rack.”
Elizabeth punched Joe’s arm lightly.
“Come on, guys. This is serious.” Fiona pretended to pout. “I really value your input. Okay, play it, Oliver.”
Oliver, Fiona’s goateed teenage assistant, pressed a button and the show came to life.
Elizabeth swirled the ice around her iced tea and focused on the TV .
Onscreen, Fiona brushed a flyaway hair from her face and gave the camera her best serious journalist smile. “We have eight players left. T-Bone Jones has the big stack, but the way this game’s been playing, anyone could still be crowned the champion.”
Elizabeth cringed at the rhetoric but knew the fans gobbled it up. They wanted to be spoon-fed so they wouldn’t have to think too hard.
Back onscreen, Fiona was saying, “Nate Wilkes has a pair of sevens in first position. He’s new on the scene, but he’s a savvy New Yorker — these old pros can’t push him around. He’s cute, too — the shaggy dark hair and deep brown eyes make him look intense and brooding. I wouldn’t mind seeing more of him. He wisely limps.”
Loni Mills, Fiona’s guest host for the Niagara game, chimed in with her own opinion: “Now, honey, I agree that this newcomer’s a looker — and he looks about your age; you should find out if he has a lady friend back in New York — but why is limping wise? I don’t claim to be no professional, but I always thought the rule was when you’re first in a pot, you raise.”
“A rule a lot of players swear by, Loni. And it’s not without merit. But the unique thing about small and middle pairs is you can only afford to commit about 5% of your stack preflop, which means you can call a raise profitably, but it’s a mistake to call a reraise. So you limp, and hope to catch a set.”
“Ah, math.” Loni waved a heavily braceleted hand in dismissal. “I knew there was a reason I couldn’t stand this game.”
Fiona grinned and looked straight into the camera. “Pretty Boy Mangan looks down in third position and sees ace-queen. He makes a standard raise, with one limper, to four big blinds.”
Elizabeth hated Joe’s nickname. “Pretty Boy” made him sound gay, when in fact he was flamboyantly heterosexual.
Back onscreen: “Action folds around to T-Bone, who calls on the button with king-ten suited. A loose play for an amateur, but T-Bone’s no rookie. He’s counting on a combination of position and skill to guide him after the flop.”
“He’s got some skilled positions, all right,” said Loni.
Elizabeth could picture Fiona coaching Loni about coyly playing up her relationship with T-Bone. When Elizabeth had guest hosted in Halifax, her instructions had been to talk about Joe in a “lovingly competitive” way. Fans loved to think they were seeing inside the lives of their stars.
“Tell me, Loni,” Fiona said, on camera, “in your private life, what would you say is T-Bone’s greatest skill?”
Loni batted her eyelashes — definitely rehearsed. “I thought you said this was prime time, dear.”
Fiona laughed indulgently. “Nate Wilkes calls the raise.”
The odds shot up on the screen.
“These three players are as even as you can get before the flop. And here it is: the flop comes queen-jack-seven rainbow.
“First to act is Nate, who has soared into the lead with trip sevens. He makes a rookie move and checks — you never want to slow-play trips against multiple opponents. But maybe he’s counting on a bet: both Joe and T-Bone are known to be aggressive.”
“Well, I wouldn’t know about Joe,” Loni said. This woman was made for TV . “But are you saying three of a kind isn’t a strong enough hand to trap with? Hell, when I get trips, I’m coy as a cucumber.”
Elizabeth cringed at the mixed simile. Viewers would forgive it.
Fiona grinned. “Luckily for Nate Wilkes, Joe Mangan loves this flop — poor guy doesn’t realize he’s only 3% to win. He bets out three-quarters of the pot.”
“Motherfucker,” Joe muttered from
Elizabeth punched Joe’s arm lightly.
“Come on, guys. This is serious.” Fiona pretended to pout. “I really value your input. Okay, play it, Oliver.”
Oliver, Fiona’s goateed teenage assistant, pressed a button and the show came to life.
Elizabeth swirled the ice around her iced tea and focused on the TV .
Onscreen, Fiona brushed a flyaway hair from her face and gave the camera her best serious journalist smile. “We have eight players left. T-Bone Jones has the big stack, but the way this game’s been playing, anyone could still be crowned the champion.”
Elizabeth cringed at the rhetoric but knew the fans gobbled it up. They wanted to be spoon-fed so they wouldn’t have to think too hard.
Back onscreen, Fiona was saying, “Nate Wilkes has a pair of sevens in first position. He’s new on the scene, but he’s a savvy New Yorker — these old pros can’t push him around. He’s cute, too — the shaggy dark hair and deep brown eyes make him look intense and brooding. I wouldn’t mind seeing more of him. He wisely limps.”
Loni Mills, Fiona’s guest host for the Niagara game, chimed in with her own opinion: “Now, honey, I agree that this newcomer’s a looker — and he looks about your age; you should find out if he has a lady friend back in New York — but why is limping wise? I don’t claim to be no professional, but I always thought the rule was when you’re first in a pot, you raise.”
“A rule a lot of players swear by, Loni. And it’s not without merit. But the unique thing about small and middle pairs is you can only afford to commit about 5% of your stack preflop, which means you can call a raise profitably, but it’s a mistake to call a reraise. So you limp, and hope to catch a set.”
“Ah, math.” Loni waved a heavily braceleted hand in dismissal. “I knew there was a reason I couldn’t stand this game.”
Fiona grinned and looked straight into the camera. “Pretty Boy Mangan looks down in third position and sees ace-queen. He makes a standard raise, with one limper, to four big blinds.”
Elizabeth hated Joe’s nickname. “Pretty Boy” made him sound gay, when in fact he was flamboyantly heterosexual.
Back onscreen: “Action folds around to T-Bone, who calls on the button with king-ten suited. A loose play for an amateur, but T-Bone’s no rookie. He’s counting on a combination of position and skill to guide him after the flop.”
“He’s got some skilled positions, all right,” said Loni.
Elizabeth could picture Fiona coaching Loni about coyly playing up her relationship with T-Bone. When Elizabeth had guest hosted in Halifax, her instructions had been to talk about Joe in a “lovingly competitive” way. Fans loved to think they were seeing inside the lives of their stars.
“Tell me, Loni,” Fiona said, on camera, “in your private life, what would you say is T-Bone’s greatest skill?”
Loni batted her eyelashes — definitely rehearsed. “I thought you said this was prime time, dear.”
Fiona laughed indulgently. “Nate Wilkes calls the raise.”
The odds shot up on the screen.
“These three players are as even as you can get before the flop. And here it is: the flop comes queen-jack-seven rainbow.
“First to act is Nate, who has soared into the lead with trip sevens. He makes a rookie move and checks — you never want to slow-play trips against multiple opponents. But maybe he’s counting on a bet: both Joe and T-Bone are known to be aggressive.”
“Well, I wouldn’t know about Joe,” Loni said. This woman was made for TV . “But are you saying three of a kind isn’t a strong enough hand to trap with? Hell, when I get trips, I’m coy as a cucumber.”
Elizabeth cringed at the mixed simile. Viewers would forgive it.
Fiona grinned. “Luckily for Nate Wilkes, Joe Mangan loves this flop — poor guy doesn’t realize he’s only 3% to win. He bets out three-quarters of the pot.”
“Motherfucker,” Joe muttered from
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