Inflection Points

I am recalling at least three occasions when acts of violence so horrific and massive have occurred in this country, I’ve found myself unable not to write about them here on HBP.

This is a poker blog, after all, and while I’ll often write about sports, politics, entertainment, business, music, and other non-poker topics including what it’s like living on a horse farm, I still try to keep things oriented in the direction of poker, which necessarily leaves certain topics out of the mix.

One was the shooting at Virginia Tech in April 2007, prompting in part a meditation on college classrooms (where I’ve spent so much of my adult life, including then when I was teaching full-time). Another was the one at Sandy Hook Elementary in Newtown, Connecticut in December 2012, also taking place at a school, with many children among the victims.

The third was the bombing at the Boston Marathon in April 2013. As had been the case during the Sandy Hook shooting, I was reporting on a tournament at the time, and wrote then how “it felt odd to be locked in that poker tourney cocoon while such terrible things were happening outside of it.”

The shooting at the Pulse nightclub in Orlando early Sunday morning has again forced all of us out of our respective cocoons. Or has it? Beyond the horror of the scene and the extent of pain inflicted, there’s that unsettling sense already that even the “deadliest mass shooting in American history” -- as some (not all) have described it -- hasn’t necessarily moved the collective to a point of acting in response.

Remember the Harrington on Hold’em books, and that explanation of “inflection points” that comes up in the second volume? That’s the concept associated with the famous “M” ratio signaling how many orbits you have left according to your stack size, and the corresponding “zones” (green, yellow, orange, red, and “dead”) meant to identify what sort of maneuverability you have left according to your remaining chips.

Regarding inflection points, authors Dan Harrington and Bill Robertie introduce the concept by way of a football analogy, referring to a team that is behind having to jettison certain plays from their playbook in order to preserve time and score fast. As the clock winds down, multiple “inflection points” are crossed -- i.e., first short runs are out, then all running plays, then even short passes aren’t viable as the seconds tick away. Finally a team’s options are whittled down to just one -- a long Hail Mary pass into the endzone.

Similarly in tournaments, they explain, when your stack gets too short your reduced to just a few moves, then eventually only the one of going all in. Each time you reach an inflection point, you must actively recognize certain options are no longer available to you.

I feel like each of these shootings first appear as though they could represent “inflection points” insofar as they seem initially to encourage both dialogue and even action designed to reduce the chances of another occurring. But we never seem to reach the inflection point beyond which the option just to keep on sitting tight is no longer available to us.

Perhaps as a collective we’re overwhelmed by the seeming impotence of the majority in the face of those in power (or, in this election year, those seeking power) -- that is to say, those whose all-encompassing motive is to preserve their comparatively elite status. Such a goal is usually best achieved by continuing to encourage all to keep on sitting tight -- that is to say, to prevent us from thinking we’ve crossed an inflection point beyond which some sort of drastic, culture-changing, life-altering action emerges as the only option left.

(Incidentally, the screamingly hurtful, nonsensical noise emanating from the demagogue who has now secured the Republican party’s presidential nomination is meaningfully confusing to many. If regarded with any scrutiny whatsoever, the several “options” he proposes are in truth uniformly self-destructive, and if we step back to take a broader view of the nation’s history, we quickly realize his proposals were shown to be untenable long ago, after we crossed earlier inflection points.)

There’s a point somewhere, I’m sure of it, which if reached will finally force our hand in some constructive way to make such acts of violence less likely. What’s most chilling is to try to imagine what must happen in order for us to get there.

Image: “The Point of No Return,” Pat Hawks. CC BY 2.0.

Generous to a Fault? “All In” the Way You Look at It

An interesting “what would you do?”-type poker discussion to share with you, if you haven’t seen it already.

It starts over on the PokerStars blog where Lee Jones, Head of Poker Communications, recently published a post called “Letting one off the hook.”

There Jones describes playing in a $1/$2 cash game and having the good fortune of flopping an ace-high flush versus a lone opponent. His leading bet was called, then after Jones still had the nuts following the turn card, he bet again and this time was raised. At that Jones reraised back, his opponent announced “all in,” and Jones quickly called, showing his cards.

That’s when the story becomes interesting enough to write a post about. Upon seeing Jones’s hand, his opponent then claims not to have said “all in.” Meanwhile the dealer had heard him say it, and after the floor was called another player said he heard it, too.

