Who was that guy?

As quickly as he came, he was gone…

His attire suggested he could afford the money he was about to lose; yet his demeanor presented a certain confidence that confused my senses.

He settled himself, and before I could even form a coherent opinion, he was posting under-the-gun. I gave him an interested glance, which he noticed, only to smile with nonchalance in return.

“What a dick,” I think to myself, as I am wont to do, without any real evidence supporting my assertion.

The game progresses, and as it turns out, the mystery man proved to be a real sweetheart. He very quickly became friendly with the players surrounding him, congratulating them on their two-outers, while slowly beginning his own financial bleeding. The man may even have won me over, if I weren’t so steadfastly against poker table small talk.

An hour passes, and the gentleman has found every possible way of losing a hand. His aces lost twice, as his kings and queens equally went down in flames. As it turns out, however, the man is not only unlucky, but truly a terrible card player. His plays and mannerisms suggest that he’s never once tried his hand at a competitive poker game.

The man drops one rack, two racks, three racks…

He continues to smile, taking hundred after hundred from his wallet, gently laying it on the felt. He, of course, tips each time the chip runner brings him more ammunition.

Each time another rack is placed in front of him, however, he feels required to play each hand as if another one weren’t coming right behind it. Raise. Raise. Re-raise. Call, king-high. Raise that river, oops, missed my draw, nice hand…

$900 later, even this jovial gentleman has had enough. He gets all-in with his 4-9, loses with two-pair and laughs. He stands up, says his goodbyes and well-wishes, and heads toward the door.

I watch the man exit, as content with himself as when he first entered the card room, charismatic and friendly, boisterous and energetic.

I turn back to my table and inquire of the dealer, “Wow, who was that guy, I wonder?”

The dealer looks puzzled, as if I’d asked an absurdly outrageous question.

“Him? Oh, that was Mitch. He’ll be back tomorrow, I’m sure.”