Tuesday, May 03, 2005

Easy Money. Poker Night!

Monty Capuliate: [about his Mother-In-Law] She says I drink too much, I smoke too much, I gamble. I mean she's right, but what can I do? I got no... what's the word...
Nicky: Class. ----Easy Money with Rodney Dangerfield and Joe Pesci


Those words have never really meant much to me until I saw Kenny ‘fucking’ Rodgers himself reincarnated into my younger brothers.

It’s Poker Night at my house once a month. The only time I can generally relax with my brothers and friends slam back a few and try to win some cassssshhhh. It’s been a good experience for me, getting to hang out with my brothers after being away from home so long. The great thing about hanging out with the both of them, is that we could be tarring a road on a hot July day in rural Mississippi and we could make it a blast.

Trash talking in poker is like trash talking in sex. No one cares because in a matter of moments you luck could change drastically. Let me state one thing for the record, my house is not a casino, nor does it resemble anything out of the movie Rounders. What it is; is a place for me to live in. Now, hopefully someday I will have a bigger house with a round table. The kitchen table I have now looks like a wheel off a medieval wagon with legs under it. So, instead we play on a plastic fold up table that probably could be substituted for a dining table at a VFW hall.

My brother, Ross, took my money from me last time in a knock down dragged out slug fest that would make Rocky Marciano cringe. He won, fair and square. Tonight would be my revenge.

So when the first round of cards comes flying out, the cards don't come my way. I must be playing cards in Superman’s fortress of solitude. Everything is ice cold. I look around the table and Ross is holding on, Rob (brother Rhett’s friend) is holding on, Shawn (my friend) is out and Rhett couldn’t be happier. I decide to play Rhett a couple of times with pocket 10’s only to be trumped with Jacks. This would be fore telling. I should have called it quits then, but like Clark Griswold in Vegas Vacation I can't say stop. I continue with Rhett only to bow out losing out to him on 3 of kind trump (7’s over 6’s).

The Second round of the poker buys everyone back in. Here we go. Another chance. I look around the table. Some of us have that weary Friday night look, while others are staring deep into their cards for miracles. I play a few good hands and win some. It then ends up with Ross and myself going into another slug-fest. This time I would get faked on the ropa-dope. I see two 8’s and two 10’s one the community cards. I am sitting with an 8 and some junk. Ross and I bet back and forth. Trying to see who will fold first. When neither of us fold, we both realize the other is holding something special. That’s when I saw the fucking “Gambler” come out of the wood works. It was like something out of a movie. As the stakes got bigger, my heart started beating faster for the call. This wasn’t a Soprano’s poker game were the loser could end up with one less ball, this was brotherly competition at it’s best. All the times I took him to town on the basketball court, ran him over on the football field, beat him in a footrace, took him in Super TecmoBowl. It all was some pent up frustration turned into a weapon of mass destruction that I couldn’t locate. Ross turns over a full house 10’s over 8’s and my lowly 8’s over 10’s are standing there, ass’ out in the wind everyone looking and gasping. I felt like the kid at the restaurant who is crying and no one wants to stop him from crying. It was the biggest punch in the stomach since Rodney Dangerfield passed away. I did want any red- blooded older brother would do when he losses to a younger sibling. Whine, bitch and curse. I said things that would make Red Foxx turn in his grave. I didn’t mean to make a scene it just happened, and that’s what poker nights are for. I wouldn’t give up those moments for nothing. My brothers and I cherish that shit, especially when we can one up each other. Sometimes as the cards are being dealt and people motion for bets, that the money we lose is immeasurable to the experiences of playing cards, joking around, and being best of friends.

4 Comments:

At 7:43 AM, Blogger bayou_boy504 said...

It's a good thing that y'all didn't end up tarring a road in Mississippi. I could just imagine the 3-R Brothers getting irate and smacking each other around with the hot mops.

You got nothing in that hand there, but you got a face full of this here black emulsion. Whack!

Actually, maybe that would be a good idea!

 
At 10:35 AM, Blogger lucasjackson7 said...

If I'm "The Gambler" then you must be the fuckin' "Cinncinnati Kid".

Next time we'll coordinate our beer runs so that we don't end up with a case of Rolling Rock in the fridge. Not there's anything wrong with that. But I felt like we were going to be singing Franki Valli songs and carrying side bets on a pool table in the back.

 
At 7:38 AM, Blogger bayou_boy504 said...

Holy crap. Is that really you eating 50 eggs while you were in prison?

 
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