our chips down soon enough.

  And Jen's always been good at cleaning up.

  There’s a beep then. "Blind's gone up," Dave says somewhat gleefully. "Just what you need, Ash."

  Yeah, like a hole in the head. (Weird phrase that. I mean, what disturbed mind thought that up? Guy with a hole in his head, presumably.)

  I'm on the big blind, which really doesn’t help, and once that’s gone into the pot I'm hardly left with anything. True to form, first thing Jen does is go all-in. Nicky folds. I look at my hand. Six three unsuited. I fold.

  A couple more hands of this and I'm out. At this stage of the game I'll play anything halfway decent, since I know I only have a few hands left in the game. If I let something halfway good pass me by (say, queen eight unsuited) I may end up being forced all-in on something far worse. Jen knows that, she's counting on it. No idea what she had this hand; there’s an equal chance of it being good as bad. Still, I couldn’t take the chance it was any worse than the six high I had.

  I can see this game coming to a close very, very shortly.

  Still, there’s a chance I got of still winning, and there are two ways to do that. Technically it’s the same way, since it’s all part of the same strategy, but there are two parts to it. Firstly I have to be the aggressive one. Can’t afford to be, since I don’t have chip power, but if I can use what little I have and threaten Jen with it, maybe I can win a few blinds. Secondly I have to only play the good hands, the really good hands. But, as I said before, I may not have time to wait for a good hand. I may have to throw everything on a half-way decent.

  Hand’s dealt and I’m showing ace nine. Not brilliant – and unsuited to boot – but I don’t have the luxury of being choosy right about now. Nicky folds, I’m all-in and Jen pauses. So far the only thing I stand to win is her big blind, but at least that’s something. I can see a thousand thoughts flit through her mind; do I have a strong hand; does she have a stronger hand; why do crickets chirp through their knees? None of them really helps much.

  She folds and I take the pot. Excited about it too, weirdly enough. A win’s a win, as they say (or don’t, since I never heard anyone other than me say that).

  Next hand I don’t have to play at all, since I’m not on any blinds this time. That’s the funny thing about having only three players left: whoever’s dealing doesn’t have to play that particular hand. But whoever’s dealing is on the button (which is a fancy way of saying they’re dealing). And whoever’s on the button has the strategic advantage and therefore should be playing the hand.

  It’s a mathematical dilemma, or a poker paradox, if you prefer.

  I’m dealt ace eight so I play it anyway. Jen calls with the ace nine I had last time. Takes both me and Nicky out in one hand.

  Ah well. That’s the way it goes sometimes.

  “Well,” Jen says as she reaches for the tray and starts dropping in her chips, “would love to play again, but I think we agreed that was the one game for tonight?”

  “Yeah, yeah,” I say, thinking of all the trivial uses to which I might have put fifty quid. “Just wait ‘til next week, Jen.”

  “Why, what happens next week? I might actually lose one?”

  “You don’t win all the time,” Sal says. “Hey, even Art wins on occasion.”

  “Hey!”

  “Sorry, Art.”

  “Well,” David says, rising, “I for one have work tomorrow, so I’m calling it a night. Thanks, as always, for the use of the house, Art.”

  “Sure.”

  I watch the players now. Now, when the game’s over. There are still tells to be found, if you know what you’re looking for, and I like to think I do. I know these people have secrets, some greater than others, and I’ve always wondered about them. Individually I wouldn’t say any one of us is outstanding, but put us together and you get a gathering rather extraordinary. But we still keep secrets from one another. Well, I say we but I don’t have any secrets – not that anyone’s ever told me anyway. I’m single, I work in a pub, nothing big. I used to work in a busy bar in London but didn’t like it so I transferred my employment. I have about fifty pairs of shoes and like playing poker.

  That’s me in a nutshell.

  The others? Well, I’m sure they’re much more interesting.

  Think I might try to find out just how much.

  CHAPTER TWO

  “How’s Becks?”

  Now, there are many ways to take that question, and as I sit here stirring my third sugar into my tea I pause a moment to consider them. Unlike Ashley, I’m not going to write about poker. It’s a game, why should I want to write about a game, for God’s sakes? As though a game of cards is really the most important thing in my life right now. I haven’t yet read what Ashley wrote, and to be honest I don’t think I’ll even bother. Poker may be fun to play, but reading about it must be as boring as watching other people play. Why are we writing anything at all? Why are the six of us taking time to jot down a few pages of what’s important to us? Do I care any more?

  I’m going to assume Ashley went through the reasons inside out. If she didn’t, I really couldn’t care. If you don’t follow what I’m saying in my – well, chapter, I suppose – it really won’t change my life any. I’m just doing what I’m told: I was never ordered that I should make you enjoy it.

  In fact, if you want to stop reading now, go right ahead. Skip through to chapter three, I’m sure it’s much more interesting. There’s nothing in this chapter which will even remotely interest you, I promise. (Note, I even keep repeating words just to annoy you and make you skip through to chapter three, which I’m sure is much more interesting.)

  Still here? Ah well, it was worth a shot. I hope by the end you haven’t found out much about me, because I’m not going to tell you anything. What was it Ashley said to me the other week though? Poker is about reading between the lines.

  All right, I did not add that line into my chapter. No idea who’s been editing this, but that paragraph above is being cut before I hand this in.

  David Falcon, by the way, that’s who I am. What do you want to know about me? Nothing, because there’s nothing interesting about me. Married, one kid, mortgage, job. Everything you likely have, nothing you don’t. I support Arsenal, but only because they’re doing well. I’d much rather support Spurs but there you go.

  Anything else?

  Nope, that’s David Falcon in 400 words or less.

  Still not skipped to chapter three yet?

  No?

  Damn.

  OK, so back to Becks.

  You would be forgiven for thinking the reference was to David Beckham. I’ve just told you I like football, so that would be a reasonable assumption. You could also be forgiven for assuming the reference was to the beer. Football fans are known for drinking beer, after all. You’d be wrong on either account, however. Becks is my wife, and no I’m not married to a bottle of beer and I’m certainly not a WAG.

  “She’s fine,” I reply. “Jo?”

  “She’s good.”

  “The kids?”

  “Oh, fine, fine.”