Skipping ahead a bit, in the face of all the growing hubbub Jones ultimately decides to let his opponent “off the hook” and not be forced to go all in, with Jones just taking what was in the middle as if the player had folded and not shoved. Jones explains he honestly didn’t think the player was trying to angle shoot, but he doesn’t spell out all the reasons why he thinks that way.

It’s a nice story, and like most I tend to like these hearing such tales of good sportsmanship in poker and in other contexts. But yesterday Rob of Rob’s Vegas and Poker Blog posted a response to Jones’s post in which he respectfully suggests Jones should not have been so generous.

In “He Let This One Off the Hook -- But Should He Have?” Rob points out how letting his opponent wiggle his free negatively affects the integrity of the game. “If we allow someone to say ‘all-in’ and not really mean it, the game falls apart,” says Rob. It’s a persuasive point.

As I read both posts, I thought about how in a tournament setting such a situation could never be condoned -- there letting someone call “all in” and then take it back not only affects the players in the hand, but everyone else, too. In a cash game one might argue differently, but as Rob notes it’s still important that everyone abide by the rules, and that the players not be allowed to let each other not follow them when occasions such as this one arises.

When looked at in a vacuum -- i.e., without the session-specific info about the player and situation Jones possessed when making his decision -- I’d lean toward Rob’s way of thinking here when it comes to not letting players “off the hook” like this. Indeed, even imagining extenuating circumstances, I think it’d be hard for me to imagine justifying allowing someone not to have to commit chips after verbally agreeing to do so.

Anyhow, check out both posts and decide for yourself.

Image: “IMG_4600” (adapted), Stewardship - Transforming Generosity. CC BY 2.0.

Surrender, But Don’t Give Yourself Away

Am following those NBA finals, natch, and intrigued by this phenomenon that’s been occurring here and there throughout the playoffs -- teams falling behind by double-digits, then essentially getting “knocked out” early in games that subsequently become lopsided, ending with margins of 15 or more.

That’s what happened to the Golden State Warriors in Game 3 in their game in Cleveland versus the Cavaliers. Happened a couple of times to the Dubs during the Oklahoma City series, too, causing them to fall to a dangerous 3-1 deficit before they stormed back to clinch that one.

Other teams have shown that tendency as well. Just went back counted and out of 82 playoff games so far 33 of them have been decided by 15 or more (just over 40%) -- including all three so far in the finals -- with well over half having ended with wins by at least double-digits.

I don’t know if this is typical or not for the NBA playoffs, but it’s sure seemed like there have been more blowouts than normal this year. Feels as though a lot of it has to do with fatigue -- that teams get down, then reach a “tipping point” of sorts where the energy needed to mount a comeback either isn’t available or needs to be conserved in order to remain competitive in the next game.

“On to the next one,” teams seem to be saying, although in a few cases the “next one” has meant next season, as the blowouts have happened in series clinchers. More often than not, that’s what has happened to all this season’s losers of the year.

It reminds me a little of “taking a hand off” (so to speak) in poker after having gotten involved in several in a row, or even just one important one that required an extra dose of attention and focus.

It’s the sort of thing that makes the more conspiracy-minded fans (and sports bettors) wonder about things being “rigged” somehow, since technically speaking teams are more or less conceding games (without giving it away that’s what is happening).

But like I say I think it’s probably just the product of the natural rhythm of energy and attention available to non-perfect humans, perhaps exaggerated somewhat given the challenge of such a long season.

In other words, the Dubs are all right, the Cavs are all right, they just seem a little weird.

Image: “A white flag,” Viktorvoigt. CC BY-SA 3.0.

You Know Uno, Don’t You?

Last weekend I enjoyed a family holiday in Charleston, South Carolina, kind of a three-day weekend. In between visits to the pool, walks on the beach, and a couple of fun meals dining out, I played games with my now seven-year-old nephew, about whom I’ve written here before.

He got himself a big, thick deck of Uno cards at some point in the last year, and on a couple of occasions now we’ve played, including on this trip. It might be the first card game I’ve played with him in which he doesn’t make up new rules along the way, but sticks to the actual rules of the game. That said, he has invented some sort of postscript-type game involving three cards and picking one which he breaks out at the end of every Uno game, so he’s still adding to the standard game with this one, too.

