O’Connor had been dressed by Diane in “older man sexy.” Black sports coat, white T-shirt, jeans and cowboy boots. “Gunfight at the O.K. Corral,” she’d whispered and kissed him for luck. “Go break a thumb.”
The production assistant — not the big gay fellow from L.A., but a young nervous brunette — stood in the greenroom’s doorway, clutching a clipboard, a massive radio on her hip. She listened to the voice of the director from the control room and kept glancing at her watch.
Television was timed to the tenth of a second.
Suddenly she stiffened. “All right, everybody, please. We’re on in three.” She then rounded them up like cattle and headed them to the assembly point.
There, O’Connor looked at the monitor, showing what the viewers around the country would be seeing: splashy graphics and some brash music. Then the camera settled on a handsome young man — dressed similarly to Dillon McKennah — sitting at a desk, like a sports commentator. Beside him were an African-American in a suit and a skinny white guy in a cowboy outfit.
“Good evening, I’m Lyle Westerbrook, your host for Go For Broke. Two exciting days of no-holds-barred poker. And joining me here are Andy Brock, three times winner of the World Championship of Poker in Atlantic City. Welcome, Andy.”
“Good to see you, Lyle.”
“And Pete Bronsky, a professional gambler from Dallas and the man who wrote Making a Living at Cards. Hi, Pete.”
“Back at you, Lyle.”
“This is reality TV at its most real. You are watching live, on location, six individuals who aren’t playing for prestige, they aren’t playing for a charity of their choice. They’re playing with their own hard cash. Somebody’s going to lose big — a quarter of a million dollars. And somebody’s going to win — maybe as much as six times that. One and a half million dollars is going to be at play tonight. You gentlemen must know the excitement of what our contestants are feeling.”
“Oh, you bet I do, Lyle…”
O’Connor tuned out of the banter, realizing that this was, in fact, the big time. Millions of people would be watching them and, more important, dozens of network and studio execs would be watching the ratings.
The bump…
“And now, let’s meet our contestants.”
They went out in alphabetical order, as the announcer made a few comments about them and their careers. O’Connor caught Diane’s eye — she was in the front row — when the applause erupted at the mention of Homicide Detail and the character of Detective Mike Olson. Though when, like the rest of the players, he said a few words to Lyle and mentioned the phrase “Save it for the judge,” one of his signature lines from the series, not many people laughed, which told him that the APPLAUSE sign had prompted people to cheer when the name of his show was mentioned.
Welcome to the world of TV.
When they were all seated around the table security guards brought in the cash, which had been wire transferred to a local bank yesterday. The audience murmured when the guards, rather dramatically, opened the cases and set them behind each player on a low table. (Was there an illuminated sign that urged, “SOUND AWED”?) The guards stood back, hands near their guns, scanning the audience from behind sunglasses.
O’Connor tried not to laugh.
The dealer explained the rules again — for the audience — then with cameras hovering, sweat already dripping, the room went utterly silent. The dealer nodded to O’Connor, to his immediate left. In Texas Hold ’Em, this was the button position, which signified the initial player, since unlike in informal games the players would not be dealing; a pro would be handling that job. O’Connor pushed the small blind out onto the table, the agreed-upon $1000.
For the big blind, Kresge, to O’Connor’s left, splashed the table, tossing his $2000 out carelessly — very bad form. Chugging a beer, he grinned as the dealer straightened it.
The hole cards were dealt, the top card burned — discarded — and the flop cards spun elegantly into the center of the table.
The game proceeded with nobody winning or losing big, no dramatic hands. Kresge bet hard and took some losses but then pulled back. Sandy Glickman, with the quick mind of a natural comedian (and mathematician), seemed to be calculating the odds before each bet. She increased her winnings slowly. Stone T was a middle-of-the-road player, suffering some losses and catching some wins, as did McKennah. Neither seemed like natural players. O’Connor played conservatively and continually reminded himself of the basic poker strategy he’d picked up over the years — and that Diane had helped drill into him in the last few weeks:
It’s all right to fold up front. You don’t have to play every hand.
Bluff rarely, if at all. Bluffing should be used appropriately and only against certain players in limited circumstances. Many professional players go for months at a time without bluffing.
Fold if you think you’re going to lose no matter how much you’ve already put into the pot.
Always watch the cards. Texas Hold ’Em is played with a single fifty-two-card deck and only seven cards are known to any one player: his two and the five community cards. Unlike counting cards at blackjack or baccarat, knowing those seven won’t give you great insights into what the others have. But knowing the board, you can roughly calculate the odds of whether someone else has a hand that beats yours.
Most important in poker, of course, is to watch the people playing against you. Some gamblers believe in tells — gestures or expressions that suggest what people have as their hole cards. O’Connor didn’t believe that there were obvious tells, like scratching your eye when you had a high pair in the hole. But he did know that people respond consistently to stimuli — he’d learned this not from his limited experience as a card player but as an empathic actor. For instance he’d noticed that Stone T’s face grew still when he had a good, though not necessarily a winning, hand. File those facts away and be aware of them.
The game progressed, with Glickman and McKennah up slightly, Kresge, Stone and O’Connor down a bit. Bingham was the big loser so far. On the whole O’Connor was pleased with his performance. He was playing a solid game.
They took a commercial break and Felter walked out, dispensing water and telling everybody how pleased he was — and how favorable the initial responses were. He walked off stage and they heard the voice of God.
“Now, back to the million-dollar action,” the commentator said. Then silence. O’Connor and the others couldn’t hear anything else from the host or the pros in the control booth; he wondered how they were critiquing the performances.
A new deal. The blinds were now increased: five thousand and ten. The button player pushed out the small blind, the one to his left the big. Then the hole cards were dealt.
Shit.
O’Connor hoped he hadn’t muttered that out loud. (His mother was watching.) He had a hammer. These were the worst hole cards dealt anyone could have, an unsuited two and a seven. You can’t make a straight — you’re allowed only three cards from the board — and there was no chance of a flush. There was a miraculous possibility for a full house but at best it would be sevens and twos. Not terrible, but still a long shot.
He stayed in for one round of betting but Bingham and Glickman started raising each other. Kresge folded, spitting out a word that O’Connor knew the standards and practices people would bleep.
McKennah folded and then O’Connor did, too. He was mentally counting the money he had left — about $220,000—when he realized that something was going on at the table. Bingham, Glickman and Stone were engaged in battle. He sensed that Stone didn’t have great cards but was already in for close to a hundred thousand. Glickman was less raucous than earlier, which told him that she might have a solid hand, and Bingham tried to appear neutral. He fondled the lapel of his blazer.