Action Al's Steroid Fantasy

Every so often my flaky friend Action Al will corner me and try to sell me on one of his flaky ideas for a column. This usually coincides with a full moon, a phenomenon, according to folklore, that compels crazies to run amok in the streets. It is no coincidence that lunar and lunatic both derive from the same Latin root, luna. In any event, the moon was full when Al hit me up with his latest brainless brainstorm one day while I was working at a casino doing tournament write-ups.

"Hey, Maxey," he called to me from the sidelines. "I've got a great idea for you."

Wearily, I walked up to him and asked what nutty inspiration he had this time.

"Steroids, Maxey," he said, chuckling at what he was convinced was a hilarious concept. "You know all the hearings they've had on ballplayers taking steroids. How about doing a column about poker players taking them?"

Before I could reply, an anguished yell ripped through the tournament room. "Ay Chihuahua!" I looked up to see that "Super" Mario Esquerra had just been eliminated and was beating up on the player who knocked him out.

"The hand! I missed the hand!" I said frantically. "It's all your fault, Al."

"Aw, just make something up," Action Al shrugged. "That's what you do most of the time, anyway." He scurried off as I lunged for him. "I'll see you later and tell you more," he promised.

The tournament ended at 4 a.m., and by the time I finished my writing and got home, I didn't get to bed until after 8. No sooner had I fallen into deep slumber than the phone jangled me awake.

"Sorry about last night, Maxey, but you're gonna love it when I describe my column idea about poker players who use steroids."

"Look, Al," I said angrily, "steroids couldn't do anything for a poker player except let him throw cards harder. Now leave me alone!"

I slammed the phone down and took it off the hook, the consequence being that I would miss an important phone call I had been expecting.

A few days later I was in my usual $2-$4 Omaha game. I had a nut-nut hand and was preparing to cap the betting in the biggest pot of the night when I heard that irritating voice behind me. "Moneymaker and Raymer. You ever think about them, Maxey?"

I turned around in annoyance. "What the hell are you raving about now?" I sputtered.

"The last two guys to win the World Series," Al explained. "Notice how big those guys are? You could use them as proof that poker players are taking steroids now."

"Are you suggesting … " I started to say, then noticed an "Uh-oh" look on Action Al's face. I whirled around to discover that the dealer had mucked my cards after I left them unattended and failed to act on my hand.

I jumped up. "Floorman!" I yelled at the top of my lungs. "Somebody grab me before I kill this idiot!" By that time, Al had bolted out the door, breaking the world's record for the 100-yard dash.

After that, Al laid low for a while. But a couple of weeks later I was in the casino restaurant, enjoying my favorite dish of moo goo gai pan, when I saw him approaching my table. I dropped my chopsticks and covered my ears as he walked up, but he just sat down and continued pitching his moronic concept. "See, Maxey," he ranted on, "you could invent a commissioner of poker to hold hearings into poker players taking steroids."

"Look, Al," I said as politely as I could, "I did a column on a commissioner of poker eight or 10 years ago, and I never repeat myself. I never repeat myself," I added.

"OK, then, how about using those poker stewards that Oklahoma Johnny Hale is always talking about in his columns? That should be good for a laugh."

"Mr. Hale is a dear friend of mine and I would never dream of making fun of any of his ideas. Besides, it would just give him more ammunition for that lawsuit he's been threatening me with."

Al began to offer me more steroid suggestions, but I waved my hand. "OK, Al," I said, "I'll think about it and let you know." I grabbed my check and walked out fast before he could assail me with any more of his idiocy. Sadly, I had barely touched my moo goo gai pan, but by that time I had lost my appetite.

A few weeks later, Al spotted me again in the casino. I dashed into the nearest restroom and bolted myself into a stall. A moment later, there was knocking on the door.

"Hey, Maxey, you in there?"

"No habla Espanol – I mean, no speaka English."

"I thought it was you, Maxey. I got some more great ideas for the steroids story. You got a pencil and paper with you?"

"I have a pen, and there's paper in here, but not the kind you normally write on."

"That's OK, you can write them down later. You know the Top 10 Reasons thing on the Letterman show? Well, here are the Top 10 Reasons how you can tell if a poker player is taking steroids. Wanna hear them?"

Oh, sure, about as much as I'd like to hear a doctor tell me that I need a hemorrhoid operation. "Look, Al, I'm kind of busy right now, and … "

Ignoring me, Al launched into his bizarre recital. "Reason one: A player asks for extra cushions because his buttocks are so sore from taking steroid injections there. Reason two: He's carrying a baseball autographed by Jose Canseco. Reason three: He's a size bigger every time you see him and he wears sponsorship tee shirts with a logo from the Big and Tall shops. Reason four: Since your gonads shrink when you take steroids … "

I felt as trapped as a rat on a sinking ship. I tried flushing the toilet repeatedly to drown him out, but he only began talking more loudly. Desperately trying to make my escape, I crawled under the partition into the next stall, only to discover to my horror that it was occupied.

"Help!" the startled occupant cried out. "There's a pervert in here!"

Now in full panic, I scrambled out of the stall and ran off at full speed, but not before a couple of players in the bathroom recognized me. "Just like I always suspected," one said in disgust.

Well, I'm now waiting for the furor to die down before I set foot in that casino again. In the meantime I've changed my phone number and kill-filed Action Al on my e-mail list. And in case any of you see him, tell him to go stick a needle in his own buttocks.