Usually, I don’t tell poker stories. Nobody likes to hear them, including poker players. But this one is palatable:
Last night I was playing poker at Mirage. Across from me sat a young, friendly Asian guy. He was a professional poker player, and he lost about $120 to me. Then he left.
Fast-forward an hour. I won a monster pot off an Argentinean alloy manufacturer, who’d been sitting next to the pro. To comfort him, I said, “Well, at least you have a day job—you get to go back to Argentina and make alloy whatevers—as opposed to that guy sitting next to you, who plays poker for a living and still lost to us!”
A second later, I realized my mistake. The pro player hadn’t left the poker room; he’d joined his friend at the table next to ours. He heard what I’d said to the Argentinean—I’ve got an extra-loud voice—and he turned around. He didn’t look angry; he looked sad.
I felt awful. He was such a nice guy, and he was such a diplomatic loser, and I hate it when people rub my losses in my face.
In conclusion, I’m a jerk.
But it’s hard to feel too bad about it…considering how much I won last night….
Wait, saying that makes me sound like even more of a jerk.
Forget I said anything. Go read Josh Bell’s blog.
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