A Game of Chinese Poker

Chinese Poker: A mildly autistic variant of Gin.

**For full rules and details, see below**

Essentially, the goal is to get rid of your cards before your opponent, thereby amassing points based on the number of cards left in your opponent's hand. You play to 100.

And 2's are high. For instance, a "Royal Flush" would be J,Q,K,A,2

Oh, and this game was invented in a purple haze by my buddy Stern. Perhaps it exists beyond the confines of his Union Square apartment, but I've yet to see it. One round usually takes 3-5 minutes. A full game to 100, given the proclivity for games to end with single digit points, can slog on for an hour or two or longer. Fun game. 

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

I've been a commercial real estate broker for a while now. Minus two years for business school and it will be eight years since college that I've been hawking retail real estate sites and representing chain stores and brave mom-and-pop's around the tri-state area. 

Though the business has been moderately good to me, for the longest time I've been itching and yearning for a change. I've been chasing a phantom "dream job" for years now and I've stuck to my guns and have duked it out against our bitch of an economy. Lately though, the bitch seems to be winning. The fire and drive that originally came with a 100% commission-based salary structure has dissipated of late and I've been getting antsy. 

My wife's been getting antsy. 

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

You just can't expect much being down three game to love in the Stanley Cup finals. I also didn't expect this incredibly deep playoff run out of a 40 year old Marty. I loved it immensely, don't get me wrong, but once we beat the Rangers, and the elation I felt with that victory, it was as though we were playing with house money. I felt we'd already won something.

But I wanted that Cup, too. I wanted it so badly. I know we've won it three times before, but the champagne drank (drunk?) from Lord Stanley's prize is the sweetest champagne. 

I remember being with my step-dad at game 4 of the '95 finals when we beat Detroit 5-2. I remember maniacally jumping up and down on the concrete steps at the old Brendan Byrne Arena while watching prototypical 4th-line tough-guy Mike Peluso blubber like a baby when he realized he was about to hold  the Cup for the first time. It was the first time I'd seen it live. I remember Jason Arnott's double overtime cup-clinching goal against the Stars in 2000 during Spring semester at Michigan. I remember being at ESPNZone in Times Square watching the '03 Cup with Lawrence and Greg and Jason and gasping in horrific delight while Scott Stevens plowed into Paul Kariya. 

Side Note: Jean-Sebastien Giguere played exceptionally well in that post season. But I'm still bitter over a losing goalie winning the Conn Smythe. That was Marty's trophy.

I also remember hating Ray Bourque and cursing him as a "cheater" for going to the Avalanche after years of faithful service to Boston; and then promptly beating my boys in the '01 finals. That sucked.

But that is what is so special about the Cup Finals. They make you feel something that isn't present in other championship games/series. Perhaps the World Cup is comparable, because you can feel the emotion seething out of the players pores during every shift. With every desperate shot, your heart flutters. With every broken nose and bloodied mouth you are reminded how much these madmen, and they are indeed madmen, give and sacrifice to win that damned Cup. 

It is infinitely more interesting when it's your home team in contention, but just watching those men kill themselves over the glory to be champion is truly something special and rare. Hockey is a brutal game and the postseason lasts a very long time (just ask my wife). You have to want it. You have to fight hard for it. Hockey fans get this. Non-hockey fans think the Super Bowl is the pinnacle of modern sport. 

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * 

"Happiness and our reactions to it" seemed to be the prevailing theme of Mad Men this past season. It was a slow build with the only true fireworks coming in the spectacular penultimate episode. With a theme as deep and abstract as "happiness," and characters so vividly drawn over the course of 5 full seasons, it had to be a slow build. I thought the season, mildly drab finale notwithstanding, was one of the richest and most thought-evoking yet. 

In his meeting with Dow Chemical, Don hypothetically posed "What is happiness?" and retorted with "It's a moment before you want more happiness." 

Mme Calvet (Megan's mom), in her hyper-french method of consoling Megan's recent malaise tells her that any unhappiness she feels is brought on because Megan is chasing a some unreachable dream, some phantom. Mme Calvet tells Don of Megan, "this is what happens when you have the artistic temperament but you are not an artist."

Oh, the French.

Pete is a shooting star at SCDP, he's bringing in all the business. One would think that, compounded on the birth of his first (second) child, he'd be elated. Alas, no. He tried hard to find happiness again with the chick from Gilmore Girls, only to find the emotional connection to be "a band-aid on an open wound." 

Much like Don providing Megan with a commercial gig, will that solution only be a finger in the hole of a dam? We'll find out next season, I suppose. 

And Roger Sterling now seems to find happiness by getting freaky on LSD. God bless that awesome man.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * 

So I got to Stern's around 7:45pm and I was starving. It had been a long day already. Stern just got back from playing 18 somewhere out in Long Island and you could see the sunburn already setting in on his perfectly round and glabrous cranium. He'd already eaten, and since we still had a few minutes until game time, he offered up some home-made bolognese and warmed it up for me. Was very tasty. Great friend. 

