The Small Man - Part III

Although I was still greatly discombobulated after my encounter with the small man at the Bellagio buffet, I managed to enjoy the remainder of my Vegas vacation without significant incident. I made sure to play my poker in off-strip cardrooms, stayed away from the Bellagio and took to wearing sunglasses, a wig and full make-up at all times. You can't be too careful when you're dealing with a demented maniac such as the small man. With each passing day however, my sense of trepidation grew less and the memory of my horrific encounter with the small man grew dimmer.

So it was with a renewed sense of equilibrium that I boarded my flight home to Ireland after two weeks in Sin City. I had imbibed several large rum and cokes in the airport bar in order to aid my descent into slumber and, having discovered my seat, I settled into it (noting the bonus of empty seats either side of me) and fell fast asleep. My dreams however were not pleasant full as they were of violent imagery and upsetting, angry thoughts. I awoke in a sweat, panic coursing through my veins. I slowly calmed down as I realised where I was and then I glanced to my left and there he was. The small man sat there, smiling quizzically at me.

Terror gripped my heart and I reached for the stewardess button but the small man, displaying surpising strength for one so diminutive, gripped my wrist and whispered "I wouldn't do that if I were you". He then showed me what was in his other hand - an evilly sharp, serrated knife that glinted dully in the dim light of the first class cabin. I forced my hands to my sides, shaking uncontrollably and managed to choke out the words "what do you want?".The swine regarded me with a diabolical leer and began to speak, enunciating his words as precisely as ever.

"Yesterday I manged to add another poker story to my collection. This one was related to me by an elderly gentleman who used to deal at Binions Casino in the late 1960s. It seems that at this time, the late, great Johnny Moss had taken up residence more or less permanently in Binions and had cleaned out most of the high stakes players in Las Vegas. He was now unanimously decreed to be the greatest player who ever lived and rich amateurs travelled from all over the world to challenge him in heads-up contests that invariably ended with them skulking away with their bankrolls busted and their pride punctured.

At this time, a band of young English troubadors were taking the popular music world in America by storm. These fellows did not have the cheeky, boy-next-door appeal of the Beatles but were a much more fecund lot, given as they were to sexually provocative lyrics, extravagant displays of drug-taking and wild partying. Their leader was a man called Jagger, a sexually ambivalent creature of enormous charm and who possessed a tremendous proclivity for seducing any attractive person who fell within his orbit.

In those days, pop acts did not fly between the major metropolitan centres of America as they do now but rather toured the roads of the nation in great cavalcades of buses and lorries. The band had a particularly well appointed party bus in which they would while away the intervals between cities with bacchanalian orgies. During the interminable summer of 1968, Jagger had struck up a friendship with one of his roadies, a young man called Bob who hailed from Texas. Bob was a keen disciple of poker and, in quiet moments, taught Jagger the intricacies of a game called Texas Hold 'Em.

Jagger, having both an addictive personality and a sharp brain, quickly mastered this new game and, within a short period, had won all of his new friend's wages (although Bob considered that the free drugs and excess groupies that came his way were a more than ample compensation for his loss). One day, while cruising through the arid Arizona desert, Jagger asked Bob who he thought the best poker player in the world was. "No question about it", replied the young Texan, "Johnny Moss is the greatest poker player that ever lived. And, what's more, you'll be able to play him tomorrow in Las Vegas".

Jagger was delighted at this news and instructed his roadie to make the necessary arrangements for the game. Moss was contacted and instantly agreed to a game of Hold 'Em with the brash young entertainer. At the appointed hour, Jagger, resplendent in a white satin suit and blue crocodile-skin boots, arrived in the cardroom and was directed towards Moss's table. The old road gambler was nearly sick to his stomach at the sight of this creature and resolved there and then to take every last penny that this abominable fop had.

They sat down to play with two hundred thousand dollars a man in front, a large sum now and an absolute fortune in those day's terms. Before they began, Jagger informed Moss that he had one embellishment which he wished incorporated into the game. His wish was that if either man showed down a successful bluff with seven-deuce, he would be paid ten thousand dollars by the other. This apparently was a ploy used by Bob in his game to spice up the action. Moss, certain of his ability to bust this foolish degenerate, agreed instantly.

The game commenced and, for six hours, fluctuated one way and then the other. Initially, Jagger played with flamboyant aggression and worked his stack up to three hundred thousand dollars. Slowly however, the old maestro worked out his opponent's style and began to claw back the deficit until the game was back to level pegging. It was agreed that one more hand would be played and that battle would recommence the next day.

The cards were dealt and, with blinds of 200/400, Jagger made a raise to fifteen hundred dollars. it appeared that Moss was about to muck his cards but, after a long stare from his heavy-lidded eyes, he tossed the required chips into the pot. The flop then came ace-ace-king and Moss checked. Without hesitation, Jagger fired out an enormous bet of ten thousand dollars. Moss leaned back in his chair and again eyeballed Jagger for a long minute. He then called. The turn came an apparently innocent six and Moss checked once more. Jagger casually moved fifty thousand dollars into the pot and it appeared to all the railbirds that the hand was surely over.

Not so. Moss once again leaned back in his chair and deliberated. Eventually he separated out fifty thousand dollars from his chip stack and shovelled them into the pot. The air of anticipation around the table grew and the onlookers craned their necks over the rope for a better view. The river was a blank, the four of diamonds and, yet again, Moss checked quickly. Jagger waved his hands in the air, motioned towards his stack and confidently uttered the phrase "all-in". Without hesitation, Moss jumped from his chair and shouted "I call!". The sweating dealer looked at both players and said "showdown gentlemen".

A white-faced Jagger turned over his cards. Seven-deuce, a stone-cold bluff. Moss let him hang there for a moment until the dealer tremulously said "Mr Moss sir, you must show your cards in order to claim the pot". Moss slowly revealed his first card - the three of spades and then his other - the eight of clubs. The entire casino grew deathly quiet as Moss leaned in towards his opponent and uttered these immortal words:

"A Rolling Stone Hammers no Moss"

At this juncture I must have passed out. Sometimes I wish I had never woken again.

el S