A relative of mine recently passed away. He was a great man. Kind and honest, he was just the type of guy you'd hope to have as a friend and poker tablemate. Since he'd been fighting Parkinson's disease for quite some time, we all knew his days were limited. Because he also knew his life was whittling down, he chose to prepare his own obituary notice.
I can't imagine summing up 76 years of life in 297 words any better than old Charlie did. The one line in his poetic obituary particularly stuck with me due to its message and its wit: "Charles was an avid hunter, an excellent fly fisherman, a good poker player, and a poor dart shooter."
Charlie was not a famous poker player. He never won a WSOP bracelet, never was on ESPN, and was never highlighted in any poker magazine. Still, he had as much respect and affection for the game as any poker superstar might.
Like most of us, he was a recreational player who simply loved to play the game. He loved gathering around a poorly lit table in some far away hunting cabin to play with a pack of bent playing cards, while using beer-bottle caps as poker chips.
He understood the positive, glorious nature of the game that many nonplayers never seem able to grasp. To outsiders, poker can be viewed as a seedy and dangerous game.
To those of us who really understand it, poker is a special, irreplaceable part of our hearts and our lives. Even though he had less than 300 words to talk about his life, career, family, service in Korea, and friends, he was sure to make mention of poker. Like most of us, he cherished those great times with his good friends at the table.
Sometimes we lose sight of what poker means to us in the hustle and bustle of our lives. We take time to gripe about bad beats and brag about big wins, but when we are honest with ourselves we know that poker means more to us than wins and losses. It seems odd to think that gathering in a buddy's basement for some cigars and cards might be the venue for forging lifelong friendships. We hardly realize that the guys that we are trying to bluff out of a pot every weekend are often the guys that speak at our funeral service many years later. The poker table is where we relax, where we laugh, where we brag about our kids, where we vent our frustrations, and where we get to feel alive and competitive like we did when we were in high school. It seems too corny and rather uncomfortable for most machismo poker players to admit, but when we play poker we are often making memories and bonds that last a lifetime.
Old Charlie did rant and pout about this ultimate "bad beat," which came in the form of Parkinson's disease. When he died, he was peacefully folding those final bad cards he was dealt with the same dignity that he lived by and played by. For old Charlie's sake, I urge you to pause and reflect about the game of poker before you take your next deal at the tables. Just allow your emotional guard to go down for long enough to have your love and appreciation for the game to soak in, if only for just a moment. Let's all hope that we can continue our relationship with the players and the game long enough to mention poker in our obituaries one day, too.
