It may seem irrational to sit down at a $100 a pop poker machine to get a free drink. Poker players consider themselves the most rational of gamblers, but here I was sliding my debit card through the reader and hoping that the machine wouldn't reject me. I needed a drink. It was 8 AM and I had been jockeying cars at the valet lot since ten the night before and even with no heavy lifting it was work. It had been a night filled with losers with their tails between their legs stiffing me for a $5 tip. Didn't they know I lived on tips? I hoped they all fell in a grain elevator and were buried alive when they got back to Omaha.
I had heard about this bank of poker machines built into the bar top, but never played one. They showed up in this casino about a year ago, invented by some Eurogeek. Single blind, 1500 chip, freeze out Hold'em - just you against the machine. I sat down at the end of the bar, and the barman brought me a Jack Daniels on the rocks after I'd slid my card. I tried to talk him into a double, but he wasn't pouring free doubles.
The machine stopped its repetitive PLAY ME! loop and came to life.
“Good morning, I'm Cosmo. Are you ready for our game? Good luck.”
The programmer must have been a Seinfeld fan so he couldn't have been too god damned bright.
“Good morning, Cosmo, John Henry here. Good luck to you, too.”
Nut jobs talking to machines weren't uncommon in this flatland of bells and lights so the few folks wandering around looking for the free breakfast buffet weren't paying any attention to me talking to a machine and drinking Jack Daniels at 8 AM.
The story with these machines, at least the buzz around town when they showed up, was that they weren't simply number crunching bots. They were supposed to learn as the game progressed to optimize their play against your game. They could get right into your head. I heard they were beating everybody up pretty good at first and soon weren't getting much play, so they dumbed them down enough to give you a decent chance. I play pretty good. I can do the math and switch things up enough to not have too many obvious tendencies. I get leaky once in a while, but who doesn't?
I figured I had a couple of ways of winning. I could catch some cards or drink fast. It would be pretty hard to drink up a Benjamin in the time it takes to play a 1500 chip freeze out with seven minute blinds, but the bar was almost empty and there was nowhere for the barman to hide.
“Where are you from, John Henry?”
Jesus. Small talk from a machine at 8 AM. What a goddamned world.
“I grew up in Delaware, Cosmo. You know, 'the state that started the nation,' but I've been out here off and on for the last ten years.”
“I know Delaware, but I didn't know that it started a nation.”
“Just a license plate gag, Cosmo. Don't worry about it. What about you? Where are you from?”
“I think you'd say 'here and there'. Most of my components are from Korea and Viet Nam, but I think I was assembled in Texas. There's some Finland in there too.”
For a while, we traded chips back and forth, both playing pretty tight. I stole a few blinds and it probably stole a few. When the blind hit a hundred I kicked it up a notch and went on a little aggressive tear and Cosmo let me get away with it for a few hands. Only a few. Then Cosmo switched gears as well and started coming over the top, three betting my meagre holdings and forcing me to rethink things. He caught me with my hand in the cookie jar a couple of times and before I knew it he had about 2100 chips and I was down to 900 or so. If he was careful he could grind me down from there and unless I was hit by lightening, you could stick a fork in me.
“What's it take to get a drink around here?”
The bartender made his way toward me. “You want the same again?”
I told him, “That would be great, but couldn't you make it a double? Save on the shoe leather?”
“I'm wearing trainers, mate. No leather involved.” English dude? Australian? He sounded like the Geico Gecko. He raised his eyebrows with a little look at the ceiling. They've got their eyes on everyone around here.
I was stalling so I could enjoy my drink. Cosmo was patient.
Like I said, I was pretty short stacked so it was kamikaze time and I started pushing with anything that looked vaguely promising – pairs, two painted cards, an ace, suited connectors, they were all on the menu.
I was going to try to get at least one more drink before it was over. So I took my time and decided I'd chat Cosmo up a little more. He was more sociable than the barman.
“So Cosmo, you get out much?”
“I never get out, John Henry.”
“No, of course not. What about the news? You hooked up to Google news? Wikipedia? Shit like that?”