If you know Uno, you know the goal of the game is to discard all of your cards before your opponent does, with “Uno” being the word called out when a player is down to just a single card. The deck is comprised of four colors (red, green, blue, yellow) with the cards numbered, and there are a few special cards thrown in as well that reverse the order of play, skip a player, force an opponent to draw extra cards, and function as wild cards enabling the player to change the current color.

This video spoofing Anime actually does a good job capturing what a game with my nephew is like:

I believe players are supposed to start with seven cards, but my nephew likes to start with many, many more. We began with 26, actually, and that picture up top shows how difficult it was to hold that many at once (and that’s with adult-sized hands). I joked on Twitter that he likes “deep-stacked” Uno, and it’s true that starting with more cards does mean the game will go on a bit longer (ensuring there will be “more play”).

In a game last weekend, I managed to get down to “Uno” twice but each time was thwarted by my nephew playing a card requiring me to draw. Then eventually he got down to one card while I only had 4 or 5. The upcard was a blue four, and I had both a blue card and a red four, meaning I could either keep it the same color or change it.

I managed to talk myself into keeping it blue, and sure enough he had another blue card and won the game. When I showed him my red four he insisted I should have played it and changed the color, although I think he was just being results-oriented, knowing that had I done that he wouldn’t have won (not then, anyway).

Thinking afterwards, I decided it probably was a better play to change the color, as it often happens in Uno you play several cards of the same color in a sequence until you run out, then work on the next color -- meaning the chances were probably slightly better that he had another blue card in his little hand than not.

I think he’s probably about ready to learn about the rankings of poker hands. We’ve played War before, but no poker games. Simple five-card draw would have to be the best place to start, I’d think.

That’s the game that has been on my mind lately, and is the first poker game I learned, I remember... probably when I was about his age.

The Draw and Stud Kingdoms in the Poker Domain

I’ve been thinking about draw poker and stud poker lately, and the idea that, in a sense, all variants can be categorized as having been derived from one or the other category of poker games.

That is to say, if we created a taxonomy of card games with poker being the “domain” up at the top, draw and stud would be the top two “kingdoms” just underneath, with all the other games belonging to one or the other.

In modern poker parlance, it’s common to see three categories of games identified -- flop games, draw games, and stud games. That’s a helpful system, say, if you’re choosing variants for a mixed game and want to ensure you’ve got a balance between different game types.

You could, for example, have a nine-game rotation with three flop games (no-limit hold’em, pot-limit Omaha, Omaha hi/lo), three stud games (seven-card stud, seven-card stud hi/lo, and razz), and three draw games (2-7 triple draw, 2-7 no-limit draw, Badugi), which would also provide a good mix of a few “big bet” games among the fixed-limit ones.

Then if you added further variants, you could try to keep the three categories balanced so as not to favor one over the others, since many players often come at a mixed game with more experience and/or knowledge in one of the three.

However, if you go back in history and think about how poker was initially introduced and developed in the 19th century, it actually makes sense to slide the later-introduced flop games over and think of them as a subcategory of stud (its own “phylum,” you might say). In other words, while the hundreds of different poker variants introduce all sorts of distinctions making each unique, the most significant one determines whether or not a game can be said to derive from draw or stud -- namely, whether or not players can see any of the cards making up their opponents’ hands.

Games derived from draw typically involve players showing none of their cards as they proceed through whatever rules govern the order of play, betting, hand ranking, and so on. Meanwhile games derived from stud typically involve players revealing some portion of their hand to each other, e.g., as “up cards” or shared “community cards.”

Even with these two seemingly unblendable characteristics -- i.e., either all your cards are hidden, or they are not -- there exist some hybrids (we might call them) that try to combine draw and stud in some fashion. I’m thinking of draw games that involve sharing cards, of which Spit in the Ocean might have been the first step down that road (a draw game that has one card dealt face up in the middle to indicate what is wild). There are other draw games incorporating something like “community cards,” too, that seem to combine the categories.

But you could argue as soon as any portion of a player’s hand is no longer hidden, the game no longer belongs to the draw “kingdom” and should be forced to emigrate over into stud.

