My Name is Nick – Karmic Poker?

December 2, 2008 by Nick Wealthall

Nick Wealthall Karma is the idea that if you do good things to others and the universe around you good things will happen to you in return. The reverse is also said to be true. It’s a lovely sweet idea that makes people do more nice stuff, helps you get over it when someone rains on your parade and generally makes everyone sleep slightly more soundly in their continental duvets.

It is also utter nonsense. As a poker player I have to believe its nonsense – there is no ‘getting what you deserve’ in poker, only good decisions and bad ones. And just how perceptive is this universe supposed to be? I mean I say good luck to other players, but inside I want them to go home broke – before me. Can this all seeing karma see through my boyish grin to the money grabbing heart within? No there is no karma, no happy endings for the plucky underdog, just winners and losers.

Until recently this was an entrenched belief of mine. Now I love entrenched beliefs without room for debate as much as the next man (unless the next man happens to be my Dad who still thinks England ‘owns’ parts of France from the hundred years war – no really). However my belief system was rocked one late night in Vegas. I suspect it’s not the first belief system shattered late at night in Vegas – others include ‘I’d never cheat on my wife’, ‘After 14 red numbers it must be black this time’ and ‘my wife would never cheat on me’.

I was playing the midnight tournament at Caesar’s Palace. For the uninformed there are no stories with a happy ending that begin with tournaments that start at midnight. These affairs are crap shoots for the drunk, the desperate and those on chronic life tilt. That night I was all 3.

I like to be a source of light and life at the poker table – usually having fun and always happy though on this night I was properly grumpy (I was also dopey and sleepy but you can only have so many dwarves in one sentence). I sat staring vacantly at the felt and chips which by some miracle of injustice were slowly accumulating. I wasn’t commiserating with people when I knocked them out, I wasn’t laughing with the nice drunks, I was tutting, grumbling and, though the continued application of luck, moving through the field. After a few hours of this I found myself miraculously at the final table. Despite being in the money my mood had hardly improved.

As it was a late night tournament the clock was pretty fast and my combustible mood meant I was finding the time players taking over their decisions incredibly irritating. I should point out this wasn’t there fault I was finding myself irritating by this point. With the blinds huge and the field down to 7 players I found two sweet looking Kings and an early position raiser already in the pot. My mood elevated slightly and I started to think I might actually make some money in this god forsaken event as I reraised.

The action past back to the original raiser and he started to think. And he thought some more. And he asked how much it was to call. And he thought some more. And he counted his stack. And he thought some more. I’m reasonably sure that during this time the vein on the side of my head was throbbing so hard you could have used it as a base line for a dance track.
“Clock,” I almost shouted at the dealer. “What did you say?” my opponent asked in a deep southern drawl. “I said clock – this is ridiculous just make a bloody decision.” Did I mention I become insufferably English when irritated?
In return he gave me a look somewhere between anger and hurt. The tournament director appeared and started counting out the minute for him to make a decision as he muttered under his breath using words a lot worse than bloody. Clearly I’d deeply offended him and I really couldn’t care less.
Eventually he said ‘okay I call’.

The dealer woke from her temporary slumber and dealt the 9-5-3 all of diamonds. The rest of my play was automatic – half my stack was in the middle. He checked to me and I moved in. I think he waited a nano second before saying ‘I call’ but it might have been faster. I stared in disbelief as he rolled the A and 10 of diamonds having me crushed with almost no escape. As the dealer dealt the irrelevant turn and river we exchanged words. They were bad words. I’m not proud of any of them.

Then a moment of clarity at the hands of southern yokel as I’m walking around the table to leave he shouted, ‘that was karma – I busted you because you was mean, it was karma.’ I raised a finger to point but the counter comment never came. I’d been the worst kind of company all night and inflicted my bad mood on everyone I’d encountered; the poker gods had bitten back. It was karma; it was justice.

“You’re right it was” I agreed and slunk into the Vegas night. Tomorrow I’d be smiling, shaking hands and making the now scientifically-proven-to-exist karma my friend.

One final note – I thought long and hard about my first Bluff column to make sure you my new readers saw me in the best possible light, how do you think I did?

Originally published in Bluff Europe Magazine

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My Name is Nick – Karmic Poker?

Originally published in Bluff Europe Magazine

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