Poker News

A casualty of the game
 

In July of 2003 I started a new practice in Columbus, Mississippi. I had practiced in Paducah, Kentucky for nearly 3 years before making a change. In Kentucky my love of poker was frowned upon by the powers that be in the medical profession. However, in Mississippi I found no such controversy. I was overjoyed to find that poker was part of the culture throughout the state, even in a small isolated village like Columbus.

Imagine my pleasure when I found that there was a high stakes poker game in the country club. In Paducah there were more ex-convicts than college graduates in my poker games, but in Columbus I am one of three physicians who regularly attend the country club poker game. It meant that I fit right in with my love of poker, and there was a good supply wealthy players right here in my own town. I didn't have to worry about busting a sucker. That is if I could find one.
The game started last fall as part of the Monday Night Football shindig at the country club. It was 5-5 blind pot-limit with a max bet of $100, dealer's choice. I lost the very first night, but realized that I was being beaten by a guy who hit an unbelievable amount of two outers on me. I knew I could easily win that money back. However, when I announced my intention to return the following week, I was informed that I needed to join the club in order to continue to play. Thus I joined my first country club.

The games were exciting with pots that grew bigger with each succeeding week. But there were complications. They weren't playing your basic hold-em and Omaha. Instead they were dealing variations on Omaha and Stud hi-lo, dealing sometimes as many as 8 hole cards in Omaha if we were short handed. They dealt 8-card Stud hi-lo, so that you could scoop with a fullhouse and a low. Any low was good in Stud hi-lo. Eventually, the games grew wilder with games that offered you the opportunity to buy extra cards in Stud, even if it meant reshuffling the discards. One of the doctors invented a game he calls Arrange-em and Don't Change-em, a game which combines stud and Omaha. I lost $9300 in one night the first night they played that game. It sounds like a big loss, and it is the most money I have ever lost in a ring game, but I was up $8,000 for the month going into the game.

As I have tallied my results, it's been an up and down year. I am about even for the year at this point. Still, I have found this to be the funnest poker I have ever played, and I have a chance to win large sums of money if I can just get hot.

Like I said, if only we could find a sucker. Over the course of a year, we know each other's playing style. There's a guy who owns a major construction company. He plays every hand. Of course, when you are dealt so many hole cards in a game, virtually every hand is playable for $5 when the pots may grow to over 2 or 3 thousand dollars. It amazes me, but he doesn't go broke in the game. I started off very aggressive a year ago, and I maintain that reputation, but I have had to tighten up my play significantly to have a chance. Now I get callers when I have the nuts, but if I don't make hands on a given night it can get very expensive, especially if the guy with the construction company gets drunk and makes hands.

I remember the night I lost the $9300, because not only did I lose more than I have ever lost in my life in a ring game, but I also met for the first time a man who many would describe as the biggest sucker in the state of Mississippi. I never knew his real full name. Everybody in our game as well as around virtually every card room in Mississippi simply knew him as Van. I didn't realize initially the significance of his arrival at our game. I was too busy reeling from my own record loss. It wasn't until subsequent weeks that I discovered that Van was good for about 3 to 4 grand a week donated to our game. He played every hand. The difference between he and the contractor is that he never let go of a hand when it was obvious he couldn't win. Thus he found himself drawing all the way to the river with virtually every hand, often trapped between a strong unopposed low hand and a strong high hand. He invariable found himself paying $400 a round for the opportunity to draw at two pair that might make a fullhouse. Often his draw wasn't any good even if he made his hand. He bemoaned his luck declaring that he was a born loser when his draws failed or when he was drawn out on. Then he would moan even louder were he to discover that he laid down the winner, causing him to play an even more undisciplined game.

Over time I heard stories. I heard his name discussed in the poker room at Philadelphia, Mississippi. He was a regular at the big pot-limit games of Tunica, and he was welcome at every game. I heard a story about how he was up 30 grand after playing for 30 or 40 straight hours, but he refused to quit the game, and left only after giving back the money he won and losing 10 or 20 grand of his own.

Needless to say his undisciplined approach to the game of poker began to take a serious toll on his personal and financial life. I don't know the details. I didn't know him that well. I just knew that he was good for a poker game. At the end of the night we would assess what he owed on the books and he would bring the cash to whoever agreed to take the debt. One morning he showed up at my office with 40 $100 bills fresh from the bank.

One night in October this year he had a terrible run of luck. I was on a nice winning streak for the last month, up almost 12 grand for the preceding 5 weeks. Van's luck was awful that night. On one hand he was trapped between me with a wheel and another guy with quads, while he held Aces-full. Quads are pretty common in these wild games, but no one is going to lay down Aces full. I simply pray that I don't have a big hand when the quads turn up. Naturally he went on another diatribe about his miserable luck. Shortly after that we were heads up in a hand. He usually just checked and called, but he suddenly exploded with a fury of betting and raising. It was clear he had a wheel. In the end I made my wheel but I had a straight from the Ace to the seven. I collected ¾ of the sizable pot, and again he was beside himself.