This point -- that all poker variants essentially come from either draw or stud -- is one made by Al Alvarez in his Poker: Bets, Bluffs and Bad Beats (2001). There he points out that all poker games, “even the craziest, are variations on two basic themes: closed or draw poker, in which all the cards are dealt facedown, and stud, in which four of the player’s five or seven cards are dealt faceup.”

Alvarez is speaking of earlier pre-hold’em variants when making that point, but the taxonomy being suggested could still be said to include the flop games, which obviously were derived from stud.

Could be fun, working out an entire taxonomy of poker variants. How would we classify Badeucy, for example? Put the Badeucy species in the poker domain, then the draw kingdom, then the fixed-limit phylum, then the multiple-draw class, then the lowball order, then the Badugi family, and finally the deuce-to-seven genus?

I wrote about the first references to draw poker in this week’s “Poker & Pop Culture” column, noting how the introduction of the draw was the first meaningful variation from what might be called the “original” form of poker sometimes called “Old Poker” in which five cards were dealt, a round of betting followed, and then there was a showdown.

In the column I make a few gestures toward the idea that being able to discard and draw evokes (in a way) various “American” ideas of being free to try to improve your status if desired. Check it out and see if you buy that argument or not:

Poker & Pop Culture: Life, Liberty, and the Pursuit of a Better Hand

I’ll be talking about the introduction of stud next week, and will be suggesting this point as well that all poker variants might be thought of as belonging to one of these two “kingdoms” of games. Let me know if you have any thoughts about any of this as I pull together my own.

Image: “Taxonomic ranks” (adapted), Annina Breen. CC BY-SA 4.0.

The Cube Debut

Tuned in to some of that first “Summer Series” heads-up match of the Global Poker League featuring the debut of the much-advertised “cube.” Not really eager to do a big, comprehensive review of every little detail of the sucker, but I did want to share just one initial impression.

After eight weeks’ worth of online matches -- all of it streamed live and archived on the GPL twitch channel (whatzit, 200 hours? more?) -- the league took a week off, then cranked back up yesterday with live heads-up matches taking place inside the large glass box. Celebrity player Aaron Paul of Breaking Bad fame was pitted against Fabrice Soulier for the first best-of-three match, in prime time no less.

Was curious to see some of the comments both on Twitch and Twitter as the sucker played out. On Twitch came a lot of head-scratching, with viewers who’d wandered over from other channels rightly wondering if they were watching some kind of new game show. Which they were, I guess, with the sparse set, fluorescent glow, and ambient music evoking that sort of vibe. (More so than a sporting one, which had been the talk back when the cube was first announced.)

On Twitter the comments were less frequent and more informed, with the occasional snark (“Not sure what to think about 2 guys standing in an aquarium clicking buttons,” said LivePokerPro) tending to stand out.

Laughed at Change100’s comment estimating the lighting as being “somewhere between spin class and tanning bed.” Dr. Pauly’s questions “When do they flood the cube? Or release the snakes?” earned a grin. And Haley Hintze’s idea that “the walls should slooowly move in to crusssssshh the players” was rightly inspired by the evil-villain’s-lair look of it all.

It looked different, that’s for sure. But then I realized -- it looked familiar, too. It was live poker, made to resemble an online game.

The players’ hands are shown on tablets, with a screen in the middle displaying hole cards and chips, timers, blinds/antes, and everything else also recorded on screens. In other words, there are no chips, no cards, and no dealer. The players stand as well, which produces some novel-seeming types of non-verbal communication, and probably affects the talk, too.

But it all adds up to a strange approximation of “live-ish” online poker -- like the players were standing and walking and talking inside a big computer monitor. That’s what inspired my one cheeky contribution to last night’s banter: “The player-sims are incredibly lifelike.”

They’ve got six weeks’ worth of “Summer Series” heats lined up. Guess we’ll see how things are standing after that (pun intended).

Image: Global Poker League

On Not Giving It Away

Some time back -- oh, five or six years ago -- a fellow poker scribbler pointed out to me something about this blog, something I had been aware of but hadn’t necessarily thought about too closely before.

His point was an obvious one, really. By writing a lot about the big poker tournaments and series -- posts which I often tag as “High Society,” even when the buy-ins aren’t so big -- I essentially give free promotion to those events. “They should pay you for it,” he said half-jokingly, noting how at the time I’d been writing every single day about a certain lengthy poker festival for several weeks.

