Letter to a compulsive gamber (anonymous and long)

[NoNameThisTime]

Dear Compulsive Gambler,

If you find this post on the Psychology forums of twoplustwo.com, then you are probably not a compulsive gambler. This letter will likely not reach the right audience; in the instance that you are a compulsive gambler and happen upon this letter, my preaching will probably fall on deaf ears. Additionally, I am a fairly regular poster on these boards and do not want to come across as some kind of hero for saying what I have to say. It is for these reasons that I have debated for over a week as to whether or not I should even bother writing this letter.

Even so, I decided today to write and post this letter for a number of reasons. One, I would like to hear from my fellow poker players as to how I should react when I encounter you, the compulsive gambler, at the poker table. Two, I believe it possible albeit highly unlikely that you will find this letter and pay attention to its contents. Three, I just need to get this out in the open. Still, I don’t want to seem like someone who thinks he should be canonized; hence, I have created a new account and posted anonymously.

You, the Compulsive Gambler, have a disease. Your sickness is one whose symptoms are not easily recognized by those who do not know you well.

In the casino, you hide in plain sight. You recklessly shovel around money and chips. You become elated when you when, and you get upset when you lose. It is unfortunate that many non-addicted, clueless gamblers exhibit the same behavior; thus, these traits do not distinguish you from the general casino population. What sets you apart from other casino patrons is your emotional attachment to your wins and losses. When you win, you feel the urge to keep playing as long as possible and win more. When you lose, you can’t wait to get your chips back into play in hopes of getting even. Odds notwithstanding, this is how you behave.

At the poker table, you bet and raise haphazardly and chase improbably draws in the hope of catching that miracle card. Again, this is generally indicative of poor poker play and not of addiction. By most estimates, your disease affects about five percent of the world’s population. Any observant poker player will tell you that far more than five percent of poker players exhibit poor poker skills. Therefore, when I see you bet, raise, and reraise with hopeless cards, I have no reason to assume that you are a compulsive gambler.

I am sure that I have played poker with you on a number of occasions during my short 15-month playing career. Because of the reasons mentioned above, I probably assumed that you were just a poor poker player and not an addict. However, I know that I played poker with you, the compulsive gambler, last weekend.

On Saturday, January 1, 2005, you played in my $5-$10 game at the Taj Mahal in Atlantic City. You were seated in Seat 9. When I arrived at the table, you had a massive stack of chips. An acquaintance pointed to you and said; “That guy is a total fish. He’s plain crazy.” I thought to myself “Good, a big fish at the table. Maybe he will line my pockets tonight.”

In less than an hour, I relieved you of your entire stack and more. You bought in repeatedly and continued to play total trash. On occasion you won big pots by catching miracle draws, but you just couldn’t hold onto the money. In four hours’ time, you probably dumped over a thousand dollars onto the table.

Near the end of the fourth hour, you bought in yet again and managed to lose almost all of your buy-in on a single hand. You then pulled out a thick wad of bills. “YES!” I thought to myself, “He’s buying in again!” Then I noticed something strange: the thick wad of bills that you had put on the table consisted not of large bills but of dollar bills. You bought in for your last $25 or so and pissed it away on the next hand.

Even so, I still had no idea that you are were a compulsive gambler. A few minutes later, however, I saw you holding an ATM card in your hand and talking to the floor lady. I could not hear the conversation, but I could see that the floor lady was shaking her head, apparently denying whatever you had requested. Then I noticed that the card in your hand looked not like an ATM card but a Diner’s Club card. A quick glance at my own seldom used Diner’s Club card confirmed this. That’s when it came clear to me what had happened.

You had lost all of the money that you brought to the casino. You had gone to the ATM machine at least once during my time at the table; after one of your numerous bust-outs, you left the table for roughly 10 minutes and later returned with a handful of bills. You lost that money, and then proceeded to piddle away your last few dollars.

You next turned to your credit card. Most people use Diner’s Club mainly for the dining and travel privileges, so I am willing to bet that you had already tapped out at least one other major credit card. You evidently had some problem in getting a cash advance and had turned to the floor lady for help. Either the Taj Mahal does not take Diner’s Club or the floor lady knew that you had already maxed out your credit, because she denied your request.

I am ashamed to admit that I was disappointed that you could not get more money. Obviously you could not afford to lose the money that I took from you, but at the time it did not bother me. I now feel like a total jackass for my lack of sympathy.

The next day, I felt very guilty about what had happened. Then again, what could I have done? I did not realize that you are compulsive while we were at the table together. If I had realized this, then I would have left the table, but someone else would have taken my seat and you still would have lost all your money. If I had given you the money back, then you would have just wasted it on more poor poker play or on some desperation bet on the roulette wheel. You would have lost the money no matter what I did, but I still felt awful.

The silver lining to this cloud is that I have initiated the process of setting up a regular matching grant contribution for Gambler’s Anonymous through my employer. That way, when I send GA the money that you lost to me, my employer will match the donation.

My friend, I do not want to win your grocery money. I only want to win the portion of your disposable income that you have responsibly set aside for poker and entertainment. Most of my poker playing brethren probably feel the same way; however, I can guarantee that a small percentage of scumbag players would feel no remorse at all about taking your every dime. The casino doesn’t care either; if you lose all of your money at craps or blackjack then the casino will gladly take your money and then invite you back to spend even more. Industry executives may pay lip service to responsible gaming, but the reality is different.

You have a problem and you need help. Contact Gambler’s Anonymous so that you may get the help that you need.

In New Jersey, call (877) 994 2465
In the New York City area, call (877) 664-2469
In the Philadelphia area, call (215) 468-1991
In Delaware, call (302) 984-2277

Or visit the website at http://www.gamblersanonymous.org

You may also contact the Council on Compulsive Gambling at 1-800-GAMBLER.

My friend, get help before you get in too deep.