He's a Long Islander and says he's a Rangers fan, but it's fine to watch the Devils with him because, honestly, he's just not the loyal hockey fan that I am. He'll watch it and he'll enjoy it, sure, but if I weren't there, he'd be watching Deadliest Catch reruns and not Game Six. 

"Want to get a game of Chinese Poker?" he asks while passing me a Stella.

"Yeah, man, I'm in" I responded, knowing that my evening would now be spent both intensely hoping for a chance at Game 7 and trying to deflect Stern from beating me, yet again, at this game. I actually can not remember ever winning a full game to 100 against him. I don't think I have.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Job hunting is such a bear of a process. I've been doing it for years now, so I guess I would consider myself somewhat of an expert hunter, just not a successful one. My background experience has given me a very specific skill set, and the types of companies needing to utilize what I do best are getting fewer and farther between. I've always known that, but I'd stubbornly pursued jobs that were far out of my league. For years I looked at starting salaries and titles and company names and invested all of my energy and attention towards a dream job for which I was seemingly unqualified. I pursued jobs that I guessed I could do with proper training. Never worked out. And with each subsequent rejection, I had to start anew. I had to suck it down and just keep applying. Keep smiling. Keep drumming up new excitement. Keep feigning enthusiasm.

"I'm worried about you, Eric."

I heard that from a lot of people. 

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

I mean, it's not likely that you can come back from three games down. It's certainly not impossible, just highly improbable. I knew that, but I stubbornly held out hope. Especially after winning games four and five. It was 3-2 now. It was a series! Right?

"Hope is a good thing, maybe the best of things," said Red in Shawshank.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

"How dare you fill a man like that with ambition," said Mrs. Pryce.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

And the game dragged on and on. We started out 4-0. Then 5-0. Then 6-1, 6-4, 14-4, and so on. We were both playing very slow and defensive Chinese Poker --- not taking risks by playing dumb --- a first for both of us, considering we are both idiots.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Bernier penalty. The dagger. At least our death was quick. Within the span of that 5 minute major, I could see the life forces being sucked out of my team. Kovalchuk had no legs. Parise couldn't control the puck. Passes were off. Marty Brodeur metamorphosed into a sieve.

But then.....we scored one in the second. They did, too, but so what? We got one through! Down 4-1 during the second intermission, I relented to hope again.

Hope. That bitch.

"If we can win this thing, we can win the Cup" I told Stern, my eyes wide and hopeful and dumb. I was down 22-8 in our game as I readied myself for a potentially historic third period.

If we can score one early in the third, we can DO THIS!

26-8 Stern. 

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

I found something interesting at indeed.com two weeks ago. It was with a growing company and the job was very similar to my current day-to-day, not exactly, but it's within the wheelhouse of my capabilities. It wasn't exactly what I do, but I would be tickled pink to try my damnedest and give it my all.

So I applied.

A few phone calls, lots of research, a resume revision, and a few interviews later, it turns out they didn't want me for that job.

After my second interview they told me they wanted me for another job. A seemingly better job for me as it meshes so perfectly with what I do best. And it's something I love to do, so, awesome. For years I searched, and it appears that I am now on the precipice of landing this job. Out of the blue. I can hardly believe it. I am so shocked at the quickness of this seeming success that my happiness has not yet sunk in. Only sheer adrenaline excitement.

"I find I'm so excited I can barely sit still or hold a though in my head" said Red in Shawshank.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

"So what did they say to you at the interview" Stern asked

I was too busy concentrating on my hand to answer because I was in the process of demolishing him. I won a round with him holding 8 cards. It was 32-28 me. I was making a respectable comeback. I was reluctant to celebrate and gloat, but then I got another huge hand and beat him holding 13 cards. 33 points. 65-28 me.

Victory was in sight and I was hopeful.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Of course Matthew Weiner gave his son, who plays Glen, the most poignant and telling line of the Season:

"Everything you think's gonna make you happy, just turns to crap."

It's not eloquent, but sheesh. I mean, if you look at the season and the characters that way, then everything comes together. Don and Megan. Why Peggy left. Lane. Poor Lane. Mme. Calvet. Roger. Pete. They all want happiness, but don't know what to do with it when they have it. 

As an eternal optimist, I will again relent to hope not conform to Glen's epiphany. After all, a twelve year-old with a faux-stache said it. 

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

The third period started out hopeful and full of excitement and anticipation, but as I watched the first few minutes of the third period unwind, inevitability and reality began to sink in. Hope left me unguarded and vulnerable and I was sad for my boys and my team. They worked hard and certainly deserved it. The Kings, however, just played harder and better.

And that's the way it goes sometimes. Those last two goals in the third period were just silly reminders that the Kings were, yes, better. I understood. Those were just the hockey gods letting me know that it really wouldn't happen this year.

The elation of the day's good news absolutely superseded any negativity to see the Kings win. It's always a pleasure to see the Stanley Cup. It looked so shiny and awesome. 

