Andy Young: Knowing when to fold ‘em

By Andy Young

Decades of life experience have shaped me into a generally cautious respecter of rules and social norms. I’ve been called many things, but lately “risk-taker” hasn’t been one of them.

It wasn’t always this way, though.

When I was in college, I rode a borrowed moped down a flight of stairs simply because someone dared me to. Later on when I was in charge of a residence hall, I used my master key to open a room so that some immature pals and I could stuff it full of crumpled up newspapers from floor to ceiling, a practical joke on the room’s residents which amused the rest of us greatly. It was only later that someone pointed out that if any of my co-conspirators had struck a match, the room, the dorm, my job and my future would likely have gone up in smoke. A decade later I took a slightly more thoughtful risk when I elected to sign up for the Peace Corps.

But even my younger self occasionally exercised some discretion. Four decades ago, I was introduced to diabolical poker game called “fifty-two.” It began with each player placing a modest ante (usually a quarter) in the center of the table.

The dealer subsequently distributed five cards to each participant. There was no further betting; everyone appraised what he’d been dealt, and then, starting with the player to the dealer’s left and proceeding in order, each person announced his intentions. Uttering the word “in” meant the declarer wished to continue playing; “out” meant his involvement in that particular hand was over.

Once that was done the “ins” received another two cards, evaluated what they had, and laid down their best quintet. Whoever’s five cards constituted the best poker hand collected all the money in the pot; the loser(s) had to match it. That meant that if four of the six players stayed in, one would rake in the half-dozen quarters, while the other three paid the pot a dollar fifty each. The deal then moved to the left, and the process was repeated. However, with $4.50 now in the middle of the table, anyone electing to play the next hand who subsequently lost would owe that much to the pot. If three players opted to vie for it, the two losers would have to pay $4.50 each.

That meant participating in the following hand (and not winning) would cost nine dollars. The pot continued growing exponentially until such time as a hand ended with only one player staying in and the other five folding. At that point the game ended, which gave everyone the opportunity to let his blood pressure begin descending.

Four decades ago, inside the barracks of a National Guard Armory in Kenai, Alaska, I participated in a late-night game of fifty-two and watched a colleague with three aces lose $864 to another of our co-workers who drew the fifth heart he needed to complete his flush. Since each of us was earning a total of $1,500 for two months of work that summer, I’d have seen losing $864 of them at the poker table as somewhere between catastrophic and apocalyptic.

By the time the game broke up that evening I knew for sure I’d never develop a gambling addiction. I also strongly suspected that I wouldn’t risk losing $864 on a single hand of fifty-two unless I was dealt four aces and even then, I’d probably have to think twice about it.

I don’t know that for certain, though. That’s because I haven’t participated in a game of fifty-two since that memorable night in Kenai. <