The games people play...

My father taught me many valuable life lessons... including the pitfalls of debating politics or religion with friends, telling how much you paid for something, or boasting about how much you earned. When I was five he taught me how to ride a motorcycle—reinforcing the benefits of always looking forward. He also taught me how to fish, or rather the patience to not catch fish. All of these lessons have served me well through the years, but there is one thing my father taught me that I hold closest to my heart. He taught me how to play cards. This may seem an odd choice as a favorite, but card-playing taught me how to read people and how to bluff. Having spent most of my adult life in advertising, reading people and bluffing are the tools of my trade. Thanks to my father, I am well equipped.

A year ago, I surprised everyone (including myself) and went on an extended sabbatical to become—just what the world needs—another writer. When I found that I missed some elements of the ad game (deadlines and long hours not included), I started another game where I could bluff to my heart's content. That's right, I started Poker Night in the Hood. Four couples rotate the game monthly and we play until one person's left holding all the chips. The game was intended as a social event, with plenty of food and drinks—and an easy walk home without the worry of flashing lights and DUI classes looming in your future. In the beginning, Poker Night was great. But after a while, it seems that the "social" aspect of the game was not so social. You see, I forgot one of my father's most important lessons: Don't play games competitively with friends. And where there is money involved—as in our friendly little game—you can't avoid competition. Mix in some vodka, a little tequila and a few emotions…let's just say that it's a potent recipe best served sparingly. I remember well the lost stiletto of the first game. Oh how we laughed when we found it in the middle of the hors d'oeuvres six-hours later. I wish that we could recapture the spirit of that first game.

When Poker Night began, several participants had never played Texas hold 'em—but had watched it on TV. That first night everyone showed up with a ton of enthusiasm and in character. Hats, sunglasses and funny shirts became part of our new poker personas. We even had a special "Poker Bitch" hat for the first one out. This player would wear the shame of his (or her) defeat until the next game. Funny as this was that first night, it became apparent during the second game that not wearing this hat was equally as important as winning. The months went by and Poker Night continued, but the dynamics of the game changed. The competition was fierce. Gradually, to keep a clear mind, we all started drinking less...or not at all. Several players would watch the pros on ESPN for several days leading up to the game. And one woman— who had never even shuffled a deck of cards—was soon dealing like a pro and yelling “burn and turn” on every hand. "It’s all in the family" had no place in our little game. Husbands and wives, boyfriends and girlfriends, all played against each other with a vengeance. The easy-going chatter of the first game was history and the stakes were high. Not so much monetarily, but symbolically. There were no friendly Howard Lederers or endearing Doyle Brunsons at our table. We had eight obnoxious Phil Hellmuths.

Yes, Poker Night became a serious event. The date was set well in advance with players arranging vacations around the game...and in one case, a funeral. When other neighbors asked to be included, we set up a waiting list in case a regular became ill or had to cancel. This never happened. Rain or shine, flu or cold, we all showed up with our fifty bucks. We even went out and bought professional clay poker chips. After several wins, one player started boasting that she was in training for the World Series of Poker. She was Vegas bound (and determined).

Yes, I really should have heeded dear old dad's advice. After a few months of Poker Night, none of the participants got together—even in smaller groups—to do anything but play poker. Rainy days we played poker, sunny days by the pool we played poker. New Year's Eve we played poker. We became addicted to the game and the competition. Plus, we only saw one side of our friends anymore. The ruthless side—as they went in for the kill and gloried at each other's losses. Relationships began to suffer. Friendships began to deteriorate. It wasn't pretty, nor was it healthy for maintaining friendships that had nothing to do with game playing of any kind—that is until Poker Night came along. Did I mention that one friend even threatened to leave her husband if he didn't "speed up his play." I think she quoted Kenny Rogers. Something about, "You got to know when to hold 'em, know when to fold 'em." Frankly, I prefer this to "You picked a fine time to leave me Lucille."

So it was, that after my husband and I hosted the most recent game, I tried to remember talking to any of these friends about something other than the previous game or the next game. When I realized it had been months, I decided that it was time to make some changes to our "not-so-friendly anymore" game. To my surprise, everyone agreed. And we were all relieved. This is interesting, as no one had ever complained or even mentioned any reservations about the toll the game might be taking on our friendships. How ironic. It seems that everyone was bluffing, and not one of us was really that skilled at reading other people. Not even me.

The first thing to go was the "Poker Bitch" hat. We decided that everyone should get some portion of their buy-in back...no matter how poorly they played. Then we made the game quarterly and lowered the buy-in. Most importantly though, we started drinking again. Socializing. No more of this conditioning ourselves for the big game. So what if a shoe ends up in the cheese platter. Martini anyone?

I do hope these changes will keep Poker Night alive...and restore our shaky friendships. After all, I'd like to believe that these relationships were built on a much sturdier foundation than a deck of cards. I also find myself looking forward to our little game for the first time in months—and the sight of our friends toddling off down the street later. A little bit wobbly, a little bit giggly, and perhaps a little bit eager to get home for some private fun and games of their own. As for our aspiring neighborhood poker professional, I wish her the best of luck. Maybe one day she'll make it to the final table in Vegas—or perhaps she'll come to her senses and realize that she already has the best final table in her own dining room. After all, who needs Vegas? What happens in the hood stays in the hood...unless it ends up here.

© 2005 Teresa G. Franta

Dedicated to my father, who died when I was fifteen, and also to Craig "Hellmuth," who is very much alive. We still love you Craig, no matter how slowly you play.