Bet on It

The world is divided into poker players and the rest of us. True poker players use phrases like “wired nines,” “limping in,” and “kickers don’t play,” while we say things like, “All my cards are red cards – is that good?” “Where is the closest ATM?” and “Do fries come with that?” Good poker players are like good fishermen – anyone can drop a worm in the water, but you need some skill to reel in the big one.

I’ve never played much poker – a few games decades ago where the host used rules he memorized from Odd Couple episodes while everyone else complained about the flat RC Cola and stale snacks. No one knew how to shuffle, and we ended up playing liar’s poker for pretzel rods and noogies.

But I’m in my forties, and time is running out to master the manly arts – things like moose hunting, whiskey drinking and chain sawing - those elemental aspects of a masculine life brimming with self-reliance and gumption. Poker’s one such art – and one I’m determined to learn.

I should be an expert already, considering how many hours of poker I’ve watched on basic cable, but television’s no substitute for the real thing. I try joining a local “house” game where the bets are small, the lighting is lousy and the local authorities aren’t welcome, but my contact rebuffs me, fearing my big mouth and lack of knowledge will result in legal action and a fat lip.

Instead, I find the next best thing – a weekly $20 poker tournament in Concord. Makris Lobster and Steak House, on the outskirts of Concord, hosts poker games two nights each week. These are known as “charity gaming” events, where selected charities, the state and the gaming company split each night’s proceeds. Play real poker, give to charity and help with our state’s education funding woes – while drinking cold beer? Is this heaven? Maybe so, but I need to earn my wings so I don’t embarrass myself at the tournament table.

My first stop is my sister-in-law Jonsey’s house where Bo, her husband and local card shark, gives me a quick tutorial in poker’s finer points. I learn about the button, betting, and big and small blinds as Bo deals hand after hand of Texas Hold ‘Em, the game of choice at the Makris Poker Room. His instructions come rapid-fire - “Don’t give up the big blind.” “Hands off your chips!” There’s nothing wrong with limping in.” We walk through scenario after scenario, and Bo concludes with two valuable lessons. Playing a hand of poker, Bo tells me, is usually more about everyone else than it is about me, which is good because if everyone else is as confused as I am, we may all end up wrestling for chips underneath the table. He ends by saying, “There is no shame in folding. Sometimes the smartest thing you can do is get out of the hand before losing any money.” I feel like young Grasshopper at the feet of Blind Master Po.

Next I try my luck on the web, finding a free novice room for Texas Hold ‘Em players. Online poker loses its luster pretty quickly. Playing against cartoon icons with names like Fuzzy_Gambler2645 and Captain_Gummybear88 lacks that human element, and the scrolling text commentary tells me the world of online poker is filled with a combination of shut-ins, misanthropic math whizzes and future tax evaders.

The big night’s here, and I’m nervous. I arrive at the restaurant and meet Kory Kamke, the manager of the Makris poker nights and an employee of Torguson Gaming, the Mississippi-based casino company that runs these games and a slew of others at the Lodge at Belmont. The tournament crowd gathers, and Kory explains how charity gaming works. Charities across the state apply to win a coveted spot on the schedule, earning 35% of the proceeds for ten nights a year. Tonight’s charity is the District 44-N Pinardville Lions Club of Manchester, and Kory’s expecting a good night. “For a $20 roll, we fill up almost all the seats. On our free roll nights, we get more than sixty five people.” Kory shares a few tips with me, including, “Everyone wants to see a cheap flop.” I laugh and nod my head but have no idea what he’s talking about. Bo said nothing about any cheap flop.

There’s no time to fret because the tournament’s starting. There are three tables of at least seven players each. I find my seat, and Bo’s two spots away from me; I can’t tell if he’s smiling because he’s happy to be playing cards or if he’s happy to be playing cards against me. Twenty-one year old Natasha Ganzel is our dealer, and she welcomes us to the game, fanning out the deck of cards for our scrutiny. I’m flanked by Kathy Watson from Loudon and Bill Boomhower from Penacook. Franklin’s own Joanne Poehlman sits two to my right and the only two people I’ve not met are Mr. High Roller, who’s already bought an extra $60 in chips, and a guy seated directly across from me, to Natasha’s left. He has his game face on, and I sense he will be my nemesis.

We begin, and I peek at my two cards. Two 9’s – not bad for a first hand. Mr. Instant Nemesis makes no eye contact, figuring me for an easy mark. He’s too aggressive for the first hand, and he continues to raise the bet while fondling his stack of $1,000 chips (not really that amount – $20 gets you $3,000 in chips). We’re no more than ninety seconds into the first hand, and if I fold, Mr. Instant Nemesis wins, and I’m history. I call his bet and after the flop and another round of betting, I’ve put almost all of my $3,000 into the pot. Not much shows on the board, and Mr. Instant Nemesis seems rather confident. Natasha tells us to flip our cards, and I win! I gather my pile and pull it towards me as everyone remarks on my beginner’s luck.

I either fold or lose the next four or five hands, then I’m dealt two aces – I later learn the correct term is “wired aces,” but for now, I only know this is as good as it gets. OK, don’t panic. Don’t start laughing or emitting high-pitched bird mating whistles – just stay cool. Three of us remain and I’m tagging along - calling each bet. Mr. High Roller, who’s been buying chips like the bank’s been buying bad mortgages, goes all in, and I don’t have enough to match him. Bill, to my right, remains in as well and the pot’s now enormous. Mr. High Roller and I enter into some sort of side bet, which Natasha explains, but I’m too busy trying to not pass out from the stress to understand what’s happening. People gather around as we flip our cards. My two aces are not enough to beat Bill’s three jacks but better than Mr. High Roller’s pair of kings. I win some of the pot, enough to keep playing. This is all very confusing.

Kathy, to my right, flames out. “For twenty bucks, it was a fun night out,” she says as she walks away smiling. Joanne, sitting to my far right, continues to win pot after pot. My stack is dwindling as I spot pocket 4’s. Within seconds it’s just Joanne and me. I forget Bo’s advice to fold when my pair isn’t the highest on the board, and I see two kings in the flop, but I try to ride my 4’s to victory, which is like trying to ride a Big Wheel to victory at Daytona. I go all in and lose immediately to Joanne’s superior pair of 7’s. She wins the pot and all my chips, and my tournament is over.


I linger for a bit, enough to sit down and join a cash game. The rules are a little different and as five of us sit down with Natasha, Joanne runs over and whispers in my ear, “You can never push someone off their cards with your hand.” This is probably sage advice, but I lose $20 in chips so fast that the only words of wisdom that might have helped were, “Put your money away – you’re no poker player.” Maybe not, at least not today. But between Bo’s instruction, basic cable programming, the Makris Poker Room and Captain_Gummybear88, I’ll be a real poker player in no time. You can bet on it.