Velociworld

6, 7, 8

Here's a Senator story for you.

There is a game we always played called Bonanza, growing up. There is a newfangled version (dating back only 80 years or so) called Michigan Rummy. The idea is, you have a board, with certain things laid out as prizes. You have your Pot, and Kitty, of course, but you also have the Queen of Diamonds, the Ace of Spades, the Jack of Clubs, the ten of hearts, the King of Hearts, the King and Queen of Hearts, and: here me brethren and sistren, the 6-7-8 of ANY suit.

So one is dealt cards, and as they play out in canasta fashion one is rewarded with the ante in each individual pot.

Did I mention the 6-7-8 must be of the same suit? Yes. ANY suit, but the same suit. Therefore winning it was rare, and the pot within that egregious slice would grow, and grow, and grow. Until it was a veritable begum's fortune.

And so it was one night, when my parents were playing Bonanza on the fantail of a party boat. All is good, the liquor is flowing like the tides. And the Senator has been muttering.

Loses at cards, wins at love! he would bark. I know this, because he inculcated that in me over the years. Loses at cards wins at love, he told me. Meaning he couldn't play poker worth a shit, but was sanguine of his romantic prospects, I reckon.

At any rate, they had been playing on the fantail of this boat with good friends, and the Senator drew a 6-7-8, and his chops were glistening. See, he had won $3,000 in a poker game during World War II, and had sent it back to his momma, and had sworn never to play cards again, but he was breaking Lady Luck's hymen here, and pressing on. And yet. Just. Just. Just as he was about to play his 6-7-8, and reap that glorious fortune, Reesie Seig played a 6-7-8, and scalloped all that money unto herself. Literally scraped the damned board clean of all that filthy lucre right under his nose, just as he was about to play his 6-7-8 in all its glory. A begum's fortune, indeed.

The Senator, of course, did what any red-blooded American male would do. He took the entire playboard, and poker chips, and playing cards, and cocktails, and waiter, I suspect, and threw them over the fantail. Into the briny deep. And cursed them with words I would be embarrassed to reveal, although I understand he called the dealer a peccant bastard, and demanded justice, being only denied by the fact there was no dealer, just two couples playing cards.

Funny the things you remember as a child. I should be ashamed of the old man for that, and yet. And yet. And yet. THERE GO I!!!

I love it when a crop comes full circle. Or a circle comes full crop.