In the process of busting out of the World Series of Poker $1,500 stud8 event the other night – a process with which I am quite familiar – I had the sheer delight of spending my last two hours of table time with the incomparable Marcel Luske.
Playing with “The Flying Dutchman” reminded me of how poker used to be and how it ought to be.
Many of you might remember Marcel from the early days of the TV poker boom. With upside-down sunglasses on his forehead, he finished 14th in the 2003 Main Event and 10th in the 2004 Main Event, all the while serenading his table-mates with an occasional tune or two.
Marcel is, at all times, a true gentleman of the game: Good-natured, friendly, affable, entertaining, constantly engaging those around him. He has people skills lost on the latest generation of hoodied, texting, ear-bud-laden, hide-under-your-shades stumble bums littering no limit hold ‘em tables across our teetering democracy.
I also have odd and glorious personal history with Marcel:
Ten years ago, he was an accidental guest at my most recent wedding. Toni and I tied the knot at the ESPN feature table in the Amazon Room on an off-day of the 2007 Main Event, filmed by our wonderful friends at 441 Productions. At the start of the ceremony, Marcel wandered in, somewhat uninvited, and became our only high-profile guest.
I’ve always regarded Marcel’s presence as blessing and providential omen, and, indeed, Toni and I – against all odds – remain married (as of this morning).
Anyhow, at the stud8 event the other evening, Marcel and I both had similar, diminishing chip stacks when we got involved in a three-way hand with another poker buddy of mine, Yueqi “Rich” Zhu.
(Incidentally, Rich and Marcel are two of the more accomplished WSOP performers without a bracelet – Rich has 59 cashes, Marcel 32.)
At hand’s end, Marcel and I both made stud8 monsters: Each of us had an ace-high flush and an 8 low; Rich had SQUADOOSH. Marcel bet and both of us called. As it turns out, Marcel’s flush was slightly better than mine (ace-10 to ace-8) and his low was slightly better (8-7-5 to 8-7-6), and he scooped a big, big pot.
I was left with crumbs.
From across the table, Marcel could feel my hurt, and when our eyes met after the hand, he looked as if he might give me all my chips back, if he could.
Heck, a true gentleman would have.
