We were in Las Vegas with my wife's sisters and parents celebrating her 41st birthday.  I promised my father-in-law I would take him to the Wynn for dinner the next time I came to Las Vegas.  After dinner, we were supposed to get dropped off at our hotel, and her parents would go home.  But shortly before we set out, we got the call that the sisters were up in North Las Vegas -- at the Poker Palace Casino -- playing $5 Bingo and $1 Blackjack.  Since this was close to home for my in-laws, we decided to travel up to NLV and hitch a ride home from the sisters. 

The poker room was empty while it was preparing for a $15 NLHE re-buy tournament.  Since we had nothing else to do for a while, three of us signed up for this low stakes tournament.  We didn't even know it was a re-buy tournament until the completion of the first hand.  Had I known it, I would have tripled up on the very first hand -- by playing a suited 10-6 of diamonds. 

Clue to being in a Hillbilly Hell Hole

After the first hand, I realized this was a re-buy tournament and I asked for a re-buy (even though I hadn't lost any chips).  The dealer politely informs me that I need to be under 3000 chips in order to re-buy (we all started with 3000).  So on the next hand, I put in my blind, immediately fold on the flop, and ask for a re-buy.  This play confused many of the other players at the table.  A discussion ensued, and they asked me "but you still have chips, why are you doing a re-buy?"  I answered:  "because you may re-buy when you have less than 3000 chips, and I now have 2900."  Again they asked:  "but you're not broke...why would you do that?"  Answer:  "So I can have 5000 chips and you only have 3000 chips."  Now the whole idea began to sink in and they said:  "you mean you can do that?"

So you see, these folks aren't exactly at the top of the intellectual gene pool.  And before you ask for another clue, here it is:  many of them spoke with southern accents, and wore cowboy boots or hats.

The confrontation that almost caused a fight

By the time my table broke up, I had a huge chip stack -- probably top two or three chip leaders.  I've got this Hillbilly to my left, when I'm dealt the following hand on the button:

Kd, Qs

The action is folded to me, and I raise.  The Hillbilly to my left calls from the small blind.

The flop:  Ks, Jc, Td -- rainbow.  I flop top pair with an open-ended straight draw.

The Hillbilly immediately moves all-in, and as fast as I can do it, I announce "Call" and turn over my cards.

The dealer immediately grabs my cards, turns them over and puts them in the muck.  The Hillbilly begins to yell (with a southern accent) "your hand is dead, YOUR HAND IS DEAD."

I ask the dealer what she'd doing...I called and turned over my cards.  With no other action behind me, there shouldn't be any reason why my hand should be declared dead.  Apparently, this casino has some obscure rule that if you turn over your cards yourself after an all-in, instead of letting the dealer do it...your hand is dead.  The players all knew this -- especially the Hillbilly -- and this was part of the point he was yelling about.  The dealer barely spoke english and said she didn't hear me say I call.  The Hillbilly continues to yell: "your hand is dead, you didn't say nothin', you're hand is DEAD."

At this point, a woman at the table gets up and declares I didn't say anything.  It turns out -- she's the Hillbilly's wife.  The player to my right vouches for me, and tries to convince the others that I very clearly said "I call."  But the player to HIS right agrees with the Hillbilly and his wife; it turns out he's the Hillbilly's best friend.  It turns out, the entire tournament is filled with people who know each other and collude, soft-play, and probably even split the profits with each other.  So I'm sure this type of cheating is nothing new for them.

As the argument heats up, the tournament director comes over and immediately declares my hand dead without even asking me what happened, or even letting me speak.  I think to myself:  "great, the tournament director is part of the 'good-ole-boy' network too."  But the more I try to speak to the tournament director, the louder the Hillbilly becomes -- insistent to drown me out.  At this point he's yelling:  "he didn't say nothin', his hand is dead...he didn't say nothin', his hand is dead."  I was amazed that the tournament director really took no interest in hearing me -- as he kept re-iterating "you need to say 'I call' before you flip over your cards."

(I did say "I call...you idiot."  Even the people outside of the tournament area, behind a 7-foot high glass wall heard me say "I call" -- you bunch of morons.)

After numerous attempts to speak uninterrupted, I turn to the Hillbilly and say:  "will you shut up?  WILL YOU SHUT UP"  Will you shut up and let me speak?"  Finally this got the tournament directors attention, and he listened to what I had to say.  But now, the anger is beginning to build in the Hillbilly.  The tournament director listens, the player to my right vouches for me, but the tournament director declares my hand dead anyways -- saying I had no real proof that I called the bet.  I asked him to look at the cards and tell me honestly if that looked like a hand anybody would fold.  He didn't care...my hand was dead.

I turn to the dealer and say to you in a very angry voice:  "DEALER!  You screwed up.  It's your job to police this table, police the action.  It's your job to pay attention.  This should have never happened and you're completely at fault.  You SCREWED UP.  DON'T EVER LET IT HAPPEN AGAIN."  The tournament director threatens to remove me from the tournament for chastising his dealer.  At this point, the Hillbilly chimes in again:  "buddy, your hand is dead...just give me the chips."

Now I'm to the boiling point myself, and the following argument ensues:

A few minutes later, his wife gets knocked out of the tournament and a break occurs at the same time.  I still don't know she's his wife (until later), but she conveniently follows me around acting like she's looking at the sports book sheets, etc.  I sense she's watching me, so as I'm talking to my wife about the incident, I say very loudly that I believe these people are a bunch of Hillbillies and that we've landed in a "Hillbilly Hell Hole."  I repeatedly said this, knowing that the woman was connected with the Hillbilly and was listening to everything I said.

As the tournament resumes, the collusion between players becomes more apparent.  I see soft-playing, checking two pair to the river, etc.  The Hillbilly starts talking about his wife, the other players are talking about him as best friends; the Hillbilly is rubbing the dealer's back and telling her how good she's doing (in spite of many other mistakes).

The Final Table

In spite of all of this, two of us make it to the final table.  Just as I suspected, these low-stakes players wanted to chop the pot at 10 players ($150 each).  I refused to chop -- just to be a jerk.  So the Hillbilly starts in on me again...saying "they might not want to chop with you again...you might to from the poorhouse to the penthouse."  (He said this over and over again -- not realizing that he was saying the phrase completely backwards "from the penthouse to the poorhouse -- that's how dumb this guy was.)  Finally after enough heckling I turn to him and say "do I look like the type of guy who needs to chop this pot?  Do I look like I need the money?"

His response was comical -- another indication of his backwards Hillbilly ways:  "well, I don't need to chop either.  Why I....I....I...I make (long pause while is brain is trying to think of something to say)...I make (pause) $4000 a week playing poker.  Yeah, sure he does.  I doubt he makes $4000 a month on his job -- let alone $4000 a WEEK playing poker.  I mean, this guy doesn't have the intelligence to make money playing poker.

Chopping at $200 each

After two more people busted out, I finally agreed to a chop -- $200 each.  The Hillbilly insists that everybody should tip the dealer $25.  Stephen (my nephew) and I refused.  Instead, we took our money and walked towards the door.  As I began walking, the Hillbilly had one more parting shot at me:

"Hey, come back here.  I just wanted to shake your hand and say I'm sorry."

(Instead, we just keep walking...)

"Well then Fuck You."