Returning the Favor and other Slices of Life

Returning the Favor
Returning the Favor
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Tuesday, February 27, 2007

Clint was good for the game

We're not sure what he was on, but we're pretty sure it wasn't organic. His name was Clint, and when he sat down at the $1/2 No Limit table at Harrah's Saturday night everyone's eyes got a little brighter. He was a skinny black guy around 25, and he didn't like to look at his cards. He didn't want you to look, either.

"He's cheating!" He yelled.

"What do you mean?" asked the dealer.

"He looked at his cards. I ain't looked yet, that's cheating. I ain't gone look, he shouldn't look neither!"

And he didn't. He didn't look when I looked. He didn't look when I raised to $15 preflop. He didn't look when I bet $25 on the raggedy flop. He didn't look when I bet $30 on the turn. He didn't look when I bet another $25 on the river. When I turned over my AQ for an Ace-high, he asked "Do I gotta show now?"

"Only if you want a chance to win, dear" said the dealer.

So he turns over his Q5. And rakes the pot with his turned pair of fives. I couldn't be mad. He won the hand, fair and square. But on the very next hand...

I didn't look either.

We only lost a few bucks apiece on that one, but Clint blew through his buyin (and part of mine) in very short order before wandering off. Some people call the trip from the poker table to the ATM the walk of shame, but in Clint's case it was better termed the lurch of shame, as he pinballed off one table after another in his efforts to find the bathroom and then the ATM, his Pirates jacket half on and half dragging the floor behind him.

Every once in a while you'll find a player like Clint. And this time, everybody at the table knew how to behave. Nobody ever got angry with him for playing like a drunken jackass. Everybody made sure Clint was having a good time, some folks would usually limp into a pot blind with him, just to make sure he stayed happy, and when he'd win a pot everybody would clap for him. Clint was good for the game, and everybody there knew it. Nobody wanted Clint to leave, especially the dealers, since Clint tipped every hand, win or lose, usually $2-3 per hand.

But eventually he got broke, and when he made his meandering way back to the poker room, he was shown to another table. We all looked around at each other, somebody muttered "they don't know what they're in for," and the seat change list got real full, real fast.

Good luck and godspeed Clint, wherever you are, I hope you're still flying high.

1 comment:

TripJax said...

You can stop calling me Clint now, thanks. I got it, I know I suck!

By the way, can't make it this Saturday, but I will be in Charlotte March 19-23. See what you can rustle up (except for Wednesday night).