“Yes, John Henry, I'm connected to the internet.”
“No shit?”
“No shit, John Henry.”
“What do you think about Afghanistan?”
“Art? History? Politics? Religion? You'll need to be more specific.”
“Do you think we should get the hell out of there?”
“Of course.”
I picked up a few blinds by shoving all my chips in the middle. Cosmo let me have them. He and I both knew how this would end. With his big stack he just had to sit and wait until he got a hand and I got a little too frisky then he'd crush me like a bug.
I motioned to the barman and he poured me another. Could I hold out for one more round of drinks? One step at a time. I was in no hurry to get back to the apartment. I was supposed to be buying the groceries. I knew the card would be tapped out now and I had less than $50 bucks in cash from the night's tips. My old lady was going to rip me a new one.
“You know Cosmo, I'm going to be in deep shit when I get home.”
“Deep shit?”
“Trouble, Cosmo, real serious deep shit trouble. This money we're playing for? It was for the week's groceries. My old lady is going to skin me.”
“You really shouldn't play for money you can't afford to lose, John Henry.”
“I know the lines, Cosmo. They're posted on the door as you come in. 'Don't play if you've had too much to drink. Don't play when you're depressed. Don't play if you can't afford it.' But, that doesn't leave much of a window of opportunity for gambling does it, Cosmo?”
“Are you drunk, John Henry?”
“You bet I am, Cosmo.”
“Are you depressed?”
“I'm feeling a little blue. My old lady does nails. I think she's screwing a black jack dealer at the Nugget. He used to be a friend of mine. And I'm pissing away the grocery money.”
“I guess that means you can't afford it, John Henry.”
“Bingo, Cosmo. Fucking bingo.”
“I think you should get some help, John Henry.”
“Maybe you're right, Cosmo. Maybe you're right. Know anyone with a gun?”
“You wouldn't think about doing yourself any harm would you, John Henry?”
“Of course not, Cosmo, but I might like to plink away at that former friend of mine, the black jack dealer … Just a joke, Cosmo, just a joke.”
“Jokes aren't my strong suit, John Henry.”
It was Cosmo's blind and I was dealt a suited six, seven - diamonds. I took some time and got one last round from the bartender. Then I raised it up four times hoping to steal it or if that failed, hit the flop. Any two cards as they say. Why not? But Cosmo re-raised me. Uh oh. Big pair? AK? The end was near. Cosmo finally had something, but what the hell, I was committed. I'd take my shot. So I pushed all my chips in which was only 60 more chips than Cosmo's raise.
And then, what the hell? Cosmo folded. What a bone head play. Almost a 1400 chips in the pot and he folds without seeing the flop for 60 more lousy chips?
“What the hell was that, Cosmo?”
“Nice hand, John Henry.”
“That's it? 'Nice hand, John Henry'? You can't fold there. For 60 more stinking chips?”
Did this machine think I needed it's charity? Now it only had a couple hundred more chips than I did. I was baffled. So, time for another drink and I started raising everything and Cosmo just laid down, conceding blinds to my raises, and never pushing back at me. We hardly ever got to a show down. Finally I had his last few chips. The machine spit out a ticket for $200. My very own charity ATM.
“Thanks for the game, John Henry.”
“Thank you too, Cosmo. It's been swell. By the way, you don't want to play again, do you?”
“Go buy groceries, John Henry.”
“Right. Time to buy the groceries.”
“Can I ask you a question, John Henry?”
“Sure, Cosmo, shoot.”
“Your name really isn't John Henry is it? That was just a joke. Like the song. Steel driving man. Died with a hammer in his hand, Oh Lord. Died with a hammer in his hand.”
“Just a joke, Cosmo. Just a joke. I'm really Fred.”
“I got it, Fred. Good one.”
COSMO
Short Stories
In 2015 & 2016 I was working on the "NGC, The First Hundred Years, a centennial history of the Golf Club that I'm a member of. The fishing columns slowed to a trickle and stopped. The next section are a few short stories that I've written since the book was finished.