A View From the Fish Bowl

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.