In the City of Sin, the Devil walks among us. He goes by the name of David, and wherever you go, he'll be there. You might not notice him at first, but, eventually, you'll begin to feel his presence. A glance over the shoulder and there he'll be, lurking, mysteriously, with his long black hair and bottomless eyes, his shoulders hunched as he surveys the immediate area. In some ways, he reminds me of the Tall Man from Phantasm.
I'm not the first to have noticed him. In 2008, Dr. Pauly of taoofpoker interviewed fellow journalist Brad 'Otis' Willis, who believed he was being stalked by the Devil. He identified the same creepy features and that ever-present sense that he was watching your every move. For Otis, Vegas was the Devil's backyard, his playground, and the players of the Rio were his pawns in whatever game he chose to play.
Sunday was my first day off since arriving in Vegas, so what better way to spend my time than coming back to the Rio to play a $1,000 donkament. I started well and got my 3,000 up to 6,500 without actually doubling up. Everything seemed to be going swimmingly. And then I looked up. In the distance, the Devil was approaching. Otis described it as "floating", although I'm not sure that's accurate. It was more like those few seconds where the girl exits the television screen in Ringu and advances across the room in sudden bursts of pace. The only difference, though, was that the Devil was scarier. His unorthodox posture, spindly frame and piercing stare made him an unwelcome addition to the table for all of those who saw through his flimsy disguise.
I spoke to French reporter Benjo last night about this guy, and he confirmed my fears. "Ah, dude," he started, sitting up awkwardly in his chair. "Yeah, I know him. He's from Austin, Texas and he comes here every year. He's always alone and never talks to anyone. If you try to ask him a question, he'll just be evasive. Nobody knows what he does or how he gets his money, but he's always here playing. He's definitely the Devil."
As I probed further into the murky depths of the Devil's past, Benjo held the torch and revealed that in 2006, the Devil arrived with a miniature set of drums, drums of death, if you will. He'd place these drums underneath the table, and every time he'd win a pot he'd play them with his feet. Just a couple of beats and a smash of the cymbal. For the next two years he arrived sans drums, but in 2009, they were back again, and even made it to an ESPN episode. At "shuffle up and deal" of the Main Event, the Devil celebrated the moment with a dum, dum, putissssssh, rising from his seat as he bashed two cymbals together, but this wasn't a celebration, these was the chimes of doom, and only a select amount of people knew. The only question was when the Devil would strike, not if. A tournament director actually confiscated the drums temporarily, but this merely made him the Devil's opening target.
If you think I'm being silly, overacting, then check this out: on one of the donkements, Benjo reported that the Devil had randomly been seated on Seat 6, Table 66. Nobody believed him at first, but when they trundled into the tournament area, there he was, in that exact seat, looking mighty content with himself and grinning devilishly at those who passed by. He wasn't in seat six when he arrived at my table, but seat three. I looked down at his chips and he had 3.3k. "Need a double-up," he mumbled with a shake of the head. The hairs on the back of my neck stood up like soldiers at attention.
As the game progressed, I tired to block out his presence, but it was impossible. I couldn't take my eyes off him, and every now and then, he'd look up at me menacingly and I'd quickly look away in fear that I'd turn to stone or be condemned for eternity. There was certainly no way I was ever going to nick his blind, however tight he was. And if he tried to steal mine, I would be conceding quicker than the French national soccer team.
In one hand, the Devil raised from the big blind after multiple players had limped. Most people folded, but one foolish, naive soul made the call. There was action on the streets, but by the river, the Devil found that his pocket kings had been outdrawn by 8-7 suited which made two pair. The Devil looked down at his depleted stack, then at his opponent: "Nice... fucking... cards," he sneered in a slow, but menacing voice. "Nice... fucking... cards." At this point, I knew that the 8-7 man was unlikely to be appearing at next year's event.
Throughout his time at the table, the Devil was constantly mumbling under his breath. I couldn't make out what he was saying; it was possible it was in some sort of unknown language, maybe he was speaking in tongues. Sporadically, he would make strange noises, placing his head in his hands before moaning quietly to himself, almost as if he was enduring the worst migraine ever. I was going to ask him if he was OK, but thought better of it.
The Devil's spell in the event was short-lived. After letting his stack dwindle down, he eventually moved all in for his last few chips and was called by a player at the opposite end of the table. As the Devil revealed A-Q, I wished him good luck, to no response. I don't know why I said this. Maybe it was out of fear, in the hope that if he got knocked out, I would be spared. His opponent showed aces, and the Devil gave me a brief glance, a glance that will stay with me forever. The bullets held, and the Devil was out. Gone, but not forgotten. After he left, a dark cloud remained over the table. Others probably didn't notice, but I felt it. Despite his early demise, the Devil had left his mark, and I felt that in someway or another, we had all been cursed.
"I'll never speak to him," claimed Benjo. "Otis tired to speak to him once, but didn't get anywhere. He wouldn't give him a straight answer to any of his questions. If Otis asked him what he did for a living, he'd just answer, 'I play games'. This guy is so mysterious. The irony of it all is that I think he's Jewish." "Irony is one of the Devil's favourite toys," I replied. "It's a way of keeping himself amused."
image shamelessly borrowed/stolen from toaofpoker
Previous Blog Entries:
May 23: My Old School Teacher
May 31: Welcome to America; Let the Institutionalising Begin
June 1: Pleasure & Pain
June 5: 100% British Beef
June 9: Alphabetti Spaghetti & Giant Meatballs
June 13: Colour Me Up
June 14: The Crying Game
June 20: Last Gasps
WSOP Reports:
Employee of the Month
Fairytale Endings
Must Be Nice
Make Mine a Double
Blonde on Blonde
Summer of Sam
Chuft to Bits
Under the Radar
Sites/blogs I read:
blonde Poker 'Feed Your Wild Side' Thread
Hard Boiled Poker
Pokerati
Pot Committed
Riding the F Train
Tao of Poker
Wicked Chops Poker
Sites/blogs I would read if they weren't in a foreign language:
Las Vegas, Off the Record