But while watching the Kings parade the Cup around the Staples Center, I wondered about the future. Will Marty be back? He says he will....but, and I'm afraid to even ask this, but do we even want him back?

Oy. That felt bad. But we're reaching Jeter/Posada territory here and you have to ask yourself if it's time to let go. I know he can still play, but I watched what happened when Brett Favre and his pride was goaded into coming and giving it "one more try." And there is NO WAY I want Marty going out like that. It's ok that he won't be going out like Elway, only a rare few get to retire as a Champion. But maybe he can go out like Montana. I think trading him to Les Canadiens in his hometown Montreal to play one or two more Willie-Mays-With-The-Mets final two ho-hum seasons would be a fitting and logical end.

I'm pretty sure Parise won't be staying. That's just the business end of Kovalchuck's deal precluding us from keeping our home grown star. It will be sad to see him go, but as Don said to his student Peggy in the movie theater, "That's what happens when you help someone. They succeed and move on." Though, like Don to Peggy, I'm proud of him while being concerned for the team's future.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

We kept it tight throughout of the third period. One point here, three there. I was still up by a healthy amount. Healthy enough that I forgoed (forewent?) throwing down a full boat because I wanted to save my Kings (ironic pun wholeheartedly intended). Turns out Stern had another plan. Pairs. I had none with which I could beat him. He just threw down pair after pair after pair and I just did not have the cards in my hand to beat him. And with every subsequent pair he threw down, I had to pick up an extra card from the pile. 

And then, the dagger. He threw down a pair of 2's with, yup, the Two of Spades.

I had sixteen cards in my hand. 132 points in one hand for Stern. Game over. It was a long game, but it was a quick death.

Damn it.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

I can not accurately describe my current happiness. I am excited and I feel good about the opportunities that lay ahead. I feel vindicated in some way. I will not take this happiness for granted and I will embrace this opportunity with all of my might and I will succeed because I know I can. I know that if I do it right, I can start to finally show a truly good company what I am capable of doing. But more importantly, I'll be able to finally, at long last, prove it to myself.

This is an occasion to be happy and I am.

This is an occasion to be grateful for the opportunity to even be considered. It's ok that the Kings won because they were the better team this year. It's fine that Stern won, as he always seems to, because I made one foolhardy move. In that kind of game, that's all it takes to lose. Even after two-plus hours of playing, one misstep and you're done. 

Don and Megan seemed to enjoy the newfound happiness and marriage all season long. It was almost odd to see Don smile so much. But I think we know where this is headed. And so maybe it's foretold that Don will never fully embrace the happiness that seemed to grip him by the balls all season. We saw some of the "Old" Don last week in his pitch to Dow. Malaise is starting to creep in and it will have to be seen if he reverts to his old philandering ways. 

Happiness is a moment before you want more happiness. And everything you think's gonna make you happy, just turns to crap.

Well, I'm sorry Mr. Weiner, I love your work tremendously, but for the sake of my own personal sanity and for the good of my wife and my future, I must disagree with you. I have to. I'm going to enjoy the shit out of this time in my life.

After all, we still beat the fucking Rangers.

The losing hand and the sixth goal

**It can be played with two or three people, but for the sake of brevity I will only explain the two player kind.

Each player gets seventeen cards. The goal is rid yourself of your cards before your opponent. You win by amassing points based on how many cards your opponent has left after you throw down your final card. 

Standard poker/stud/gin rules in terms of hand strength, but 2's are high. Get that? 2's beat aces in this fachachta game and the Two of Spades is the highest card. A hand with a two of spades trumps everything (unless, you know, you throw a Spade flush with a two of spades, your opponent can still win with a full boat. Poker rules.)

To start, the player with the lowest card (in this game, the Three of Diamonds), or closest to it, has the opportunity to throw either one card, a pair, or a five card hand.

Then the opponent has to throw a higher card, a better pair, or a better five card hand. And so each round goes until a player either can not beat the other hand, or chooses to pass. At which point, the round's loser picks up a card from the deck. Then a new round begins and you repeat until a player is out of cards.

You play to 100. Point system is:

If your opponent has 1 card left in his hand after you throw your last card, you get 1 point.

2 cards, 2 points.

3 cards, 3 points.

4 cards, 4 points.

5 cards, 5 points.

6 cards, 6 points.

7 cards, 7 points.

8 cards, 8 points.

9 cards, 9 points.

10 cards, 20 points.

11 cards, 22 points (at which point all reasoning go out the door)

12 cards, 24 points.

13 cards, 33 points (what?)

14 cards, 44 points

15 cards, 55 points

16 cards, 66 points

One last fun fact, if you throw down your last card/hand and it contains a Two of Spades (the highest card), you get double the point. So if you win with your opponent holding 12 cards in your hand and the last card/hand your throw down is a 2 of spades, you get 48 points (2 x 24).

It took me a while to get used to this.

And I've never seen anyone get beat with 17 cards in their hand, but I'm assuming it would be 78 or 89 or whatever point total would let Stern win.