Card on the floor--a sad but true story

In a recent post (http://pokergrump.blogspot.com/2007/12/tropicana-poker-room-with-no-rules.html) I told the tale of a player who accidentally flipped a card on the floor at the showdown. In my view, both the dealer and the floor person handled the situation very poorly.

As I was writing up that blog entry, I was reminded of another dropped-card story once told to me by James Klosty, one of the shift managers at the now-closed Hilton poker room. James is not only an exceptionally fine dealer and floor person (recently hired as the poker room manager at Fiesta Henderson), but a great storyteller. I emailed him and asked him to recount his experience for the blog, even though readers will be deprived of the animation that goes with hearing the story in person. He kindly obliged. Thank you, James.

I hope it illustrates that when there are clear rules, they have to be followed and enforced, even when the outcome seems harsh for a given situation.

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12/16/07

Ladies and Gentlemen:

I have known the Poker Grump for quite some time now and cannot think of a better writer of the game of poker then him. So, when he asked me to write a little piece pertaining to the rules of the game I was flattered. Who the heck am I? Nobody, really. However, I have been in the poker business for over 15 years and have seen many rules enforced correctly and many butchered beyond belief. No matter what anyone says, poker rules are and should be nothing more than common sense. What is best for the game and what is fair to all players involved should be the only things considered. Most card room managers and floor people govern to feed their own egos. As a card room manager myself I do my best to make sure all players are treated equally and fairly. Once we start making rulings that benefit ourselves and ignore the needs of our customers as a whole we are doing the game of poker a grave injustice. When I read the experiences of the Poker Grump it is hard for me to imagine how some of these places stay in business. Anyway, I am not here to preach the gospel. The Poker Grump has asked me to share an experience of mine which pertains to a recent article of his. Here goes:

November 1998.

I was a shift manager at the Napa Valley Casino in California. Back in those days Omaha hi/lo split was the game of choice. I walked into work to see three Omaha games, one of which was a $15-$30 game. In it was a heavyset gentleman who seemed to be rattling off chips like they were going out of style. It was nothing too odd, as you see this kind of thing anywhere you go. But as the hours passed the trips back and forth to the cash machine became more common. Once he had reached his limit, phone calls to his buddies for loans started happening. If you were to look up the word “stuck” in the dictionary, a picture of this guy's face would be the clearest definition you could get.

The end of my shift was approaching and this guy must have gone through at least a few thousand. I counted down my bank, signed my paperwork, wished all the players a good evening and went home.

I returned to work the next evening only to find this same guy sitting in the same seat. He had not moved since the night before. He was now even more stuck as well.

After being on shift for about an hour a young lady stormed through the door. She had a baby in one arm and suitcase in the other. She walked up to the guy who was stuck (let's call him "Stucky" from now on, OK?) and said, “Listen here, Stucky. You want to play cards for the rest of your life? Well then say goodbye to your son.” She dropped the suitcase at Stucky's feet and yelled, “Don't come home. I have changed the locks and you will be hearing from my lawyer soon!” She then walked out the door. Stucky started screaming at her as she was exiting. “That's just fine with me, woman!” he yelled. He never left his seat. He didn't chase after her. He felt no remorse.

The end of my shift was approaching. Stucky was now stuck more than a few thousand, plus had lost his wife, his son, and his self-respect--although I am not sure he had any of that to begin with. I counted down my bank, signed my paperwork, wished all the players a good evening and went home.

I returned to work the next evening and, that's right, Stucky was still sitting in the same seat. His five o'clock shadow was now almost a beard. He didn't smell that great and his clothes were more than wrinkled. And then, about ten minutes after I had finished my first cup of coffee for the evening, it happened.

Stucky was sitting in the five seat and I was standing behind him deciding if I should intervene in his life and talk some sense into him. As I was contemplating this, I saw that Stucky had just flopped nut-nut in this $15-$30 Omaha hi/lo game. He had six-way action and could quite possibly win his first big pot in two days. It managed to stay six-way action after the river card hit. Stucky's hand was going to hold up on both the high and low sides. There must have been close to a few grand in the pot. I was excited for Stucky. Stucky was excited as well. So much so that when it was time for the showdown, Stucky stood up. This could have been the first time his rear end left that chair in three days. As he stood up, one of his cards slipped out of his hand and slowly floated its way down to the floor. My chin hit my chest and my eyes rolled to the back of my head. I knew what was coming next. The dealer yelled, “Floor!” That was me--the floor.

With my head down I calmly walked behind the dealer and said, “What happened?” I knew what happened. I saw the whole thing. I guess I was hoping that the dealer would tell me something different. He didn't. Stucky reached down, picked up the card off the floor and opened his hand on the table. I looked at him sympathetically and said, “I'm sorry, sir, but your hand is dead.” Stucky flipped out and started coming at me. The other players at the table jumped into action and stopped him from tearing my head off. After all of Stucky's energy was gone, he gathered his things and left.

I guess the moral of the story is that players have to assume accountability for their own faults. No matter what the circumstance, if one or all of your cards leaves the table because of player error, the hand is dead. No ifs, no ands, and no buts. This rule is not open to interpretation. As unfair as it was to Stucky, it would have been just as unfair to the other players not to make that ruling.

Anyway, this story is a true one. My head is still attached to my shoulders and I would make that same ruling again, no matter how painful it was.

Thank you, Poker Grump, for allowing me to share this story.