Now even if I hadn’t specifically thought about that particular festival and series of posts to which he was referring, I had previously given some thought to the idea that I was essentially “giving it away” here on the blog. By that point I had also been writing about poker for other sites frequently, too, and getting paid to do so. That necessarily had gotten me thinking about the relationship between time and money and how whatever time I spent writing posts on HBP wasn’t translating into a tangible monetary reward as happened when I wrote for other sites.

But I decided early on there was a different kind of reward that came from writing here “for free” (so to speak). I liked engaging with the poker community this way -- and still do, even if poker blogs have moved over to the periphery as many have gravitated toward other ways of engaging with each other. I never worried too much about “monetizing” the blog, and grew to covet having this personal space to write and share ideas without any restrictions other than the ones I chose to impose upon myself.

To be honest, the fact that the blog did indirectly serve as a kind of online “portfolio” that helped get me some notice and eventually some actual paid writing gigs made it easier to think that way. Sure, I wasn’t being paid directly over here, but the time spent was “worth it” in the mundane, literal sense, while also providing all those non-monetary benefits, too.

Recently in poker a popular site made a decision to stop “giving it away” without getting something in return. No, the site didn’t put up a paywall or anything, but figured out a way to prevent most users from freely accessing what they were producing. (I say “most users” because work-arounds are pretty easy to come by, for those who look into it.)

The idea is to get contact information from site visitors in order to be able to market other products to them before allowing them to proceed. It’s a small hassle, this request to get something first before the site gives anything up. However, what it says about the way the site views its relationship with those who visit it isn’t small at all.

Most won’t mind the hurdle, though some may not wish to try to jump over it, thereby making the content somewhat exclusive rather than freely given. The justification -- as reported by those who looked into the matter a bit further and asked questions about it -- was precisely what I’m describing, namely, a decision to stop “giving it away” and instead trying to realize some sort of payback for the content that is being provided (and for which there is some cost to produce).

There was some immediate criticism here and there, including some good arguments for why in this particular instance the decision to restrict access is especially lamentable given the centrality of the site to the community. I decided to stay out of the debates (mostly), although I have complained in private to several folks as I, too, see the decision as unfortunate for a variety of reasons.

I enjoy poker. I enjoy writing about it and giving others who like the game something that might add further to their enjoyment. I also like the way nearly all of the poker community -- especially those who run tournaments and series -- tend to think similarly about the overall positive that comes from freely-distributed promotion and reporting that excites players and fans alike and (importantly) nurtures the game in a broader sense.

It’s my blog and I’ll write about what I want to, and I’ll never ask anyone to give me something first before “giving it away” here. But remembering what my friend said to me five or six years ago, I’m not so enthused right now to use this space to promote those who don’t believe there’s any benefit to be had from being part of a community unless you get something tangible back for everything you give.

I get it -- business is business. But the poker community isn’t a poker game -- i.e., a “zero sum” situation in which no one can win unless someone else loses. We both can give and receive and still come out ahead.

I mean, I’ll write about other things. Not getting paid anyway... right?

Photo: “Please Pay Here 3-14-09 19” (adapted), Steven Depolo. CC BY 2.0.

Little Stories (Using Poker as a Metaphor)

Early in The Making of the President 1972, the fourth and final (formal) installment of Theodore H. White’s series on presidential elections, White discusses the monumental decision of Richard Nixon’s administration to end the free conversion of U.S. dollars to gold at a fixed value -- i.e., the removal of the gold standard.

This event happened quite abruptly, going into effect on August 15, 1971. It was announced that night by the president in a televised speech that also listed several other significant economic measures, including another huge one to impose wage and price controls (a 90-day freeze).

Together these measures are sometimes referred to as the “Nixon shock,” which politically speaking helped Nixon immensely in the way it produced immediate effects (helping the economy avoid a downturn during the following election year) while also giving the impression that Nixon had done something meaningful -- had acted, not sat by passively -- in response to a coming economic crisis. (That latter point is one White fleshes out in the section). Meanwhile the longer-term effects are still being debated (and are beyond the scope of this post).

There’s one moment early in the discussion where White is rapidly explaining how much the world had changed in the quarter-century following WWII. Following the war, the U.S. was by default in the position of providing economic and trading stability to the rest of the world. “Other nations’ money might fluctuate in value with the tides of world trade,” explains White, “but they would fluctuate only in relation to each other, while at the center stood the U.S. dollar, rigid, its strength firmly socketed in gold.”

