Atlantic City

Before we went to Atlantic City for his thirtieth birthday, British Dave had said he did not care how much money he won or lost as long as he woke up next to a dead prostitute--seems reasonable. I wasn't sure how deeply we would delve into depravity on Saturday, but I was sure it wouldn't end up in a dead call girl--probably.

I have never been to a casino, and I never really gambled much other than the odd twenty dollar buy-in Texas Hold'em game with friends, so I was not exactly at home in the Borgata--none of us were. Dave is a poker man, but Fil and I haven't played for years. To tell the truth, we were the three most awkward, out-of-place tools walking around dumping five dollars here and there into video poker and slots, but Fil did win $91.50 on Double Diamond, which he only played to get a free drink from the waitress walking around. And he did win a little money on three-card poker.

After Fil's stroke of luck, and after Dave lost $120 on three-card poker, we sat down at the $2-$4 for a little Texas Hold'em. Dave was paired with a couple of weather-worn, retired, old poker dealers who took his money in what he called a slow, painful death, and Fil had a nice stack for a while until he suffered the same fate. I, however was seated at my own table with a bunch of old men, and I had no idea what I was doing.

Now, anyone that knows me, knows my hands shake a bit sometimes, so it doesn't take much when I get nervous to start shaking like the dickens. This is one of the reasons I am pretty transparent at games that require composure, like chess or poker or picking up women. I decided that I would just get used to the pace of the game and the betting, and that I would keep my cool--sounded like a fool-proof plan. On my first hand, the dealer gave me pocket aces; I immediately began shaking like a shitting dog, and everyone folded anyway--I don't know how they knew. My next hand was a queen eight that I folded because I'm stupid, but would have won on with a full house. I won the third hand, but that was it for quite a while. The rest was pretty much me playing every hand. When the people at the poker table say "you have to give him credit; that took balls," it means you should have folded.

After a brief water and Advil break in the room, we headed over to The Racebook where Dave gave Fil the lead (guess) on a horse that was 5/8, and Fil won a few bucks; we had a bourbon on the rocks, and went back to the tables. This time we all got to sit together, and the two old ladies were still there; at one one point I believe Dave called one of them an "old beast." Being at the table with they guys just meant that I got to watch Dave and Fil lose their money while they got to watch me slowly build a small poker dynasty that culminated in me leaving the table with $145, minus the money Dave had spotted me for the game.

The evening ended in Fil failing to capitalize on an invitation to the craps table with a high-strung hottie, a late-night grilled cheese and Guinness Stout, and some drunken frat boy vomiting the into empty glassed left on the slots. I had a great time, really, but I feel bad that the evening ended not with Dave passing out next to a dead prostitute, but drifting into the land of Nod like one of the children in Whoville nestling down to dreams of Christmas morning.

.

Happy birthday, old bean! And thank you Kate (his lovely wife) for setting the whole thing up.