Last entry, I wrote about my gambling Gallant, the guy who generated
action and excitement around himself without even trying. Stacy had the
pick of any opportunity that suited his fancy…and since he wasn’t
really a gambler, never took any of them. This time, it’s about my
gambling Goofus…actually, two of them. We could call them the Tweedle
brothers, but these Goofuses were named Tom and Brad. Those aren’t real
names, because for some reason I think it’s less cruel if I point out
people’s failings using a pseudonym for them.

Tom worked at Speeds’ pool hall as a brush (handing out balls, cleaning
up tables, putting away cues, etc) and pinch-time bartender, and Brad
was his best friend. When Tom wasn’t working, he was hanging out. Brad
was there whether Tom was working, hanging out, or not there at all.
They were both nice enough guys, but you immediately developed the
impression that they were trying too hard. They worked their way into
group conversations where they didn’t really have any knowledge of the
topic or anything to add. They laughed a little too hard at your jokes,
and their own. They were a little too eager to jump right in to a
situation. In any social setting, where several people are engaged with
each other, there are usually one or two people on the edge of that
group, waiting to be invited into the group. Tom and Brad were always
those two guys.

Overeagerness is a cardinal sin in the gambling world, because you can
always take more of an edge and still get your play. If I could beat
Brad playing 9-ball giving him the call 7, I’d give him the 8 and still
get a game. If I knew Tom liked the Cowboys (and he ALWAYS liked the
Cowboys, this was Dallas in the early 90s) +4 with Green Bay, I could
rile him up into giving me 6 or 7. Now, with either of those bets, a
reasonable gambler would find out where they stood if they weren’t
sure…after all, I wasn’t known in that room as a sucker. Brad could
talk to Prof. James Acquaintance or Little Mike or Jesse the Asian
(someone I’ll introduce at another time) or a dozen other regulars and
ask, “hey, you think I’m worse than a 8-ball against Paul?” and gotten
an honest answer the vast majority of the time, because we were all
friendly. Tom could find one of the two or three bookies who were
usually around the pool hall, as bookies normally are, and ask them what
the line was before agreeing to my action.

I’m proud that I didn’t take advantage of these guys nearly as much as I
could have. I’d like to say that it was because I was a good guy, but
the truth is that neither of them had a lot of money. I was single and
making good money as an engineer, and had some extra to gamble. Those
guys were scraping by, and at least were smart enough to know that they
were $25-a-play guys. It was all in good fun for me, and they were
trying to have fun too…if losing most of the time can be considered
“fun”.