Threats

I’m interrupting my brief survey of card games considered to be poker’s “precursors” to share something else today. Back at it tomorrow.

This past weekend, just by chance, I happened to reread Julius Caesar. Took Shakespeare courses in college and taught him here and there amid some lit surveys (usually just the sonnets), but it had been a while since I’d meaningfully spent time with the Bard.

The 400th anniversary of Shakespeare’s death is coming up next month, and with that in mind I decided to download the Complete Works on my Kindle. Without much forethought at all I randomly decided to begin with Caesar. It’s the first step in a plan to read through all 37 plays over the course of the coming year, kind of a belated reprise of my earlier Shakespeare studies.

I say I chose Caesar “randomly,” although it only took a scene or two for me to doubt whether or not there might have been some subconscious motive to the selection. To put it another way, that I might have been fated to make such a choice.

Shakespeare is timeless, which is why four centuries later his plays and poems continue to resonate and provide consistent insight regarding the human condition. That said, the echoes with current events were so loud they threatened to overwhelm what Caesar, Cassius, Brutus, Antony, and others were saying.

Julius Caesar tells the story of a political assassination, based on the actual slaying of Caesar in 44 B.C. that signaled the end of the Roman Republic and subsequent dawning of the Roman Empire first led by Augustus. The play follows a familiar narrative trajectory starting with the conspirators’ plotting Caesar’s murder, the killing itself (coming at the start of the third of five acts), then concluding with the seemingly inevitable battle between Caesar’s killers and those seeking revenge for his murder.

Over the last couple of years I’ve spent probably more time than is healthy studying the Kennedy assassination, reading about and watching coverage of the event while constantly sorting through all of the many theories regarding what actually happened. I even read through the Warren Commission Report not long ago, or at least the summary prefacing the 26 volumes of so-called supporting documents. It began as an innocent digression from my “Nixon studies,” but the JFK rabbit hole can be a hard one to dig out of sometimes.

One of the more complicated conspiracy theories entertained by some regarding Kennedy’s killing describes it as an “inside job” involving many individuals and agencies within his administration, a scenario somewhat resembling what happens in Caesar where those closest to the dictator decide it to be in the public’s interest that he be eliminated. “We shall be called purgers, not murderers,” goes the rationalizing line.

Early on we hear Cassius lamenting how “this man is now become a god” despite being “of such a feeble temper” and unworthy of his power. Brutus agrees he’d “rather be a villager than to repute himself a son of Rome under these hard conditions.” Indeed, at the end of the play, after Brutus has died, Antony credits him somewhat as the only one of the conspirators who acted not out of envy (like Cassius) but out of “a general honest thought and common good to all.”

Such is the perspective assigned to JFK’s killers, or so argue those favoring such a theory. There are several other moments, too, that evoke JFK’s assassination, or at least they do for those of us who find themselves occupied by some of its details.

For example, during the celebration over the defeat of Pompey, Caesar’s repeatedly refuses to accept the crown of Rome from Antony, a scene that gets replicated in a superficial though uncanny way on the morning of November 22, 1963 at the Fort Worth Chamber of Commerce breakfast shortly after Kennedy delivered what would turn out to be his last speech. I refer to the moment when the Chamber’s president Raymond Buck gave JFK the gift of a cowboy hat for “some protection against the rain” and Kennedy’s refusal to wear it despite the crowd’s insistent urging.

As I say above, though, the play’s parallels with the contemporary political situation and in particular the increasingly antagonistic presidential race were the most conspicuous for me on this reading. I’m thinking in particular about the current G.O.P. frontrunner and the increasing “alarum” being raised both by the party he represents and by the opposing one, too, over the prospects of his continuing to accumulate delegates and momentum and perhaps even the nomination.

All campaigns consist largely of promises, with each promise falling somewhere on a spectrum between vague and specific, as well as between fantastical and realistic. Candidates gauge voters’ reactions in the form of polls and votes and nudge themselves accordingly up and down each axis to find what seems a favorable position from which to stump. This year, though, one candidate has instead consistently favored threats over promises -- some vague and fantastical, some specific and real -- which in turn has caused others to remark upon the threat he represents by doing so.

