Mistaken Identity

As many of you know, besides being America's foremost poker humorist, I have also worked for many years as a poker tournament writer at various casinos. How long? Well, I don't want to date myself, but when I started, John Bonetti's nickname was "Junior." And while I may not be America's foremost tournament writer, I certainly am the most prolific, having along the way written for Commerce Casino, Hustler Casino, the Four Queens, the Reno Hilton, Bay 101, the Rio, the Maho Beach Resort and Casino in St. Maarten, the World Series of Poker, Big Denny's Barstow Card Casino, and, last but not least, The Bicycle Casino.

In fact, one of the poker publications recently dubbed me "the dean of poker journalists." This surprised me no end. It's not that I didn't merit the honorific, of course, but I was astounded to learn that there was a remaining title that Oklahoma Johnny Hale had neglected to bestow upon himself.

I may not be America's most accurate tournament reporter, but I like to think of myself as the most original, or at least the most slapstick. To cite one example, I certainly deserve a Pulitzer Prize, maybe even a Nobel Prize, for a tournament report headline I wrote last year. During a Four Queens final table, a smell suddenly enveloped the entire table, an odor so ghastly that a five-minute break was hastily called. I later said in my report that it was caused by either a sewer explosion or some player having overindulged in the chili bean burrito special of the day. Anyway, Layne Flack went on to an easy win in the tournament, which gave me the idea for my brilliant headline:

Layne Flack Wins in a Breeze!

Of all the casinos I have written for, however, I have been by far the longest with The Bicycle Casino. I think I started with them sometime during the Great Depression. That was long before the place was called The Bicycle Casino, or even The Bicycle Club. At that time, it was just known as The Roller Skate. In fact, because of the Bike, I have two listings pending in the Guinness Book of World Records. One is for the world's longest employment without a raise. The other is for the job with the world's longest hours.

It used to be bad enough when the events attracted 100 or so players. Now, with the publicity generated by the World Poker Tour and World Series of Poker telecasts, it's like Times Square on New Year's Eve. Players have to make a reservation months in advance. For its recent tournament, the Bike erected a tent and still had to seat overflow players on the main floor, in the employee's restaurant, in the parking lot, and in the ladies restrooms. With the enormous fields, the huge amounts of chips in play, and the moderated level increases, my beard will have grown 2 inches by the time each event is over.

Even worse, after I write my report for the daily bulletins, I then e-mail it to poker publications and online sites throughout the universe, and the Bike recently asked me, for those mailings, to include the names of everybody who cashed out. So now here I am, at 8 a.m., desperate for sleep, having to type in that Seymour Shlump of Dogpatch, Arkansas, finished 48th and cashed out for $32.75, news that I am sure will electrify the entire poker world.

Still, I am lucky to still be working for the Bike, because of my numerous mishaps on the job. Perhaps the most disastrous came about because of a suggestion I once made to Rick Cloward, their poker operations manager. Cloward looks for spectacular ways to bring in the prize pool cash during their Legends of Poker championship event each year. One time I suggested that he ride in on a motorcycle with the cash in saddlebags. He liked the idea and did so. He roared in, and spectators in the first three rows were overcome with carbon monoxide poisoning.

Another sore point, which I fail to comprehend, is their complaint that I have a predilection to employ egregiously ostentatious terminology that tends to perplex the scholastically challenged poker players who peruse my reports (you know, big words). For example, I recently used the word "impetus" in a write-up and most of the players thought I was talking about erectile dysfunction.

Anyway, because of my frequent screw-ups, I was not surprised to hear Tournament Director Denny Williams inform me one evening that he had a problem with me. "What's it this time?" I asked wearily. "Misspelled names? Wrong hand descriptions? Vulgarities in my stories?"

"Nah, we're used to that," Williams replied. "But I'm getting sick and tired of players calling me Big Denny. They think that character is based on me. What are we going to do about it?"

I was about to say, "Maybe you could try losing some weight," but thought better of it. Instead, I asked meekly, "What do you want me to do about it?"

"I want you to change his name," he replied sternly.

"To what, Big Irving? Denny is his name. He's had it at least as long as you have, he's entitled to it, and I'm not going to ask him to alter it," I said firmly.

"Well, if you don't like working here … "

"I'll see what I can do," I blurted.

Despondently, I drove up to the Barstow Card Casino and sounded out Big Denny about changing his name.

"Why don't dat bum change his name?" Denny replied defiantly.

"Don't be absurd," I replied. "Denny Williams is a very famous tournament director. He was the one who devised the f-word penalty."

Big Denny scratched his head. "What da f- – – is da f-word?" he wanted to know.

I explained it to him as delicately as I could and suggested that he implement the rule at the Barstow Card Casino.

"Couldn't do dat, Maxey. If my dealers couldn't use dat word, dey wouldn't have nuttin' much left ta say."

My pleas to have him change his name continued to fall on deaf ears, so I finally asked if he would at least meet with Denny Williams and hear him out. "Dat ain't a bad idea," he said. "I'd like ta meet da mug what's been usin' my name."

We drove down the next day for a tournament, arriving just as players had all gotten in the money. Big Denny listened intently as Williams pointed out that The Bicycle Casino, unlike some other casinos, did not withhold money from the prize pool, and that anything left for dealers and staff would be appreciated. "What a wussy way ta do business," Big Denny laughed. "At da Barstow Card Casino we just takes out whatever we feels like. I ask da farmers if dey got any problems wit' dat, an' we ain't heard no objections yet."

Hmm, I thought, maybe I could hire Big Denny to educate players to leave more tokes for the writer. My thoughts were interrupted as Williams barked at spectators to move away from the tables. "All except you, sir," he smiled weakly as Big Denny shook his gargantuan fist at him.

Suddenly realizing who his visitor was, Williams gathered up his courage, and strode up to Big Denny and asked to speak with him in his office. The two went in, and from outside I could hear loud shouts, threats, and fists pounding on the desk.

Finally the door opened and the two walked out arm-in-arm. Williams informed me that everything had been settled.

I breathed a sigh of relief. "You mean Big Denny has really agreed to change his name?"

"Well, not exactly," Williams answered. "But from now on just call me Irving."