Poker, Big Denny Style

I was dining with Big Denny at the Barstow Card Casino's four-star buffet, and for once I was the one doing the complaining.

"I get so sick of being lectured by Card Player columnists in every issue," I grumbled. "Be pleasant at the poker table, don't criticize or put down the tourists, don't drive away the live ones, blah, blah, blah. I mean, what fun is that? Sometimes I just want to let my true feelings out and stir up a little trouble, aggravate the other players, put them on tilt. But I have to play the goody-goody because I'm a role model for poker and I don't want to shock my fans."

"You ain't no role model," Big Denny responded, "yer just a big wuss. Ya oughta loosen up an' play more like Big Denny. I kin get any table in an uproar in 10 minutes," he boasted.

I was intrigued. This might make a good column, I thought, and asked Denny if he'd provide me with some tips. He said he'd do it on one condition.

"What's that?" I asked. "Not use your name?"

"Nah," he replied. "I don't care nuttin' about dat. I just wants half yer writer's fee."

"That's fine with me," I said. "Would you like it heads or tails?"

"OK, Maxey, it's a deal, but ya gotta make it clear dat I don't pull none of dat stuff in my own casino, on accounta here our customers is king."

Our conversation was interrupted by a loud "bonk." I turned to see a casino security thug clubbing a patron's head.

"What's that all about?" I asked.

"Aw, we already warned dat mug not ta take no extra toothpicks from da buffet," he explained.

With that business taken care of, I arranged to meet Big Denny on his next visit to an out-of-town casino and monitor his unique technique. Once he was seated, he wasted no time moving into action. He immediately instructed an elderly player seated to his right to move and give him more space. "Does ya really need dat much room?" Denny demanded.

"I am seated precisely where I'm supposed to be seated," the mark replied righteously.

Big Denny picked up both the chair and the player and slammed them down two feet further away. "Now ya is," he corrected the stunned patron.

As all the players stared at him in shock, Denny sized up the table. He noticed that one player was very short-chipped. "Hey, pal," he laughed, "ya better buy some more chips afore ya goes broke." Unnerved and sputtering, the man jumped into a pot he had no business being in, did go broke, and ordered another rack. "Da way ya plays, ya gonna need more den dat," Denny jibed, rattling him even more.

As play continued, Denny went into his familiar routine. He slow-rolled, splashed chips, called for a deck change every five minutes, jeered his opponents when he won a hand, and banged his fist down and cursed when he lost. Repeatedly he demanded to see a losing player's hand, even when he himself wasn't in the pot. When the irritated player turned up his cards, Denny invariably sneered, "How kin ya play a hand like dat?" His ethnic insensitivity when addressing his fellow players would make Russ Limbaugh flinch.

From time to time he pulled out a cell phone and made imaginary calls to friends, bragging about the soft game he had found. "What a buncha turkeys," he kept chuckling.

As the players became more and more agitated, he began whistling, loud and tunelessly. "Excuse me, sir," one of the players spoke up timidly, "but your whistling is rather annoying."

"OK," Big Denny said agreeably. "How's about if I sings, den?" With that, he broke into bellowing song: "Home, home on da range, where da deer an' da cantaloupe play … "

"Table change! Table change!" his victims began crying. Showing no mercy, Denny continued his relentless assault. When a food server delivered a hamburger and French fries to the player on his left, Denny sniffed hungrily. "Hey, dat smells good," he said. "Mind if I have a taste?" Without waiting for a reply, he dug his gorilla-sized fist into the fries, scooped up most of them, and shoved them into his mouth. "Needs more salt," he recommended, noisily chewing with his mouth open to the revulsion of all the others at the table.

As the player stared at his depleted plate, Big Denny consoled him. "Aw, dat's OK, pal, ya shouldn't be eatin dat junk anyways. Don'tcha know it clogs ya arteraries?"

There was one woman at the table, but not for long. She blew her chips and left in a rage after Denny "complimented" her on her fragrance. "Nice perfume, lady," he said. "Where'd ya get it, at da 99-Cent Only store?"

By now, Denny had taken most of the chips from his demoralized opponents. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a floorman and a phalanx of security guards moving rapidly in his direction and decided it was time to pull up stakes. "Well, gents," he said, standing up and racking his chips," it's been a real pleasure playin' wit' such a bunch a losers. Next time ya oughta find a smaller game, or else play in a ladies tournament, har! har! har! An' next time yer in Barstow, stop by Big Denny's Card Casino. Ya might as well lose yer money dere as here."

After cashing out, Denny waved his bankroll at me. "Well, Maxey," he asked, "ya got a good column outta da way Big Denny plays?"

"Oh, sure, but there's so much useful information there, I hate to give it away for free in a column. Maybe I'll make a book out of it instead."

"Hey, dat's a swell idea, Maxey. What would ya call it?"

"A Gentleman's Guide to Poker."