Football - a poker story.

The scene is not unusual for a weeknight in any suburban town in America. A gaggle of parents are milling about in front of their awkwardly parked cars; some sitting in little nylon folding chairs, others aimlessly pacing back and forth. The cars are pulled right up onto the grass, strewn about at odd angles, right next to the field where their children are waging a series of mini wars. The parents are absentmindedly engaged in conversation, pretending interest in each others jokes and tales of suburban misadventure, all the while keeping one eye turned towards the football field in front of them. On the field, three squads of football players are being put through their paces, running drills, engaging in small scale scrimmages, and the parents are each keeping score of their child’s progress – and the perceived lack of progress by his immediate competition. Little battles are being waged, for playing time, for bragging rights, for chances to be written up in the weekly news letter.

There is a big hit on the field and one parent screams out his triumph. Johnny just put one to little Timmy and all it temporarily right in the world. The coaches make the parents stay a certain distance from practice and the parents aren’t really supposed to shout out anything, but when one of the kids really puts a lickin’ on another kid, the exultation is understandable and almost impossible to muffle.

A row back of the main pack of cars, parked at an even stranger angle than the others (to better get a signal), is a tiny black Focus. The windows are cracked, but that doesn’t prevent the condensation from the breath of the sole occupant from forming and fogging up every inch of window in the car. It is humid, and the passenger has opted to just crack the windows, reducing the odds of getting eaten alive by bugs but increasing slightly the discomfort and ever increasing wetness of the car interior. Every once in a while, he turns on the engine and lets the air pump for a little bit, then switches it off and baths in the temporary comfort. But overall it doesn’t bother him that much since his mind is elsewhere.

Perched on his lap, across a tightly folded leg, is his laptop. The reason for the strange angle of the car is that it is better to get a signal from “Ted’s Network”. Who is Ted? Our driver doesn’t know, but he does know that Ted hasn’t secured his wireless network and that Ted has conveniently located his network (home) in close proximity to the football field where our driver is forced to “hang out” in case one of his son’s needs to be carted to the emergency room. While hanging out, on a whim, our solitary parent decided to see if anyone left their network open around here and sure enough, Ted obliged.

There are four tables of $0.50/$1 NL Hold’em running on Football Parent’s laptop and he is as happy as he has ever been at one of his kids practices. While the other parents pretend interest in each other while secretly hoping that their child will tear their “friends” child’s arm off, Poker Parent is knee deep in massive check-raises and subtle slow plays. He is turning sets and cracking aces and having his own kings cracked. He is watching whole stacks of checks moving between players in generally clockwise procession around the tables and he is lost in it.

On the screen, in the upper right game, two beautiful red aces appear. The action is good leading up to him. It’ raised to $4 and then called before the action returns to him in the BB. He makes it $12 to go and both players call. He is breathing a little heavy now and the windows are steaming up even more. He didn’t want two callers but now that he has 'em, let's play.

… in a distant world he hears what might have been Franky getting his fifth sack of the scrimmage which isn’t unusual for that kid. Is that Franky’s father yelling, “Take his head off!!!”? He just can’t be sure…

What he is sure about is that the flop is probably pretty good for him, but is a little scary. Two black tens and a red 4. He wants to check raise here. See if he gets action. Take a chance. Hopefully not lose his whole stack, but put some pressure on. He hopes no one has a ten. He checks and they both check back, damn it. He’s kicking himself. He learned nothing.

But, the turn is perfection, a single black ace of spades… ACES FULL!

Now he bets, enough to get some action and hopefully a big raise from someone holding a ten. He leads out for a third of the pot, $12 bucks. How much do I have in my stack anyway, he thinks? $125 left. They both have slightly under that, but we are all playing at slightly above table stakes here. This could be a big score. Sure enough, he is getting action. The first player just calls. But the player on the button moves all-in! Perfection! Now, think for a while, make it look like it is a tough call for you. Maybe, just maybe, you can get the first caller all-in too. Maybe they both have tens. Would that be as perfect as it gets? He is picturing dragging a $400 pot in his head while feigning a difficult decision but then the questionable stability of “Ted’s Network” comes to mind. OK, OK, don’t take any chances here. Just call while your connection is still sound. And, sure enough, the connection is perfect, the call is made and all is well in the world. All except that caller one thinks better of the situation and bails out.

… practice has stopped and the kids are gathered around for a quiet word from the coach. The parents conversations tend to stop at these times as they cock their heads and try to listen into whatever pearls of wisdom the coaches are giving their aspiring pros half a football field away. The words are never quite heard, but each parent will get a full rundown later anyway…

Inside the Focus, our hero is ecstatic. The river card is running off, and sure enough, it’s a blank. The only card that would have been bad was probably a ten, but a little black three can’t hurt. There is no straight flush out there. Nothing to beat my mans godly Aces full. Eddie KGB took Matt Damon’s whole BR with just this very hand.

… everyone is listening very intently right now…

Something is wrong. The chips are going the other way. A fucking computer malfunction or some such shit. What the hell! He glances at the other players cards. Nothing. Just a fucking middle pair. I HAVE ACES FULL!

Oh, shit. The realization hits him. It is a middle pair all right - a pair of tens. Quad fucking tens!

… the coach is hitting upon a technical nuance of proper blocking in quiet contemplative tones…

The surprise is too great. The shock is too powerful. The sudden jolt too emotional. It must come out! “MOTHER-FUCKING-GODDAMN-MOTHER-FUCKING-QUADS???!!!! WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT HORSE SHIT! JESUS CHRIST!” Our Hero smashes the dashboard as hard as he can with his open palm and the air duct cover pops out, flying across the car and out the cracked window. “MOTHER FUCKER! MOTHER FUCKER! Mother Fucker!” He is furious and screaming at the top of his lungs, but it is trailing off. “Jesus Christ that sucks!”

… what was once quiet is now absolute stunned silence. Two children turn their head to the parking area and then quickly turn away, as if Mike Caro had just caught them flopping the nuts and filmed it for a DVD. Not their Dad, their turned heads are trying to convey. The coaches jaw drops. Hoards of parents are staring in utter disbelief as our driver exits the car and slams the door shut, looking for the vent cover and trying to get his composure. He is still muttering obscenities. Only now does he start to realize that there are people staring at him. He turns to the masses and freezes, in stunned realization being viewed by a hundred or more other people who are equally stunned by what has just transpired. The moment lasts what seems like forever. It is excruciatingly painful. As painful as getting Aces Full beaten by quads. Then one by one each observer pretends to go back to what they were doing as if nothing had happened…

It was just another night at football practice.