By the early 1970s, though, the economic supremacy of the U.S. was no longer quite so unamiguous. Other countries’ economies had built back up to the point of being competitive, in part (explains White) because of the U.S. having been generous with aid over those years. “So strong was America in those days that its overpowering investment in science and fundamental research was thrown open to the entire world,” writes White, who also notes other forms of civilian aid to foreign countries.

That’s when White uses a poker metaphor to describe the situation, and in fact it’s a familiar one to those of us who know our Nixon.

“Uncle Sam sat like a winning poker player at the head of the table, giving away chips to the losers, even tipping his hand when necessary just to keep the game going,” writes White.

I say this is a familiar comparison, because Nixon himself used this exact analogy in a speech he subsequently gave on September 9, 1971 to the House Chamber at the Capitol in which he addressed the country’s economy and its relationship to other countries.

Like White, Nixon in the speech points out the “nearly $150 billion in foreign aid, economic and military, over the past 25 years” the U.S. had doled out, then turns to talk of how the U.S. “will remain a good and generous nation -- but the time has come to give a new attention to America’s own interests here at home.”

“Fifteen years ago a prominent world statesman put this problem that we confronted then in a very effective way,” says Nixon. “He commented to me that world trade was like a poker game in which the United States then had all the chips, and that we had to spread them around so that others could play. What he said was true in the 1940’s. It was partially true in the fifties and, also, even partially true in the early sixties. It is no longer true today. We have generously passed out the chips. Now others can play on an equal basis -- and we must play the game as we expect and want them to do. We must play, that means, the best we know how. The time has passed for the United States to compete with one hand tied behind her back.”

I’m not completely sure, but I believe the statesman to whom Nixon refers might be Winston Churchill, who did play poker occasionally (including once famously with Harry Truman). (The reference to 15 years before suggests one of RN’s meetings with Churchill when Ike’s VP.) In any event, it’s essentially the same point White makes, although White doesn’t quote or allude to the speech to Congress when he makes the analogy (making it seem perhaps as though he’d come up with it on his own).

Incidentally, Nixon and his aides can be heard on the White House tapes discussing this passage a lot both before and after the speech.

A couple of days before, Raymond K. Price (a Nixon speechwriter) isn’t so sure about it, saying “it’s a good image... uh... the poker game,” but adding “there would be some people who would think it inappropriate to talk in terms of a poker game.” But Nixon responds “it would be inappropriate if Harry Truman did it, but it’s not for me. See, most people don’t think I play poker.”

This was true. Nixon’s poker-playing background wasn’t a secret -- in fact, it had been described at length in a Life magazine cover story about “The Young Nixon” in November 1970 -- but it wasn’t nearly as well known among most of the public as was Truman’s penchant for poker.

Then after the speech the tapes reveal Charles Colson and Bob Haldeman congratulating him for the speech as a whole and the poker passage in particular. It’s a “catch line,” as Colson calls it -- that is, a memorable image or metaphor that sticks with the listener and thus conveys the message more effectively. “Even kids understand that,” says Haldeman of the reference to having “generously passed out the chips.”

“Kids play games, you know?” says Haldeman. “That’s the thing my family was talking about, the chips,” adds Colson. “It’s vivid and it’s illustrative and they understand it... and that hit a hell of a [nerve].”

“I can’t emphasize too strongly about this,” Nixon interrupts. “Every damn speech I’ve made, that what people remember... [you say] ‘What the hell do they remember about that speech?’ They remember the little stories. They remember the story about the chips, right...? It’s the little stories, the illustrations, that people... uh, people love.”

The line does convey the idea, no doubt. It’s memorable, too, which is why when reading White I immediately recognized it.

Image: Richard Nixon Foundation.

Presidential Candidates Playing Poker

Still dealing with pre-Civil War poker during this week’s installment of “Poker & Pop Culture” over on PokerNews. The columns are following a chronological narrative, especially early on, although I imagine once we get to the later 20th century I will open things up a little and not be as attentive to the history-of-the-game side of things.

