English Only - Part II

I received a ton of e-mail in response to my last column, which was about the English-only rule. Most of it expressed a profound frustration with the inconsistency of this rule's enforcement. And although the degree of descriptive detail varied considerably among those who responded, some common themes and patterns emerged rather conspicuously. In composite form, what appears below is an attempt to reflect their concerns.

Those of you who play in large cardrooms, especially rooms with a culturally diverse clientele, will probably recognize the pattern these readers touched upon. Time and time again, it happens: The turn brings a scare card (or a card that seems meaningful in some way – one that could have changed things) – and someone says something aloud in a foreign tongue. Immediately, frustration breaks out among those who don't speak that language. They're frustrated because the list of things they don't know is rather long. Among other things, they don't know:

1. what was actually said.

2. the relationship of the speaker to the listener.

3. if there was any real collusion going on.

4. if any relevant information was conveyed, either intentionally or inadvertently.

5. if the player in seat No. 8 speaking a foreign language into a cell phone really has someone on the other end or is merely simulating a phone call while exchanging information with his partner in seat No. 5. (Sad to say, this really does go on, and is especially damaging to the integrity of high-low split games like Omaha and pineapple, where two partners, one going high and one going low, can trap the players in between them for the maximum number of raises.)

6. if that player in seat No. 8 speaking a foreign language into a cell phone is actually having a perfectly innocent conversation with his wife, except that he just told her what he folded – "Oh, dammit, honey, I should have called, I'd have made trips on the turn just now!" – in which case the fellow in seat No. 5 (who speaks the same language) is now benefiting from the information anyway, just as surely as if seat No. 8 were his partner, which he is not.

But here's a partial list of what the frustrated players do know:

1. They know there's a sign on the wall, and brochures in the rack, and a rule in the book, all proclaiming that speaking non-English during a hand will not be allowed.

2. They know that despite the sign, the brochures, and the rule, it's allowed all the time, in the sense that it happens hundreds of times a day with no actual penalty imposed to deter it – and isn't that precisely what "allowed" means?

3. They know that many of the players who persist in this practice do so in spite of regular warnings from the dealer, the floorperson, and other players. In some clubs, it's not the least bit uncommon for the same player(s) to be told "English only" five or six times in a single day. Extrapolate that over the course of a year and you're talking about hundreds of warnings; throw in the times they hear it directed at others and it translates into the thousands.

4. They know, therefore, that the transgressors know they're violating the rules.

5. They know that the floormen who've warned them know that they know, and that it is with this knowledge that they continue to pursue a policy of issuing meaningless warnings.

Without a doubt, the most common theme in the responses I received had to do with repeat offenders. (In one form or another, it appeared in 11 different e-mails.) Larry from Cerritos, California, wrote: "Protesting when the rule is broken means psyching yourself up for a confrontation, but violating it is as easy as muttering a few words at just the right moment. In other words, it takes much more energy to complain about violations than it does to commit them, and the repeat offenders seem to sense this. In the end, there's just no matching their sheer relentlessness. It wears you down, especially when you get the feeling that some floormen consider repeat 'complainers' to be the problem, instead of repeat violators."

And Gene from Downey, California, wrote: "Where I play, it goes like this: Someone speaks a foreign language during a hand, and he's warned to stop. But if he does it again, he's merely warned again. It usually isn't until the fifth time that he's given a 20-minute penalty (if then). This I don't mind so much … no, what bothers me is that when that person comes back the very next day, we have to play out the same drama in five acts all over again. Why should this be? Haven't we always heard that poker should be considered 'one long game'? Well then, why is infraction No. 6 treated as if it were infraction No. 1? Just because the sun set and the violator went home and got some sleep in between? What you end up with, 200 violations later, is a policy where the house is enforcing the rule only one out of every five times, while the fee they charge me to run an honest game and protect my rights is being collected five out of every five times!"

Finally, the second-most recurrent complaint had to do with the discrepancy in the way that violations of the English-only rule are treated in live play versus tournaments. In tournaments, zero-tolerance policies have become the norm, and 20-minute penalties are imposed automatically; at most, a violator will receive one warning. Paul from Whittier, California, wrote: "Why are tournament players' rights taken more seriously? It's a double standard. In tournaments, the integrity of every single chip is considered sacred, and that's a good thing. But shouldn't every single dollar in live play be considered worthy of the same respect and protection? Believe me, Mr. Mulholland, if they applied the same standard to live games that they do to tournaments, people would be forced to stop ignoring the English-only rule. They wouldn't have any choice."

So much to comment on, and alas, no space left to do so. But then, most of the points these readers have raised speak quite eloquently for themselves. My thanks to all who took the time to express themselves on this important subject. Keep those e-mails and letters coming; you never know, they just might make a difference.