I just re-read the excellent little poker-story book “The Biggest Game In Town”, written a few years back by the equally excellent London-based journalist Al Alvarez. This book chronicles, more or less, the birth and growth of the World Series of Poker, at least of its early days, and, while it’s at it, captures the attitudes of many of the then- (some, still-) top-list players. There’s lots there to read, good stories to be amused by and learn from, but one theme struck me more strongly than others. A facet of the professional poker player’s life that clearly separates him or her from me is their attitude about money. These guys brood about their winning or losing hands or sessions, of course, but they don’t seem to care at all about the money except as a vehicle that allows them to practice their craft. It isn’t disdain, it’s more a lack of concern, and it’s expressed variously by different people. Chip Reese, who at the time had played professionally in Las Vegas since 1974, opined “I’d like to be able to say I’m….worried about my budget, but when I play poker for hundreds of thousands of dollars a day, what do I care if a Popsicle costs ten cents here and twelve cents there?” The still-playing and even-more-famous-now Dole Brunson said “In order to play high-stakes poker, you must have a total disregard for money….it’s just an instrument, and the only time you notice it is when you run out.”

There was a time when I was able to relate to that, at least a little. If a business venture didn’t make much money, and I had several businesses that did OK but didn’t sustain, well, that’s just the nature of it, and we’ll get ‘em next time. Now, however, the sand is running fast down in my glass and there can’t be all that many next times, or at least I don’t feel like there are. My income is primarily fixed now and is certainly modest, my 401K, like most folks’, has been brutishly trashed by the economic downturn, and I can no longer easily imagine losing or winning, say, $500 or $1,000 playing poker in any given day….at that, a tiny amount compared to the sums Brunson and Reese were talking about but real money to me then and apparently even more so now.

I say “apparently” because, while I am still playing poker, I’m just obviously more restrictive in what I choose to play…can’t handle all that much risk anymore. Mostly I play tournaments on-line where my risk is set and defined; I can only lose the entry fee into the tournament, and I don’t play for more than $75 at a time, and usually for much less. Even the $2 and $5 tournaments have seen my smiling digital face (well, actually they’ve seen my avatar, which at this point is a turtle). When my change in attitutude developed I’m not sure;  in fact I only consciously realized my internal resistence to playing bigger-money poker games a couple of days ago when Trevor, one of the local Tiffin employees and a guy that, as Brunson would say, “has a lot of gamble” in him, came to the door to ask me if I wanted to play in a Texas Hold-Em  game they had running a town over that evening. He described the game and it was definitely my huckleberry…a low-bring-in No Limit Hold-em game, one or two dollars to start, no limit on how much you can bet once the three intermediate cards (“The Flop”) are visible. Better, it was populated by local guys who each had a fair amount of money. Exclusive of Trevor, who is still a working guy, these were youngish guys but apparently only semi-working. Poker, even no-limit, wasn’t much of money stretch for these guys and they would often play all night just for the joy of the game, which of course is how it should be. This is a game that I should love, and, frankly, one that I would probably beat.

Except that I just don’t have much gamble in me right now. I know that things wind down a bit once you are retired, and that you pay more attention to nickles and dimes when you used to let the dollars take care of themselves. But it ain’t fair, somehow, to lose your gamble. It’s like losing your macho, your ‘tude, your mojo. Playing big-money poker, or at least big enough to make you a little tingly, is like asking out a cheerleader, having her think about it, and then saying yes, (this being the one I married, in my case), and playing for pennies is like taking your sister to the Prom. One is risky but worth it. The other gets you to the dance but you don’t care. Dumb analogy, but you get it, right?