Sunday Morning Prayer Meeting, Part 2

Take me to the river
And wash me down
Won't you cleanse my soul
Put my feet on the ground - Al Green

I know I have a problem with the shakes. For the first fifteen or twenty minutes after I sit down at a poker table,I have difficulty controlling my excitement and my hands tremble noticeably. After taking down my first big pot yesterday, I decided to not play a hand until my nerves had settled. I know from experience that once I get under control the shakes usually don't come back.

So it was fold, fold, fold, for about twenty minutes during which time Sharky Kid, on tilt after his bad beat to me, lost the remainder of his chips and left muttering angrily. The Vietnam Vet also went home, which just five of us. Things started getting a little weird. Playing with fewer players usually means that everything loosens up - an uncomfortable situation for a nit like me. The other four really just wanted to gamble and the Crazy Chinese Gambler was the most action hungry of the lot, making blind raises and suggesting we all switch to$2/$5 limits. When I declined, he then proposed that everybody put $100 into the pot blind pre-flop. Out of the five of us, I was the only one who didn't agree to this idea - I don't come to a casino to gamble, for crying out loud! Still, I was aware that I was spoiling the party for the others. When CCG suggested a more modest $20 gamble, I agreed and before the cards were dealt each of us put in $20. The hand played out and I actually ended up winning with a pair of fours. This seemed to sooth the CCG's need to gamble and we went back to playing normally. I now had just over $500.

There are nine or ten seats at a standard poker table, not including the one the dealer sits in. They are numbered clockwise 1 to 9 (or 10) starting from the dealer's left. My four opponents were occupying seats 1 through 4, while I sat dangling out on seat six. This, combined with my reticence to gamble like the others, made me feel isolated. Add to this the fact that I was only white guy at the table, dealers included, and I stuck out even more, but I don't feel uncomfortable when I find myself in a situation like this - in fact I kind of like being noticed. Who doesn't like attention? The problem is that I have done dumb things (made bad calls and ill timed bluffs) simply because I wanted to win pots and get attention and/or adoration. This is a bad motivation and almost always has lost me money.

Be aware of your motivation. Ask yourself why you are playing poker and if the answer is "for fun" then ask yourself what it is about the game you find fun. The deeper your understanding of your own motivation, then the better your understanding of the motivations of your opponents. Take, for example, Crazy Chinese Gambler over in seat four. He is here for the thrill. The bigger the pot, the bigger the thrill. Be careful playing him, because he will play a very wide range of hands, making him tough to read. But his lack of control manifests itself in other ways - most noticeably he gives off a lot of tells. I have seen him do something when he has a hit a monster hand. This tell is probably tied to his thrill-seeking motivation in some way - part of the thrill for him is fooling people, so he always does this little bit of play acting when he wants you to think he's weak.

So this morning I am happy to keep folding and playing tight, and I try to imagine the motivations of my opponents. we continue on and on with just the five us.

"Where are all the other peoples?" asks Talky Black Guy. The poker room is still empty apart from us.

"It is Sunday," replies Crazy Chinese Gambler, "They are all in church."

"Church!" says Talky Black Guy (who I realize I should have named Shouting Black Guy) "This!"- he pounds the felt-  "This is church! No?!" And we all laugh and agree. Ha , ha. Yes, yes.

But as soon as he makes his little joke I suddenly feel I understand Shouting Black Guy's motivation - he is here to cleanse his soul in the river of chance. He has sins he needs to resolve himself of and God is dead to this man, so this is church. My blood runs a little cold. By his thick accent I guess he has come to Canada within the last ten years. His skin tone and build suggest West Africa. What kind of heavy sins could rest on the soul of a recent immigrant from Africa? What caused him to lose God and join the Church of Chance? Maybe my imagination getting the better of me but I can believe this guy could have done something really, really bad.

Too Much Cologne Boy, perhaps uncomfortable with the lopsided seating arrangement, moves from seat one to seat eight. While I have been here he has busted out, re-bought, busted out, re-bought, busted out and re-bought - but none of those chips went to me. If we both sit here long enough, some of his chips will be mine.

I then won a big pot when I had a high straight and Shouting Black Guy had a low straight. A small prayer answered for me while he has to wander in the desert a little longer. But my absolution is short lived - another hand is dealt.