By Tenzin McGrupp © 2006
Sometimes playing against drunks is like trying to juggle hand grenades with Charles Manson. You know that some weird and crazy shit is going to go down at some point. This time, one guy spilled his cocktail. The dealer was pissed because she warned him at least five times in the first minute I sat down. He had an empty cup holder but was so polluted that he kept putting it on the other side of his stack. And he had a stack. A monster stack. It was dirty for sure with a few $1 and $25 chips grouped together in a sea wall of red $5 chips. Seat 6 was the sucker and I wanted him to double me up. He wasn't friends with the other two Russians at my table. And they had been badgering him all night.
"Call me Nicky," he insisted, "I want you to know the name of the guy who is going to take all your money!"
He began taunting me early on. He had the hipster kid from Brooklyn on tilt and must have run through at least four or five buy-ins according to the Russian chick sitting next to me. She reminded me of a young Meryl Streep. Her accent was thick and she smelled like flowers and blueberries. She sipped on a Sea Breeze or some sort of vodka-cranberry concoction. She was shortstacked and if I spoke better Russian, I would have figured out that she was the table captain. She thought she knew what she was doing and she was screaming at Nicky, the drunk Russian guy every time he scooped a pot. I like feisty women. I prefer feisty drunk women with a penchant for gambling and playing cards at 3 AM.
Every time she entered a pot, Nicky would raise, and she would see the in anger even more. Nicky had the most of the table on tilt. He even got the dealer on tilt after he knocked over his drink.
I'll spare you the bad beat. Pocket pair busted by an unsuited two gapper. Before Nicky could scoop up the pot, I dug back in for a rebuy.
"He is stupid," she said. Actually it sounded more like "stew-pet."
I quickly became her table friend. The old guy to her right with the hairy ears was in a daze. I couldn't tell if he was heavily medicated or just tired after a long session.
"What's your name?"
Always ask hot women what their names are and follow it up with something quick. If it's exotic say something like "What does that mean?" or "How did you get that interesting name?"
If it's a common name like Jennifer or Michelle, just say, "You've got to be one of the best looking Jen's I’ve ever met."
It sounds corny, but it works.
"What's your name?" I asked.
"Nadya," she said.
"That's beautiful. What does it mean?"
She smiled. "Hope," she said.
"Like you hope that assclown is going to double you up eventually?"
She laughed and then cursed at Nicky in Russian. The other Russian at the table laughed. Nicky fired something back and by the look on Nadya's face, I'm sure he called her a pig or a dog or dropped a Ruskie C-bomb.
Nadya doubled through Nicky twice in one orbit. She had the best hand both times. A-K and J-J held up for her against A-3 and 3-5s. I doubled up against Nicky and lost a big pot to the old guy with the hairy ears. The hipster dropped another buy-in when he chased a baby flush and Nadya filled in a full house on the river. All of a sudden she had chips and started talking smack with everyone at the table.
"People are so stew-pet," she said.
I was about even when I was heads up with Nadya. I raised with A-Js and missed my flop. She checked to me on a ragged board and I bet the pot on the flop. She muttered something like she knew I had A-K and re-raised me.
Hot Russian chicks drinking Sea Breezes at 6 AM, check-raising me in a $30 pot is a total turn on. I moved all in on her.
"You are a good player. Not one of those stew-pet players like Nicky," as she pointed and cursed at him in Russian.
She folded and showed me her small pair.
"Since I like your face, I'll let you see one card for free. Pick one," as I spread out my hole cards. She pointed to one and I flipped over the Jack of hearts.
She groaned and said something in Russian. Nicky taunted her for the next ten minutes before Nadya racked up her chips and left. After I cashed out she stood at the top of the escalator smoking a menthol cigarette.
"Think I can hit it and quit?" I joked.
Tenzin McGrupp is a writer from New York City.