Ralph the Rattler Goes Hollywood - Another TV Poker Show

It's been a long time since I played at Ralph the Rattler's home game. I used to be a regular, mostly because I had nothing better to do with my life. It wasn't entirely a waste, because there I encountered many of the characters, such as Big Denny, Action Al, Break-Even Benny, Happy Harry, Booger Boy, and of course the Rattler himself, who would become mainstays of my columns. But the real reason I went to his game was that I had too much time on my hands. Then I met my sweetie, and after that I had no time for anything.



I hadn't seen the Rattler himself, either, for quite a while, until I ran into him at a casino one night. I asked how his game was going.



"It is fortunate you inquired," he hissed. "It so happens that we have room for one more this week. It will be an excellent game. We already have …"



"Save it, Rattler," I cut him off. "I know your game has been struggling for years. If I showed up, you'd just tell me that everybody cancelled at the last minute, and I'd end up playing you heads up. No thanks."



"Unfortunately, you are correct," he admitted. "Everybody is playing online now, or staying home to watch poker TV shows. Home games are a dying breed."



"Well, everyone is hooked on all the pizzazz of those TV shows," I explained. "You know, all the lights, the cameras, the special mirrors to show the cards …"



"I have special mirrors on the wall so I can see everybody's cards," the Rattler reminded me.



"Not the same thing, Ralphie boy. And celebrities, famous actors. They're a big draw on those poker shows, too."



"Do you mean actors such as Steve McQueen in The Cincinnati Kid?"



"No, Rattler. He hasn't been around for a while. I don't mean actors who play poker roles. I mean actors who really play poker."



"Can you name any?"



"Oh, lots. James Woods plays in tournaments all the time. And Tobey Maguire. You know, the Spiderman. And Ben Affleck. He won the Cal State Championship at Commerce last year. Actresses, too, like Jennifer Tilly, who just won the World Series ladies championship. All good friends of mine."



"Do you suppose you might get one of them to host a game for me?" the Rattler asked hopefully.



"Oh, sure."



"Would they charge?"



"Well, for me they'd do it cheap. I could probably get any one of them for not more than $50,000."



Much to my delight, the Rattler underwent a paroxysm of coughing. "That seems rather high," he finally managed to choke out. "Can you secure the services of one for less?"



"Well, there's Dirty Wally. His going fee for personal appearances is $10."



"Dirty Wally? Has he ever performed in the cinema?"



"Oh, yeah. He played a corpse in Birth of a Nation. Then he got a role in The Big Blind, but I heard they had to fire him because he couldn't remember his lines."



"What were his lines?"



"'I fold.' But he does have a Screen Actors Guild card. I think he bought it on e-Bay."



The Rattler seemed dubious, but I wasn't about to miss the chance to pay him back for all the grief he caused me over the years with his shady games. "Tell you what," I persisted. "For another five bucks he'll bring along his granddaddy, Filthy Willy, to do cinematography. Willy's a crackerjack cameraman. He won prizes for his Civil War pictures. You could probably sell your game film to some TV station."



I kept talking, making things up as I went along, and the Rattler finally reluctantly agreed. A few days before the game he distributed flyers in his neighborhood, inviting people to be spectators. The only ones who responded were a handful of scruffy panhandlers who showed up hoping to get some free food. The players were pretty much the Rattler's old regulars, who came down on the expectation of TV exposure.



Walking in, I saw that Ralph had hung up a couple of shower curtains and strung some colored lights in an attempt to make his living room look a little like a sound stage. The effect was about as festive as a mortuary.



As the time for the game approached, Dirty Wally showed up, garbed in his authentic J.C. Penney cowboy outfit, his water bottle, as usual, protruding from his back pocket. In tow was Filthy Willy, staggering under the weight of a video camera almost as ancient as he was. Wally introduced himself, taking about 30 minutes to list his dubious accomplishments.



Finally, he called out heartily, "OK, boys, are we ready?" The players responded by shrugging their shoulders. "Better liven things up," Wally persisted. Turning to his audience of derelicts, he used Linda Johnson's line at the World Poker Tour. "Let's see how much noise we can make!" he shouted.



One of the panhandlers let out a belch.



Action Al popped to his feet. "Let me try," he chirped. "I know some really funny poker jokes." Before Wally could stop him, Al went into his routine. "I know a poker player who's so dumb he thinks suited connectors are Siamese twins wearing coats and ties." Dead silence. "Or double belly-busters. That's Siamese twins with indigestion."



"Enough with the Siamese twins jokes already," Break-Even Benny chastised him. "They are politically incorrect."



"Oh, you want a politically correct poker joke?" Action Al taunted. "How about a midget I know who plays poker? Every time he goes to the bathroom, he leaves the game short."



Everyone groaned as Action Al doubled up in laughter at his own jokes. "How depressing," said Happy Harry. That wasn't surprising, because "How depressing" was about all that Happy Harry ever said.



"Never mind," Dirty Wally broke in. "It's gettin' late. Willy, start rollin' the camera." Filthy Willy pointed the lens at himself and looked for a button to press. Wally rushed up to straighten him out, and we were under way.



Nothing much had changed from the old days. Big Denny kept splashing chips, cursing when he lost a hand, and demanding, "When do we eat?" every 10 minutes. Break-Even Benny played one hand in the first two hours, and even that was looser than I had ever seen before. Action Al, a poster boy for attention deficit disorder, would get up every few minutes to wander around, watch TV, and make some phone calls. Happy Harry kept threatening to kill himself because he was so depressed. And the Rattler, of course, played his usual game: faking checks, slow-rolling, and peeking at other players' cards.



After a couple of hours, I had my fill, made an excuse, and departed. The next day I phoned the Rattler to see how things went. He told me that the game had broken up with the usual fight not long after I left.



"Well, at least you got good material for a TV show."



"I might have, but Filthy Willy neglected to put film in his camera."



"Too bad. Anything else happen?"



"Yes. One of the panhandlers stole all my dirty videos. However, I do plan to have another game at my house in a week, and you are invited. We expect to have …"



"Goodbye, Ralph," I said, hanging up the phone. Oh, well, there are too many poker shows on TV now, anyway.