While these thoughts were running through my head, Al, a regular at the club, decided that he’d had enough. As Al said good night to the other eight players and me, and walked away, the dealer shouted, “Seat open!” Within about, oh, five seconds, a rather sleazy-looking guy — complete with comb-over and missing teeth — sat down. I quickly noticed that this guy, whose name was Charles, had an unusual amount of chips for a 3-6 game (close to $1,200). It was fairly obvious that he was just killing time until his name was called for one of the higher-stakes games.

Well, by the time the round was through, I was only up $100. I missed two open-ended straight draws, and flopped a set that ended up losing to a flush. These hands wouldn’t have cost me nearly as much if Charles played like money had some sort of value. Unfortunately, by that point, I was officially on “tilt” and couldn’t discipline myself to get up and walk away as I had planned. I was still up for the night, but now it felt like I was losing. I kept thinking to myself, “As soon as I get my stack back to $400, I’m leaving — no matter what.” After two uneventful blind hands, I was once again the button. I squeezed my cards to find . . . two kings.

Everybody folded to me, which, in retrospect, was very bizarre. Yet it didn’t strike me as odd at the time because I was: 1) quite agitated, and 2) totally focused on my kings. Anyway, I raised, praying that Charles would continue to play recklessly and re-raise — like he did every other time. My prayers were answered and we were now heads up. I capped it and vowed to play the entire hand aggressively. “Even if an ace flops, play it strong,” I told myself. 

Charles interrupted my thoughts, inquiring, “You got something good there, or just trying to steal my blind?” I didn’t reply. Nor did I look in his direction. My face was harder than stone as I stared directly at the cards in the dealer’s hand. The dealer then burned a card and spread out the first three: seven of spades, seven of hearts, and king of diamonds. I’d flopped kings full!

I was certain that after this hand I could go home completely unfazed by Charles and his moronic play. Charles, for his part, checked the flop. I bet strongly, as intended. Yet I’d barely released my $3 in chips when I heard Charles interject, “Upstairs!” My plan was evidently working — he was trying to move me off the hand, thinking that I was just stealing the blinds. Gazing straight at the board, and nothing else, I re-raised — quietly but firmly. 

“What can you possibly have?” asked Charles. I could feel him eyeing me, trying to elicit some sort of reaction. Then, he said, “One more time,” and raised again. I wasn’t sure if there was a raising cap at this particular club, so I asked the dealer (in a monotonous tone, of course) if I could raise again. My wish was denied. 

The dealer burned the next card and then turned over a seven of diamonds.  Admittedly, that was probably the last card I wanted to see — just in the off chance that my maniacal opponent had the fourth seven. I still wasn’t particularly worried, though, and we banged heads again, raising until neither of us could raise anymore. 

“Good luck to you,” offered Charles, as the dealer turned the final card: seven of clubs. It took a moment to register in my brain, but then I realized that my hand had gone from kings full to four sevens with a king high. Charles looked at the board, laughed, and said to the dealer, “Get ready to split the pot. . . . But I’ll bet anyway, just in case.” At that point I could do nothing but curse as I flung my chips into the pot.

“I got the nuts,” proclaimed Charles as he flipped over his ace/three off suit. I was so shocked that my body went numb.

In a daze, I picked up my remaining chips, left my cards as they were, and got up without saying a word. As I walked away, I overheard one player say, “Can I see that hand please, dealer?” And the last thing I remember hearing was a long and nasty string of expletives. I’m still not entirely sure if they were coming from the other players or me.