[coffeecrazy1]

So, I was playing in Lake Charles one time. In Lake Charles, you have your donkish people-who-thought-hey!-casino and your slightly less donkish people-who-don't-have-anything-better-to-do-including-find-a-job. This guy I got tangled up with was definitely the latter.

He looks like Louisiana's version of Walter from The Big Lebowski, though not nearly as fun. Imagine John Goodman wearing a circa-1980's Richard Marx haircut and you're there. He plays, to put it mildly, some of the worst poker I've ever seen, and he's doing it at the 10/20 table. In his mind, however, he's running bad, and it is ENTIRELY the deck's fault.

I have never seen someone bitch for thirty minutes for a deck change before. Every hand, after he had folded on the turn, he would turn around, and in a deep Cajun smoker's brogue, begin yelling for the floorpeople to bring a new setup. The floorpeople, having both real work to do and being human beings, took their time in doing so. He grew increasingly more agitated by the lack of setup turn-of-events until he got involved with me in a hand where I had pocket sevens and he had pocket jacks.

Unfortunately for him, two sevens came out on the board to pair my two sevens...I even think he might have filled up somewhere there, too...it's been a while since the hand. Needless to say, my quad sevens beat whatever he had working with his pocket jacks. But...this is the incredible part: HE GAINED PERSPECTIVE FROM MY MONSTER SUCKOUT!

That, or I completely broke his spirit. I'm not sure, but his whole demeanor changed. He began actually regaling me with his life story, which consisted of an ill-fated run towards the Little League World Series when he was twelve. He actually said the phrase, "I often wonder what my life would have been like if I'd played in that game."

He never did tell me how the rest of his life had gone, but frankly, I don't think he needed to. I don't think I've ever been more uncomfortable at a poker table in my entire life.