Sweating With the Oldie

Richard Simmons, the little smurf guru of exercising, came out with a workout program called "Sweating to the Oldies." After sitting on those ridiculously hard metal benches at Binion's Horseshoe, where one sweats the final table, I think he should rethink the title and the workout.

Barry made the final table of the seven-card stud high-low split event. The tournament started on the first day at noon, and by 3:48 a.m. it was down to the final table. Nervous energy, fatigue, euphoria, dishevelment, and replaying hands kept us up for another hour. Actually, Barry's snoring kept me up longer. Final-table play began the next day at 4 p.m. There were eight players, the dealer, Bob Thompson the tournament director, press people, strange people, and a big-screen TV.

Also at the final table was Vince Burgio, who, after I E-mailed him from Australia to tell him that he is my favorite Card Player writer right after my son Jeff, took a leave of absence. He said it was nothing personal, but I have my doubts. Also, our very good friend and partner in www.cardplayer.com, Marshall Ragir, was at the table. Marshall and Barry share the same weird sense of humor, work ethic, and time schedule, and if you didn't know it, you would think that they grew up together. These are three of my favorite people, and I found it challenging to have them all together and to root for all of them except when they were in the same pot.

I sat on those terrible dwarf football seats all by myself. I liked it that way, so that I could squirm and twist. Debbie Burgio sat behind me and to my right. She is a much better cheerleader than I am, but she has had far more experience at it than I. Other people came and went. During the evening, I wish more had gone than came. At one point, I turned to say something to Debbie and a rather rotund man in stained cutoff sweats, no underwear, and a tank top six sizes too small smiled down at me. He obviously had a long-running feud with his shower and deodorant. Also, I think his last meal was beans and beans. He wanted to make friends. I didn't, but smiled and told him that I was new to this, and he seemed happy with that reply. I was truly afraid to turn around again, so I sat face forward for a while.

The action at the table was so slow that I felt that my pregnancies had taken less time. Phyllis Meyers said it was like watching paint dry. As a painter of pictures and a few walls in my time, I can honestly say that watching paint dry is more fun.

The money went back and forth and all around. Marshall went out first, so I had only two of my people left. After three more hours, it was down to my two and Dan Heimiller. Vince busted out, but Debbie gets a new car, so that was great.

As I watched this table from the beginning, I noticed one very important factor. This was a table of gentlemen. There was no dealer abuse, no card throwing, and no fights. Some of the players were looser than others, but that is understandable, as they were playing for big bucks. As each player busted out, the crowd applauded, just as they do at a basketball game when a player who has played an excellent game fouls out. These men all played an excellent game.

As I sat on the bench, I did notice some things I didn't like. The TV was impossible to see. I could tell that Barry had won a hand only when I saw the dealer pass him the chips – and I was only three feet away. Luckily, Andy Glazer kept me informed and also explained things to me when they were way over my head. Our son Jeff was sitting in the press section, but considering how superstitious I am, I didn't even get up to go to the bathroom before the break. Later, I was forced by rude people to move, as they stood right in front of me and blocked my view. Also, Bob Thompson's microphone made him sound like a Jack in the Box drive-through guy.

As Barry and Dan played alone, I noticed that Barry was relaxed, joking, and having a marvelous time. I don't think I had seen him that loose since our college days in the late '60s. He was giggling and beaming. I loved the fact that he was playing the most important game in his poker career to date, and was laid-back and having a ball.

On the last hand, Barry beat Dan with three sixes against two pair. Jeff jumped up so fast that I thought he had been stung by African bees. He ran or flew two steps to where Barry was and hugged him. It was totally cool, man.

So, 35 hours after it had started, Barry had won the tournament and a coveted gold bracelet. Thank God. Chris Ferguson, T.J. Cloutier, and Marshall were the first ones to congratulate him. He was beaming, and then I noticed that he went up to Dan and shook his hand and told him that it was a pleasure playing with someone like him. What a mench.

Later, I wore the bracelet home. Boy, is it heavy. The next day, Barry wore it, only to find out that the lock was so secure that no one at Binion's could get it off his wrist. We made a quick stop at the jewelry store where it had been engraved, and after three people failed to get it off, they called in their big gun. He got it off Barry's wrist and loosened it so that Barry could do it himself. As I watched this, I wondered if he ever really wanted to take it off again. Maybe, if he wins another one.