Threats are a constant theme in Julius Caesar. The conspirators begin by describing to each other the threat posed by Caesar’s rule, from which come their own threat of violence against him. Caesar meanwhile expresses trepidation to Antony, recognizing Cassius as a threat primarily because “he thinks too much” and “such men are dangerous.” “Such men as he be never at heart’s ease whiles they behold a greater than themselves,” Caesar continues. “And therefore are they very dangerous.”

A little after Casca is talking to Brutus about how fervently Caesar’s supporters are, noting how he seemingly can do no wrong in their eyes. Despite his refusing of the crown, they still showered love on him, Casca explains. “If Caesar had stabbed their mothers, they would have done no less,” says Casca, causing today’s reader to think of other, similar statements regarding supporters of a certain candidate.

There’s talk, too, about how power might change Caesar, discussion that resembles somewhat speculation about how a candidate making promises (or threats) while campaigning might act differently while in office. For Brutus, the worry is that once he reaches the top of the ladder Caesar will turn his back on those down below. He’s like a “serpent’s egg” concludes Brutus -- better to “kill him in the shell.”

Back at Caesar’s, he speaks a little more boldly to his wife, Calpurnia, about those who might oppose him. “The things that threaten’d me ne’er look’d but on my back,” he says to her, “when they shall see the face of Caesar, they are vanished.” Calpurnia isn’t convinced, beckoning him not to attend a meeting at the senate-house, but Caesar won’t hear it, saying he’d be “a beast without a heart if he should stay home to-day for fear.”

He goes to the senate-house and is killed, the threat against him having been realized. Thereafter come further threats between the anti- and pro-Caesar camps, as well as Caesar’s ghost coming to visit Brutus and threaten his well being. The play then ends in bloodshed with Caesar’s death being avenged and, interestingly, most of the deaths shown on stage resulting from suicides.

Today is yet another “Super Tuesday,” with both parties’ primaries happening in a few more states, including my own. I voted this morning, in fact, a relatively easy process as my polling station is only just a couple of miles up the road from the farm.

Hard not to feel a certain foreboding, though, what with all of the threats being bandied about, including threats of violence (from candidates and from their supporters). The results of today’s doling of delegates will affect what happens next, which will seem a promise for some and a threat to others. I look up at the calendar and realize another coincidence suggesting my choice of Caesar to read having been unsettlingly appropriate.

I refer, of course, to the soothsayer’s threatening line from early in the play.

“Beware the ides of March.”

Photos: Julius Caesar (dir. Joseph L. Mankiewicz, 1953) (top); still from JFK Fort Worth Breakfast November 22 1963 TV coverage, KRLD-TV (middle).

2009 WSOP, Day 16: Does Humor Belong in Poker Tournament Reporting?

I assume Julius Goat and perhaps a few others recognize who I’m paraphrasing in that post title.

I had thought yesterday that I might deliver a thesis on the purpose and significance of puns and/or wordplay -- specifically with regard to their use in the context of poker tournament reporting -- but have decided against such. After all, nothing is less funny than to explain a joke.

Of course, while puns are certainly jokey and perhaps rightly regarded as a particularly facile form of humor, they aren’t strictly that. They serve a purpose beyond just causing a momentary chuckle -- or groan -- for the reader. Or can, anyway. And so maybe I will say just a word or two about ’em.

When I alluded to the subject of puns a couple of days ago, the Poker Grump pointed me to a recent New York Times piece on the subject which includes a lot of famous quotes about puns. There the author, Joseph Tartakovsky, starts off quoting John Dryden, the Restoration poet, playwright, and critic, saying that a pun is the “lowest and most groveling kind of wit.” Tartakovsky also alludes to the 18th-century essayist and dictionary-writer Dr. Samuel Johnson’s hatred of puns, although points out that Johnson -- a well-regarded conversationalist -- would himself indulge in puns in his interactions with others.

Tartakovsky also mentions Shakespeare -- who, of course, puns all the time, even in his tragedies -- but doesn’t specifically talk about Johnson’s criticism of Shakespeare’s punning.

In his famous Preface to an edition of Shakespeare’s plays, Johnson talks about how puns (or “quibbles,” as the original Dr. J. calls ’em) are “to Shakespeare, what luminous vapours are to the traveller; he follows it at all adventures, it is sure to lead him out of his way, and sure to engulf him in the mire. It has some malignant power over his mind, and its fascinations are irresistible.”

