Alabama Eddie

I was taking a break from my usual Omaha eight-or-better game when a stranger walked up to me and extended his hand. "How ya doin', Max? Lemme introduce mahself. I'm Alabama Eddie, the famous poker player. Ya heard of me, of course."



Alabama Eddie? Who possibly could have guessed his name? He merely had it emblazoned on his jacket, shirt, pants, boots, and 10-gallon hat. "Sorry, sir, I can't say I have. Where are you from?"



"Alabama, of course," he responded peevishly. "In fact, I'm the most famous poker player ever ta come from that there distinguished state, if ah do say so mahself."



"Really? I would have thought it would be Robert Turner. Or Doug Saab. Or …"



"Them boys are OK, ah reckon," he interrupted me. "Matter of fact, I'm the one who taught 'em how to play."



"Funny, I just can't recall your name. Ever win any tournaments?"



"Oh, lots. Course it was way back when they didn't keep much records an' such. An' I'm kinda modest, know what ah mean? So ah often play under assumed names."



"Such as?"



"Oh, Johnny Chan, Doyle Brunson, Bill Hickcock, them kinda names."



I stared at Alabama Eddie to see if he was trying to put me on, but the man wasn't smiling. He was dead serious. Why, I wondered, do all the characters of the poker world gravitate to me? Being a famous writer sure can have its drawbacks.



"Well, nice meeting you, Eddie. Sorry to run, have to get back to my game now."



Alabama Eddie grabbed my sleeve. "Hold on a second, young fella, there's somethin' ah need ta ask ya."



Just then the board person called his name: "Alabama Eddie, $200-$400 hold'em."



Eddie stepped out on the board platform, waved his hat so all the players could see him, and cried out, "Just roll me over, suh."



Returning, he continued his pitch. "Besides bein' a famous poker player, I'm also an experienced tournament director. Ya know of any casinos might make use of mah services?"



"Sorry, I don't play that many tournaments," I said, trying to shake him.



"Ah heard ya was goin' ta one next week."



"Oh, yeah, well, that's just Aces & Eights. It's a private tournament, in Laguna Beach this year. Jay Moriarty founded and runs Aces & Eights. I'm sure he doesn't need any help."



Another board call: "Alabama Eddie, seat open in $5,000 no-limit hold'em."



Eddie went through his hat-waving, "roll me over" routine again. Returning, he said he'd be honored to play in our tournament, but I informed him that it was strictly invitational.



"Ah understand. Waal, give me the address anyway, just in case ya should need another player."



I wrote down the address, just to get rid of him, and returned to my game. An hour later, as I was leaving the casino, I spotted Alabama Eddie playing in a $3-$6 game, busily chatting up the players and handing out his business cards. I shook my head and promptly forgot about him.



A week later I was at the hotel in Laguna where our big annual event was being staged. "Moose" Moriarty was about to start the opening ceremony. As he started saying, "Welcome to the 31st-annual Aces & Eights,"



Alabama Eddie suddenly walked through the door and made his way to the podium, graciously waving his cowboy hat as he marched along.



"Howdy, y'all," he greeted the players. "Ah'm sure proud that Max invited me ta be here today."



Moose glared at me. "Who the hell is that?" he demanded.



I flailed my arms helplessly and tried to stammer out an explanation, but Alabama Eddie drowned me out. "Now ah'd like ta introduce mah lovely wife, Hortensia, who will sing our national anthem."



A matronly woman stepped onstage and began screeching out The Star-Spangled Banner in a manner that would make even Roseanne Barr wince. She got a few words wrong, and as she sounded her last off-key notes, with players painfully holding their hands to their ears, Alabama Eddie walked to the front again. "That was magnificent, Hortensia. Now let's show the lady our gratitude," he said, taking off his hat and passing it around among the players. "Hortensia also runs a housecleaning and auto repair service," he added, thrusting business cards into everyone's hands.



Moose searched the room with a murderous look in his eye, but I had thoughtfully run off, pleading a possible heart attack. Turning to Alabama Eddie, he thanked him and wished him a safe trip home.



"Waal, long as ah came this far, ah might as well play," Alabama Eddie said.



"Sorry, this is an invitational tournament."



"No problem. Since Max seems to be indisposed, ah'll just play in his stead."



Before anybody could stop him, he sat down in my seat and picked up my cards. Aces & Eights is a dealer's choice tournament, and the first game chosen was no-limit hold'em. Two aces flopped, and Alabama Eddie waved his fingers in a gesture that everyone took to mean "check." Everyone else at the table checked, whereupon Alabama Eddie protested that he hadn't acted yet.



"What were you doing, drying your fingernail polish?" Action Al yelled. A big fight broke out and Moose was called over. He ruled Alabama Eddie's action a check, and he ended up taking just the blinds with his four aces.

Action continued with Alabama Eddie keeping up a constant stream of chatter designed to mislead players and put them on tilt. In no time he had earned the undying hatred of everyone at the table, as well as those at other tables within earshot. Moose had to be called over at least every two hands.



After a while it became Alabama Eddie's turn to choose the next game. "Alabama Anaconda," he announced.



"It's a lowball game wheah eights an' sixes don't play, wheah ya pass two cards to your left an' one to your right, an' wheah the best hand is J-7." Another fight broke out.



"There is no such game," hissed Ralph the Rattler.



"Sure there is. We play it all the time down home."



A totally exasperated Moose was summoned yet again and ruled it was not a recognized casino game, which was the accepted criteria at Aces & Eights.



Fortunately, Alabama Eddie turned out to be a much better talker than a player, and to everyone's relief, he busted out in the early stages. Still, he hung around, promoting himself and his various enterprises until the tournament ended. There was one final ceremony: the traditional awarding of the trophy to the player who had gotten the most votes for sportsmanlike conduct during the tournament. Alabama Eddie won it by a landslide.



It was not until later that Moose realized that while there were 140 players in the tournament, 142 votes for Alabama Eddie had been dropped into the ballot box. The next day, Eddie had his name inscribed on the trophy, which is now on prominent display in the casino where he found me. The trophy will remain there forever … or at least until management discovers that he snuck it in.