The woman sitting immediately to my left the other night had an interesting philosophy for a poker player.
She was young and attractive, probably in her early 20s, but she looked tired and she was a terrible player. Every hand, good or bad, she called, almost never raising or folding before the flop or, for that matter, after. Occasionally she'd drag a pot, but not often, and she kept digging into her purse for another hundred.
A few of the dealers who came to the table asked if she'd been home; turned out she'd been at the same table, apparently losing the whole time, for more than 24 hours straight. After a while a young guy sat in and tried flirting with her.
Sure would be nice to hit the jackpot, the guy said. We could go buy matching Mercedes. Her reply, I thought, explained everything:
"I don't care about material things."
Hands in The Muck ... and other Puget Sound cardrooms
