Over
the past few months, I have been frequenting what can only be called the den
of disaster. That is where the erstwhile hostel 5n6 members (5n6ers)
has set up camp now. On that particular day, as I walked across the
hall, a steel briefcase caught my attention. With the house always in
deliberate disarray, it is usually a difficult task to locate
individual items. In other words it was a haystack of a house.
However, the briefcase was shiny and new. Crying out for attention. A
voice inside my head warned me. But as usual, inside the den, my
sense of adventure muffled all wise warnings rather effectively.
15
minutes later, there were four of us. Seated at a glass topped table
with piles of coloured chips in front of us. As a rookie with a death
wish, I turned towards one of veterans and gestured for advice.
Without taking his eyes off his cards, he said “Poker is a game of
skill and luck. You will understand the rest as we go along.” That
was all I needed. Or at least that was all I heard before images of
large tables, cheering crowds and millions of dollars coursed through
my spinal fluid.“No
mercy gentlemen”, I quipped and we began playing Poker.
Round
1: The cards were good. I won.
Round
2: The cards were really good. I won.
Round
3: The cards were ok. But the others played well and I lost.
Round
4: The cards were bad. But the others weren't strong enough and I
won.
30
minutes later, 3 others had joined. And on went 50 more rounds.
After
5 hours had passed thus-ly, the decibel levels of groaning/sleepy
voices had risen and it was time to quit. As some rubbed the
exhaustion out of their eyes, others rose from the table with their
eyes twinkling. Including yours truly. In fact, I had made more money
than a rookie should have. The
stock market be damned, here was an investment with a real return, I
thought. As I patted a weeping 5n6er on the shoulder and made my
exit, he glanced at my pile of chips in deep sorrow. “It was just
Lady Luck, you know”, he said.
Early
next morning, I woke up to a message. “Poker tonit?” it said. The
question mark was surely a gesture of jest. I was ready to play right
then. But I merely replied back in the affirmative and spent the rest
of the morning building card castles in my head. The
setting sun found me back at the den of disaster. At a table with
several 5n6ers and chips on it. Round 1 began with such good cards
that a sardonic smile escaped the emotion-less poker face. “No
mercy gentlemen”, I said. It turned out to be the most apt thing I
could've said. I lost Round 1 with good cards. I lost Round 2 with
bad cars. And the successive rounds.... with good, bad, decent,
wonderful.... I lost with virtually every single permutation of the
54C3 possible. By the end of the night, the proverbial shirt had
eased its way completely off my back. And the weeping 5n6er of the
previous night had taken it.
As I finish this blog, my phone screen says “1 Message”. I am deep into the den of disaster, my friends, and I am ALL IN.
