I'm in deep now. I should have seen it coming. Sooner or later, it was bound to get me. Now, it's official, I'm part of the poker revolution.
Gambling is a serious problem. So think of this column as a self-intervention. The first step is acceptance of the problem. Like any reasonable adult, I accept that this is somebody else's fault.
Before I go any further, I would like to insert a disclaimer. Poker is not a sport. I hesitate to even write this column on the sports page. I don't want to give the impression that I believe a card game is an athletic competition.
If you disagree, here's a simple test I've created to determine whether or not a game is actually a sport.
If you can eat a chili cheese dog and drink a beer during the game, then it's not a sport. This rules out poker.
Now, back to the intervention.
Two factors pulled me into the poker underworld. The first one is ESPN. The second is my friends, specifically my roommate Troy.
You see, despite its obvious non-sport credentials, poker is all over the all-sports network. Every time you flip to ESPN, it's on. From the original series \Tilt"" to the World Series of Poker, ESPN is all poker, all the time. It's enough to drive even the most pious man to the card table.
ESPN just got me rolling. It's my friends who are really to blame. Over winter break, they played poker every night. Granted, there isn't much else to do in Reedsburg, but these guys play poker like it's going out of style. (To be honest, I think it probably is going out of style. You know how these fads work. I have a feeling that 2005 is going to be a big year for Go Fish.)
Anyway, the principal perpetrator in the corruption of Joe Hasler is my roommate, Troy. He's the one who got me playing. He's the one who always calls me when there is a game. And he's the one who took me to the murky depths of the poker underworld.
I don't play poker at school, only when I'm at home. But Troy, he plays all the time. I guess you could say it's his passion. Well, that and waking me up every morning when he gets ready for class.
So it was business as usual last week when Troy got ready to go to his regular Tuesday game. But right before he left, he asked me for a favor. He wondered if I wanted to bankroll him. (He didn't actually say, ""bankroll,"" that's an insider term that I picked up on ""Tilt."")
I couldn't believe the audacity of the proposal, but I liked it, so I handed Troy all the dough he needed. At that moment, visions of showgirls, bright lights, and big money flashed through my head. I was in the game.
But soon after, I had an empty feeling. It may have just been the money missing from my wallet. Maybe it was a realization that this poker fad is taking over too many lives. But it was probably just the money.
As for Troy's success that night, he lost the game and I never saw my money again. These are the risks we take in high-stakes poker.
I'm really going to miss that $5.
