Life Experience: Day 1

Scrapper

You know those movies where a plucky young upstart gets beat down by a bunch of veterans, but then goes to train and comes back and shows that with the heart of steel and the courage of a warrior he shows the competition he's a man to be respected? I fulfilled the first part of that trope in spades. I got my ass beat down by the oldest men to play winks. It was like Mr. Myiagi, Pai Mei, Gen Fu, and the old guy from Kung Fu came to Vienna, Virginia to hand me my ass in an ancient game they had been training for their whole lives.

A brief rules primer on scoring: In singles winks, each player uses two colors, on opposite ends of the table. Each uncovered wink on the table is worth one "tiddly." (The term is used to differentiate it from "points," which are different). Each wink in the cup is worth 3 tiddlies. At the end of a game, the color with the highest number of tiddlies gets 4 points. The second highest color gets 2, third gets 1, fourth gets 0. If one of the colors gets all its winks in the pot before game end, they take first place points, AND they take one point from their opponent. These points carry through the tournament, so even a loss can come away with points that matter in the final standings. It also means that you can't take it easy on anyone.

The brackets set the lowest with the highest to start, so the opening games are brutal for me. My new tournament jitters, plus the experience of the room, has me getting trashed back and forth. I keep making bad shots, doing more desperate plays, and getting all my winks covered, or "squopped." It's a vile feeling to have to stand there while your opponent gets to roll the table. Ferdinand referred to me as the "valiant punching bag." I didn't expect to dominate, or even win, but I didn't think I'd get beat down that bad. Or that it would feel so bad. I guess I hate losing, whatever the situation.

A couple noteworthy matches:

I almost beat Matthew Fayers. I had 5 out of 6 winks potted, he covered the other one, then proceeded to show me why he's one of the best. Shot after shot, he clawed his way back, and finished me right at the end. He pots out, I pot my colors, and the game goes 6-1. It was the closest I got that day to a victory.

Jon and I had a really fun match. Where professional players usually end up with a large pile of winks at the cup, ours were everywhere. There was chatting, ribbing, and a general joviality at the table that I simply couldn't have with the other guys. He totaled me, 7-0, but it was a close 7-0. More importantly, it was a FUN 7-0.

For the final match, I was able to scrape out a 2-point game against Rick. I learned a huge amount about the game of Tiddlywinks in that one day. I do have to admit I was glad when it was over for the night. I gained a great deal of respect for the guys who analyzed, practiced, and strove to fully master this game. Sadly, that respect would be blunted a bit by the evening's end.

Wild Man

Anyone who wants wild cards in their poker game is an asshat. There. I said it. It had to be said.

After winks, Larry and his wife Kathy had some guests over, and we all had BLTs for dinner. It's a fine sandwich; I'd eat it any time of day. Afterward, some of the group went to a dancing thing in town, while Dave, his son, Bob, Ferd, and I stayed behind to play some cards. We started with poker. This was an adventure, since Larry has no poker chips; he did, once, but he filed them all down to make squidgers for Tiddlywinks. Priorities, I guess. We end up using glass beads.

The people at the table are smart folks. They're all better than me at Tiddlywinks. So why is it, when I try to explain Texas Hold-em, everyone becomes a shit-flinging retard!? The one guy who gets it is 17, and the 60 year olds are not grasping the concept of betting rounds. It wasn't helping that everyone who had a thought was trying to express it while I'm explaining the rules. It's a bittersweet comfort to see that, no matter how old or young the group is, they'll still make it difficult to explain a game. Kids, remember; ONE person explains a game at a time.

After a couple rounds, we do dealer's choice. When it gets to Ferd, he starts saying "5-card draw, and…"

I interrupt him with, "Ferd, if you put wilds in the game, I'm getting up from the table."

He replies, "There WILL be wilds, and you CAN get up." Yes, I handled that poorly. And yes, I think wilds are the shittiest thing in poker. It's exactly like Free Parking Money in Monopoly; the game devolves into simple chance. You get a wild card, bet, if not, fold. It puts a probabilistic spin on the game that takes out all the interest. When I tried to explain that to a group of smart MIT alums I am met with, "No, it's fairer to say you just don't like it." I don't like it because it sucks! And there's cash on the line. Not a lot, just a few bucks, but if I'm putting money on a game that susceptible to chance, I'll play slots, or Roulette, or blackjack. Poker is a game of skill. Drinking games require more skill than wild-card poker.

We play one more round of poker, because nobody's really that into it. In the end, Ferd suggests some 7 card variant where you bet, pass 3 cards left, bet, pass two, bet, and pass one. I fold in the first round of betting. I'll save poker for a different group.

We then play a game called "Oh Hell!" I won't go into the rules here, but as they're teaching me the game I realize it's exactly like a game I've played called Wizard, only less interesting. I dominate. It felt good to win something that night. After that we headed to bed. Bob and Ferd took a late night walk, which was kind of adorable, two old friends sharing a moment in the moon light. After getting some questionable rest on an under-filled water bed, we woke and plunged into the second half of the tournament. I'll post next week with day 2 results, and a recounting of one of the most surreal scenes I have ever witnessed this side of reality.