THIS IS A TALE OF my first real-life Texas Hold ’em no-limit casino poker experience using real money that I worked hard to earn.

We moved into the Eldorado on Sunday and on Thursday I finally mustered the mustard to play cards. Buy-in was $50 to $300. Unlimited additional buy-ins were allowed between hands. I risked one Benny Franklin. The counter clerk pointed me to the last empty seat at a full table of serious men hunkered expressionless over their various-sized mountains of $5 chips.

I squeezed in between two large men. A guy with glasses and a ball cap to my right had a rolling food cart beside him. A half-eaten white bread sandwich and an equally halved mystery cocktail sat upon it. Before him sat a modest stack of chips, bigger than my buy-in.

A round gray-haired giant of man with a round nose and pleasant way of grinning and dropping his chin to my left welcomed me with a Southern drawl. He looked like a truck or classic car enthusiast. Others around the table had different looks. At least four nationalities were represented of all ages over 30.

I introduced myself to the table, confessed to being a first-time player, and said if I made any rule or etiquette mistakes, I apologize in advance. They happily welcomed me into their game. I got my first cards, 3, 5 —garbage. Thank goodness. I folded, sat out, and took some time to look things over.

I studied each player in turn. Weighed their stacks. Noted who folded. The guy who drew my attention most was talking to us all at the far end. He had the biggest mouth and the largest stack of red chips. It was a grand, and it looked like a New York skyline.

When I sat down a live hand had reached the river, or last card. The pile of chips in the center was greater than my buy-in. Several players were in betting at the $20 range around the table, until it got to Mr. Big Stacks. He promptly used his inflated wealth to bully. He raised $90, causing everyone to fold. The pot was his without showing cards.

Next deal gave me junk again. Just like last round, betting was modest until it got to Mr. I’m Telling You. He wasn’t saying anything offensive or goading, just talking a string. Again he raised quadruple the table bet and the table folded. Then he was quiet for a few hands, but I noticed that he stayed in frequently. That’s a tell. He’s a bluffer. Players don’t get great cards frequently.

I made mistakes. I played out of turn twice, once by tossing in my bad cards the instant I got them, another by placing my bet too soon. “Excuse me, guys. I’m sorry.”

Mr. New York Skyline directed some of his riffraff in my direction, rambling about unfair advantages and spoiling the hand. Winners came from around the table. I played tight as a drum, folding K, 8 off-suit.

Finally, I got some playing cards, 10, 10. Someone else raised the bet before me so I stayed in for the flop with most players. All three cards were below 10. I raised, some joined me, and at the river card, Mr. Stacks-a-Plenty raised a small high-rise. Boo, he was saying, I inferred. I called him. Showdown.

OK. This was brand-new territory for me. I wasn’t sure what to do with my cards. Do I flip them over, or does the dealer flip them over, like in blackjack? Unsure, I pushed them toward her face down while asking her who should flip them over.

Mr. Stack’s-a-Leaving went berserk and started yelling, “He folded! He folded! He pushed his cards over the line! He’s done.” Then he jumped up and began pacing back and forth pointing his finger in the air, drawing the attention of the pit boss and counter clerk who came over.

Waving upward in an arch across this great land he yelled, “In every casino in America pushing your cards across that line is a fold, no questions asked.”

By then Mr. Ball Cap nudged me and said, “You flip ’em.” And I did, revealing tens. The pit boss was standing there.
“I didn’t fold. I called.”

The guy to the right of Ball Cap said in my defense, “Why would he fold a pair of 10s?”

“I told everybody I’m new at this. I didn’t know how to handle my cards.” I rested on my ignorance.

Mr. There Goes a Skyscraper continued to bellow, “In every card room in the country, sliding your cards —”

“In this card room, sir,” said the pit boss, “It’s a live bet. Continue,” and he walked away.

The dealer slid a big handful of chips my way. It was fun to stack them up. Mr. Super Stack left the table.

I folded a bunch more and caught a pair, 8, 8 and an 8 came up on the flop. I won that pile. A few hands later I got the best hand possible, A, A. I raised at every step, folding players along the way. The pot grew and grew. One guy, small, quiet, stayed to the river showdown and pushed his stack All In. I called him and he proudly flipped over Q, Q. I had to break the news by flipping over my A, A.

I played for an hour and won more than double my stake.

Steve Gibbs teaches at Benicia High School and has written a column for The Herald since 1985.