TPT Archive: Someone Call 911, Gus Needs a Donut!

Someone Call 911, Gus Needs a Donut!
(previously posted at Texas Poker Trails, October, 2006)

It was a normal afternoon session at Table 3. I sat down with my usual chip stack to begin play. Nothing unusual was noticed except for the man sitting next to me. Gus (not his real name...I don't know his real name) was sitting on my left directly across from the dealer. From what I could observe Gus was elderly, overweight, messy, and not a very good player. I say he was messy because there were remnants of a previous snack still clinging to his chin and lips, maybe a cookie or cracker. He did not speak. His expression was emotionless and I thought he might be on the verge of going to sleep.

I first noticed his glasses, thick and heavy resting midway down his nose. Those glasses became a crucial part of routine which caused me to experience an ethical dilemma. I'm from the old school and still believe you play poker with fairness, and a certain amount of ethics. There is nothing lower on the food chain than a card cheat. Therefore, when I noticed the routine Gus employed to preview his hole cards I was faced with an ethical decision. Gus would regularly expose his cards to me.

The routine would go something like this: Gus would receive his two cards face down on the felt. He would pick them up with both hands, then lift them high off the table and bring them within inches of his nose. Once in place, he would hold the cards with his left hand and then lift his glasses with his right hand. Once his glasses were in the right position, he was able to see his cards. Hand after hand it was the same routine. He would hold the cards with his left hand up to his nose, adjust his glasses with his right hand, then make his decision to fold, raise, or call. The only problem with this routine is that he exposed his cards. All I had to do was glance his way when his right hand grabbed his glasses. His right hand no longer shielded his cards from view and left both cards open for preview by any player on his right.

What was I to do? I certainly was not going to cheat and take advantage of him. Or should I? Should I tell him? Should I remind the dealer that is was wrong for players to lift their cards off the table? (Some dealers are stricter than others and will often remind players to not lift their cards off the table.) I tried my best to not look his way, but his cards were so clearly and regularly exposed I couldn't help but seem them at times.

I see neither honor nor advantage in cheating, even when the opportunity is so readily available. As I have stated, I'm from the old school. I like to believe I have the same code of honor as others from the old days, as evidenced by Doyle Brunson and others: cheaters deserve to be run out of town, if not shot on sight. Some young players I’ve seen need to understand that poker players, gamblers in general, do have a code. The code is you don't cheat, you keep your word, and you pay your debts. (Jamie Gold should take note!)

So when Gus continued to show me his cards over the next few minutes, I considered my options. However Gus made any decision mute, for he was moments away from taking a trip to the hospital.

It happened this way. I took a bathroom break and a walk around the casino for about 15 minutes, all the time thinking about cheating and ethical issues and gamblers. I soon made it back to Table 3 and sat down, glancing at my cards and chip stack. No more than a minute or two went by when I heard the dealer yell out for the pit boss, "I need help!" I then heard the dealer say that Gus was unresponsive and just staring down at the table. I immediately glanced over and saw him, crumbs from a previous snack still hanging from the corner of his mouth. I noticed he was just staring at the table. Not really asleep, his eyes open, but totally unaware or unable to move or speak.

"We've called the EMTs," the pit boss quietly said. "An ambulance will be here shortly."

"Do I need to move?" I asked. After all, I'm sitting next to a guy who is having a seizure or something. "What do you want me to do?"

"Right now, we're just waiting for help," said the boss.

The dealer on the other hand, knew exactly what to do when you have a guy in a coma at the table: deal cards and keep playing. So the dealer dealt us a hand! Get the picture in your mind: eight players, one dealer, one guy in coma, the pit boss and a security guard standing by, and we are dealt cards and are expected to keep playing as if nothing was happening. Had the Titanic had a poker room, I'm sure players and dealers alike would have gone down with the ship.

"Are we going to keep playing?" I said loud enough so everyone could hear me. "Let's not let a guy having a heart attack keep us from playing." I sounded a little miffed. I'm not sure what the other players were thinking. What was I supposed to do? I'm sitting with a guy in coma on my left and I'm supposed to go on with the game? I glance over at Gus and he's still just staring down at the table, in a trance, unaware.

I finally had to acknowledge the absurdity of the situation and said, "I'm taking a break. I can't play until Gus is cared for." By that time, a casino staff person was trying to speak to Gus and arouse some kind of response. Nothing. Nada. The rest of the players at the table remained in their seats and actually played a hand while Gus was being probed and jostled. "Is he having a heart attack, or what?"

After a few minutes, play at the table did cease and the other players joined me and got out of the way. Most of us were standing around near the front wall watching the scene unfold. There was Gus, still unresponsive, at the table alone with casino personnel trying to make sure he was kept safe until the ambulance arrived. Twenty minutes later the EMTs arrived with a stretcher.

It was a weird scene. I guess it happens occasionally. The poker room was full of players and all of the tables were in action except for Table 3. The EMTs moved the stretcher through the gawking crowd and finally made it over to Gus, who was still staring at the table. They administered oxygen, checked his vital signs, and after a while placed him on the stretcher. On his way out, I did notice he was somewhat awake. He was clear headed enough to mention that his wife was playing the slots somewhere in the casino. She would have to be located and notified of his situation.

We finally made it back to Table 3 soon after Gus left. We all received a food comp for our trouble, and play resumed. An hour or so later someone brought us the news that Gus was a diabetic and he needed insulin, or something, He had gone into diabetic shock, or whatever. He was okay.

"Well, I should have brought him one of those stale donuts from the snack area," I said trying to be funny. "It gives new meaning to the phrase, ‘Pass me the sugar.’"

A week later I returned to the poker room and saw Gus at Table 9, playing the game as usual. Gus had not changed his routine, even after diabetic shock. He held the cards with his left hand inches from his nose, adjusted his glasses with his right hand, and exposed his cards. The player to his right, of course, glanced over and had smile on his face.