With this one I share some details from an entertaining early poker story told by the English actor Joe Cowell in his memoirs. The book was published in 1844, and the story he tells concerns his being introduced to poker aboard a steamboat back in 1829.

The story is fairly diverting, though it’s a digressive reference to Henry Clay by Cowell that I mostly focus on in the article. Cowell repeats the idea that the Kentucky politician actually invented poker. It’s an entirely spurious claim although still interesting given the fact that Clay was running for president (the fourth of five tries by Clay, none successful) the very year Cowell published his memoirs.

I follow the Clay thread a bit to talk about some other likely apocryphal tales of him and fellow politician (and failed presidential candidate) Daniel Webster playing poker against each other, something they certainly did although the stories of their games seem more than a little embellished.

Reflecting the cultural significance of poker circa the mid-1840s (still a relatively new game), supporters of Clay’s opponent, James K. Polk, publicized Clay’s poker playing as reason not to vote for the candidate.

I write more about that in the column, too -- if you’re curious, check it out: “Poker & Pop Culture: Heads-Up for Pols -- Henry Clay v. Daniel Webster.”

Images: Daniel Webster (left), painting by Richard Francis Nagle (ca. 1849); Henry Clay (right), painting by Henry F. Darby (ca. 1858) (public domain)

Synchronicity

Was up late last night with work, and as I’ll sometimes do when that happens I got into one of those YouTube loops of somewhat aimless clicking around.

Was in the mood for music and so had happened on a few live clips of various bands, then somehow from that path strayed onto the one containing clips documenting the “Dark Side of the Rainbow” -- you know, that phenomenon that didn’t really get much traction until the 1990s (if I remember correctly) having to do with the way Pink Floyd’s 1973 album Dark Side of the Moon uncannily syncs up with the 1939 film The Wizard of Oz.

I suppose that whole thing had to have started with LPs and VHS tapes, though now it’s easy enough for anyone to reedit the soundtrack of a film and upload the sucker.

Like practically everyone of my generation and before, I saw The Wizard of Oz many, many times growing up. It was one of those annual things, shown on the teevee frequently and thus committed to my memory just like it was to many others’. Doubt that’s the case so much anymore, perhaps making it a much less conspicuous “text” than it had been before.

(In fact, in Same Difference I incorporated some running references to Oz, something that likely would have little significance to those unfamiliar with the film or its characters.)

As a preteen one of the very first LPs I ever got was The Wall, then Dark Side followed shortly thereafter, meaning that, too, is a cultural product I’ve experienced numerous times -- hundreds, I guess.

But I’d never actually bothered to check out the whole “Dark Side of the Rainbow” thing, knowing it was essentially just happenstance and not intended by the band in any way. The human mind seizes on repetitions and parallels, sometimes imposing patterns when they aren’t really there, if only because of the pleasure and/or comfort they bring. Poker players are perhaps more aware of the existence of this psychological quirk than most.

Nick Mason, the drummer, had a great quote about it back when it became talked about enough for folks to start asking the band members about it. “It’s absolute nonsense,” said Mason, echoing what others in Pink Floyd said when asked about there being any intention for the Dark Side of the Moon to be listened to as accompaniment for the film.

“It has nothing to do with The Wizard of Oz,” he added. “It was all based on The Sound of Music.”

Anyhow, I didn’t have patience to sit through an entire showing of the film with the LP playing (two-and-a-half times over, necessarily, given the differences in lengths). But I did enjoy a few of the more curious moments that come up, including the way Side 2 begins just as the film switches from black and white to color, the Tin Man’s heartbeat, “home, home again” coming back around when Dorothy wakes up at the end, among other fun moments.

Easily the most affecting stretch, though, is the whole of “The Great Gig in the Sky” which nearly matches the entire tornado sequence during which Dorothy (and Toto) hits her head and blacks out, then the farm house gets picked up and dizzyingly spins through the air in a surreal and scary way before landing just as the song concludes.

It’s an incredibly inspired piece of filmmaking. The song, too, is a marvel I somehow still find moving after all these years. Clare Torry’s wordless vocal perfectly articulates the thematic mediation on mortality, or the cycle of life, or whatever else her singing and the tumbling chords underneath makes you think about.

Meanwhile its aptness to the frightening, chaotic storm in Oz is so obvious, that, too, sends the mind wandering into some interesting places. Watch and see for yourself: