Freddy Writes a Book

Fred Gasperian has been a familiar face in poker since … well, probably since Moses parted the Red Sea. You know Fred – he's the guy who wears that T-shirt with the modest message emblazoned in front: "Bring the Bread to Fred."

Years ago I played in Freddy's home game. I wasn't very popular. He said I played so tight that for three months nobody ever saw my holecards, because every time I bet, everybody ran for cover.

Anyway, I ran into him again during the Reno Hilton's World Poker Challenge. "I've written a book," he informed me.

"You too? How thrilling," I yawned.

He handed me something that was just a little bit bigger than a postage stamp. "Here it is," he said. "What do you think of it?"

I stared at it. "My book is bigger."

"My book makes more sense," he replied sarcastically.

The book measured 7 by 10 3/4. That's centimeters. In inches it was 2 3/4 by 4 1/4.

"But why is it so small?" I persisted.

"That's the whole idea," Freddy explained eagerly. "It's supposed to fit in your pocket. You pull it out every now and then while you're playing to get tips and guidance. See what it says on the back cover: 'Effective strategies and attitude builders to increase your wins and enjoyment, plus essential odds and hold'em starters.' Do you think you could write something nice about the book?"

"I'm sorry," I said righteously, "but journalistic ethics preclude me from abusing my position of trust at Card Player by granting favors to friends."

"How much?" Freddy asked cynically.

"How about you let me back in your game?"

"How about I pay you $50?"

"Done."

I leafed through the book (booklet? subbooklet?). It consisted of 38 pages of text, along with a few blank ones for notes. It was printed in type large enough for Mr. Magoo to read, and averaged about 50 words a page. The price (including shipping and handling) was $20. That comes to about a penny a word. For purposes of comparison, a typical 400-page, 300-words-per-page book that charged a penny a word would carry a cover price of $1,200 (including shipping and handling, of course).

The title was Poker Professor, and was subtitled, "100 Winning Tips to Fit in Your Pocket" (or in your wallet, or your ear, for that matter).

"How come it says '100 tips,' Freddie? I count only 80."

"I rounded it off. Quit nitpicking. Every one of those tips is worth its weight in gold."

I looked at it more closely. Half the tips were for strategy and half for "attitude builders." The strategy section consisted of very familiar rules, but ones that cannot be repeated often enough, such as No. 4: "Financial success is achieved only by correct decisions, not by the thrill of winning the most pots." Or, No. 28: "If you are going to call in a situation, you are better off betting, but be able to release when circumstances so dictate."

OK, that's reasonable, I thought. Flip through the book every so often to reinforce correct playing habits. Then I looked through the "attitude" reinforcements – like No. 12: "Remember that other people, events, or circumstances do not cause your resentment; it is caused by your own emotional response."

"People don't cause resentment?" I asked him. "You ever play poker with Ralph the Rattler, Freddy?"

"You don't have to react to him, that's the whole idea," Fred insisted, beginning to get a little annoyed at me.

Then I came to No. 28: "When fate hands us a lemon, we can either feel sorry for ourselves or try to make lemonade."

"How do you make lemonade out of 7-2 offsuit, Freddy?"

"Quit being so literal!" he stormed. "These are psychological boosters, not rules of play."

Finally, I came to No. 34: "Remember, the steam kettle, although it is up to its neck in hot water, continues to sing."

"I didn't know teakettles sang, Freddy."

"They whistle. Same thing, you idiot."

"I see. So I'm all in for my last chips, I've got A-6 and I'm up against pocket aces, and I'm supposed to sing or whistle. How's that going to help? What if I do a little tap dance, too? Maybe that'll win me the pot."

Freddy grabbed the book out of my hands. "Forget the whole thing, Max!" he screamed. "You wouldn't be able to understand good advice if Doyle Brunson was whispering in your ear during a game."

"No, you don't," I responded, pulling back the book. "A deal's a deal." Look, folks, I was only kidding. If it's true that good things come in small packages, then Freddy's book is very good because it's very small. It really does have a lot of useful information packed away in a tidy package that you'll refer to again and again. (I prefer my $50 in cash, Freddy.)

You can send your comments and complaints to Max at [email protected].