For Johnson, the biggest issue is how the presence of a pun tends to distract the reader or audience, especially when it undercuts the necessary sobriety of a tragedy. At the very beginning of Hamlet, for example, the prince comes onto the stage and speaks with his uncle, Claudius, who (we will eventually learn) has murdered Hamlet’s father, the king of Denmark, and not only taken the throne but married Hamlet’s mother. Here Claudius calls Hamlet “son,” then asks him why he’s so gloomy: “How is it that the clouds still hang on you?” Hamlet responds by saying facetiously “Not so, my lord. I am too much i’ the sun.”

It’s a bit of wordplay that allows Hamlet to answer Claudius’ question by saying, in effect, stop calling me “son.” But Johnson regards such puns as evidence of some “malignant power” taking over Shakespeare’s mind, as if his love of wordplay is like some sort of mental disorder that causes him to forget his primary purpose. Johnson goes on (with some hyperbole) to say that for Shakespeare a pun was a “golden apple for which he will always turn aside from his career, or stoop from his elevation,” something which “gave him such delight, that he was content to purchase it, by the sacrifice of reason, propriety and truth.”

Johnson is right to criticize the unseemly, gratuitous use of puns or wordplay that distracts the reader or audience from what is really important about a character or scene. However, in the case of Hamlet, his constant joking around -- as evidenced by his frequent puns and witty utterances -- is a big part of who he is, a young man who isn’t convinced that life isn’t an absurd jest. There are other places in Shakespeare where the “quibbles” are less integral, but there’s often a purpose to them, too, that makes it easier to defend Shakespeare’s use of them.

Which brings us back to poker and tourney reporting, in particular the use of puns in post titles when live blogging events. As far as I’m concerned, the occasional bit of wordplay or pun in a post title can be a plus as long as it doesn’t inordinately get in the way of the primary purpose of the blog -- namely, to report the action in a way that makes readers want to stay on the site and follow along.

There are a few ways to achieve that purpose of keeping the audience engaged -- to be accurate, to be clear, and to be interesting. If the blog failed too greatly in any of these ways, readers would (and should) stop reading.

So, when a player named Adam Fyshe wins a hand in which his flop bet causes another player to think so long the clock has to be called before he folds, a headline “Fyshe Makes Opponent Tank” should be acceptable because, well, it’s accurate, it’s clear, and it’s interesting.

But is it funny? Maybe for a moment. According to Tartakovsky, “Puns are the feeblest species of humor because they are ephemeral: whatever comic force they possess never outlasts the split second it takes to resolve the semantic confusion.” He’s probably right.

Okay, even if it is funny (a little), the question remains: Does humor -- even of the most fleeting variety -- belong in poker tournament reporting? I mean, these guys are playing for hundreds of thousands of dollars after all -- it is serious business. And for 85-90% of the players who fail to cash, and even for those who do cash but come up short of the ultimate goal of winning the sucker, the tourneys do play out like “tragedies,” at least in the technical sense of failing to have happy endings.

That said, it is still a game -- a form of play. And so keeping it light (within reason) is probably the right instinct, generally speaking.

The headline last night on ESPN for the story reporting the Lakers’ victory over the Magic was “Fisher King,” alluding simultaneously to those big shots Laker guard Derek Fisher hit at the end of the game as well as to that figure who turns up in stories of King Arthur whose purpose is to take care of the Holy Grail. At first, the allusion might seem meaningless, but think about how the sports championships are often referred to as the “Holy Grail” and you see there’s something appropriate to the pun’s use. (It’s also accurate, clear, and interesting.)

There’s no denying puns make us groan, though. And I agree that they shouldn’t be overdone to the point that they get in the way of communicating accurately and clearly and keeping the reader engaged. In other words, it’s okay to cause a bit of eye-rolling, but you don’t want the eyes to roll away from your words altogether.

So roll on over to PokerNews’ live reporting page to follow the coverage as the WSOP continues. Five different events on the sked today, including the one I’ll be covering -- Event No. 26, the $1,500 Limit Hold’em. See you there.