When the night concluded, the banker announced that I was to be paid my $3500 by Van on Wednesday. Everybody knew Van was good for his gambling debts, and I was reassured that I would be paid promptly. I wasn't terribly worried, having been paid the 4 grand previously.

At about 9AM Wednesday morning my cell phone rang. I figured it might be Van calling me to arrange to drop off the money. Instead it was another player from the country club, indeed the very banker who determined that I was to be paid by Van. "Have you heard from Van?" he asked.

"No, I thought you were him calling," I replied.

"Well, he killed himself last at his warehouse."

This was obviously tragic news, but it wasn't surprising news. This was not Van's first attempt at suicide. In fact, that same week I lost the $9300 Van had himself attempted an overdose, but his attempt failed. I had never sought to pry into his circumstances. I never asked about the details of his downward spiral. It wasn't any of my business. I had no idea if it was related to a gambling problem. As far as I knew, the man was wealthy and owned much property. I had even looked into renting an apartment from him for my sister who has also moved to the area. I did not know the extent of his problems until that week, when he finally chose a method of suicide, which was sure to succeed.

It's eerie to hear of a man's deliberations in preparation for his own demise. He shot himself with a high-powered rifle in the chest. I assume he chose his chest as opposed to his head to avoid damaging his face so that he could have an open casket funeral. He left a note in his shop and he even laid towels down around where he was to fall in order to stop the blood. He shot himself in front of his warehouse at night, but in plain view of the road. Again, I assume so that his body would be quickly discovered that morning. Many think of suicide as an impulsive, selfish act, which exemplifies a complete loss of purpose. But such actions on the part of Van displayed a clear sense of purpose, as tragic and senseless as such a purpose appears to be. I am even told that he delayed his first suicide attempt until after his life insurance policy no longer excluded suicide. He was clearly a man on a mission, a very sad mission indeed.

It turns out that many of the people I knew away from the game of poker knew Van. News of Van's suicide made the Packet, Columbus' own little gossip paper. Van had his funeral within two days. Some of the poker players from the country club were pal-bearers.

As players we all shook our heads at the tragedy of the situation, but we all felt that Van was a grown man. It wasn't our place to stop him from gambling. When Monday rolled around we resumed our poker game as scheduled. We began with a discussion about what to do with the $3500 I was owed. We had always said that the game would make up for anyone who failed to make good on a gambling debt, so we planned to cut the money out of the bigger pots over the course of several weeks. A few hours into the game a teary eyed, intoxicated woman showed up who I didn't recognize. She thanked one of the doctors for the nice card he had sent. He replied, "If there's anything else I can do, let me know."

She replied tersely, "Oh, I think you've all done enough."

It was then that I was informed that she was Van's estranged wife. She had somehow managed to stroll into a private club and completely unnerve all of the other players. I had left to deliver a baby at about 10, and when I returned, the game, which normally lasted until 2AM, had already broken up. She had raised hell, threatening to call the law on the game. She blamed us for Van's troubles. We played again the following week, but this week we were informed that we were in danger of getting busted by ATF. So, for now the game is on hold.

Van was a casualty of the game of poker; our game a casualty of Van's suicide. I really didn't know Van well enough to intervene in any way, but many of his friends did. The boys shrugged their shoulders saying, "What could we have done? He was going to gamble somewhere. Why not here?"

I simply asked, "Did you make him pay to join the country club like the rest of us had to?"

The answer was no. They wanted a sucker in the game just like any of us would, so they made an exception in his case. I still don't think there's anything wrong with taking a sucker's money, as long as the money is won fair and square. But they were his friends. They bent the rules to facilitate his entry into our game. I personally don't have a problem with that. Indeed, had they made him pay to join the country club, I am sure he would have joined just to get in the game. But here's the point...When you have a friend with a gambling problem, you have two choices. 1. You can take his money just like any other player. After all, if he's going to lose his money anyhow, why not at least let him lose it to his friends? 2. You can do everything you can to prevent him from going down that fiery path of destruction.

It's a simple matter of 'You make the call'. I'm not here to tell you what to do. I took the man's money whenever it was made available to me, but I'm not going to sit here and tell you we were great friends. Just keep in mind that if you opt for choice # 1, don't expect a lot of warmth and admiration from the family when your friend finally succumbs to his addiction.

In the end I am saddened by the loss of Van. It's sobering. He is not the first one I have met through the game of poker who has committed suicide. Sadly, I don't think he'll be the last. Poker is a great game. Television is doing much to display the excitement of winning at poker. I felt a need to write this article to demonstrate the other side of this game. For every winner there is a loser. The highs are so much higher than in day to day life, and the lows are often abysmally lower. Every day there are players who opt out of many quality ventures in life, giving in completely to their urge to stay in the game. But if the game is all you have, it can be utterly destructive when you have nothing else in your life to turn to when you lose. Van reached a point where he couldn't live without being in the game of poker. Unable to win, he finally decided to take his own life rather than give up the game.

So I urge new players to make the game a PART of your life, not your whole life. I share Van's story, what I know of it, in hopes that someone else is not forced to live it, or die as a result of it. Maybe someone else's life will be saved as a result of reading of Van's own tragedy.