Hands for Sale

by Max Shapiro | Published: Apr 27, 2001

Wouldn't it be great to have something named after you? You know, like a mountain peak or a bridge, or an airport, or maybe a tunnel like they named after Ted Williams in Boston. Personally, I'd be happy just to have a rest stop on the way to Barstow named after me.

The closest I ever came was the time I discovered (and this is the truth) that there is a street called Max Shapiro Way in the city of South El Monte, a suburb of Los Angeles. Excitedly, I asked my sweetie if she was aware that there was a Max Shapiro Way.

"Sure, I know there's a Max Shapiro way," she answered. "It's check and call, check and call, check and fold."

"I'm not talking about poker," I said irritably. "This is a real street, and it's named after me."

"A dead-end street, I presume," she yawned.

Unfortunately, after I did some research I learned that the street was named for a totally different Max Shapiro who had been a city councilman. Oh, well.

Still, there are other ways to acquire immortality of sorts, providing you're willing to pay for it. Take that "Star Registry" outfit that advertises on the radio a lot. For a price, they will name a star after you, or someone you designate. You get an official registration document, location of "your" star … everything.

"So what did Stanley get ya for Valentine's Day, Shirley?"

"Oh, ya'll just die when ya hear it, Ethel. He went an' got a star named after me. I even got an official certificate of authenticity ta prove it."

"Gawd, how thrilling. Which one is it?"

"Let's see … I think it's that one just to the left of the moon. Or maybe it's that other one near the Big Dripper. Anyway, it's there somewhere, an' it's the Shirley Horowitz Star."

"Gee, maybe someday they'll have, like, spaceships an' ya could go see it, Shirl."

Yeah, right. It's 80 trillion light years away, one of only 500 bazillion gazillion stars in the universe, and its official name is NC3-074-NLF, not Shirley Horowitz. That "Star Registry" outfit has about as much authority to "name" stars as I have to declare war on Belgium. Give me a break.

Then, one evening, I discovered that this name registry business had spread to poker. I was playing in a hold'em game when a young nerd seated next to me grinned and flashed his cards. "Look," he whispered excitedly. "It's a Melvin Fenster."

"Really? It looks like a jack and a queen of clubs to me," I replied.

"Yes, of course, that's a Melvin Fenster. Yesterday, a very nice man who let me buy a piece of him in a tournament asked me what my favorite hand was, and when I told him, he said he represented a company that registered names for poker hands, and for $100 I could have the queen-jack of clubs named after me."

"You don't say? What was this guy's name?"

"Frank Henderson."

Hollywood Henderson. It figured. The next day I ran into Henderson and berated him for conning the kid.

"You know me better than that, Max," he replied in a hurt voice. "This is strictly legit. It's officially sanctioned by the International Poker Federation. We have certificates of authenticity and everything. Say, what's your favorite poker hand, Max?"

"Well, it's an Omaha hand, of course. A-A-2-3."

Henderson opened his briefcase and shuffled some papers. "Yeah, that seems to be still available. Barry Shulman wanted it named after him, but he hasn't been able ta raise the money yet, so you better grab it while you can. Think about it, Max, A-A-2-3 will always be known as a Max Shapiro."

He had me; I agreed. He pulled out a certificate, filled in my name and the hand, and dated and signed it. "That'll be two hunnerd dollars, Max. An' how about takin' 10 percent of me in tonight's tournament?"

"Two hundred? You only charged that other guy one hundred."

"Sure, but that was for hold'em. Twice as many cards for a starting Omaha hand. Extra paper work and everythin', you know."

I didn't bother quibbling. Ignoring his tournament-staking offer, I paid him and tucked my certificate of authenticity in my pocket.

Later that night I got in an Omaha game, and on the very first round I got dealt a Max Shapiro! My heart started pounding. I raised and re-reraised, and a huge pot developed. At the end, I missed my low and the aces were beaten in four places, but I still had the thrill of turning over the A-A-2-3 and announcing, "I have a Max Shapiro."

"You liar!" another nerd shouted angrily. "That's a Myron Merkin. Here's my certificate of authenticity."

"It's a forgery!" I yelled back. "The hand is a Max Shapiro." We nearly came to blows and had to be separated.

Angrily, I went looking for Henderson. "How come you sold the same hand as both a Max Shapiro and a Myron Merkin?" I demanded.

"Myron Merkin?" he said, looking through his papers. "Oh, yeah, it's two different hands. His ace is suited and yours isn't."

"Well then, I want a suited ace, too!" I shouted.

"It'll cost another two hunnerd bucks, Max."

Yeah, extra paperwork. I paid him off and went back to my game. As luck would have it, it wasn't long before I got dealt a Max Shapiro with a suited ace. I called it out at the showdown. Sure enough, this time a third nerd jumped up and insisted that it was not a Max Shapiro but a Billy Booger. After another violent argument, I once again went looking for Henderson. As usual, he had a logical explanation.

"You only had one suited ace, Max. A Billy Booger is double-suited."

After a lengthy discussion, and the payment of a considerable sum of money, he agreed to cancel out Booger's certificate and give me exclusive right to every possible combination of A-A-2-3 – unsuited, single-suited, double-suited, triple-suited, everything.

At last I was King of the World. But the next night, after announcing a Max Shapiro, believe it or not I got into another violent argument, this time with still another dork who insisted that A-A-2-3 was really a Seymour Plotkin, and he had the papers to prove it.

Once again I sought out Henderson and grabbed him by the throat. "Hol' on, Max," he choked. "Jus' tell me what game you were playin'."

"Omaha, of course. $3-$6."

"Oh, that's it, then," he said reasonably. "The certificate is only good in your usual $2-$4 game. I had no idea you were jumping up so high."

More negotiations, more money changed hands, and this time I was certain I had covered all my bases. I found out differently a year later when I got a letter from the International Poker Federation informing me that my exclusive use of the Max Shapiro hand was good for only 12 months, and mine was now up for renewal – for $500.

I decided to pass. Would anyone out there care to buy my certificate of authenticity and have your name on the hand? You too can be immortal – for a price, and for a year.