Poker Articles

Cat Doctor
By Dave Cinch
(All Rights Reserved)

Most every home game has a "Doc" or two in it, and ours is no exception. But if you've seen one Doc, you haven't seen them all. Not by a long shot. Our Doc - a veterinarian who I'll call "Dr. Robert" - is the type of poker player welcome the world over. He plays every hand. A pure born Brooklyn gentleman if there ever was one, he comes to the game arguing and leaves arguing, and while he's there he's got more re-runs than "I Love Lucy."

Every hand that Doc plays - which means every hand - gets post-mortemed harder than an assassinated president, and the funny part is he doesn't even know what he is talking about. If he'd stick to autopsying cats, he might have more luck.

It's all kind of funny because there is a long tradition of anyone called "Doc" being a pretty tough customer around card rooms. That started with Doc Holliday and continues right up to today. Just plug in the name from the games you frequent, I'm sure you know a "Doc" or two who is tough as nails.

But the only thing you have to worry about with Dr. Robert is how many consecutive hands he will play, and how many beats he will put on you in the process. He says he never makes his nut flush draws but I've never seen him miss one. He's lucky, I tell you. He likes to call people "sausage" when he beats them, which is only one of many of his endearing habits. His life has been saved at least 30 times since I've known him, on account of such behavior. Upstanding, peace-loving men have gone home to get their number one piece over some out-of-line comment or another by the good Doctor, but it never fazes him. He just goes right on about his business of gambling, drawing uphill, and dishing out all the verbal abuse he can - without batting an eye. Only thing I can figure is in Brooklyn, where he was raised up, mortally offended gun-wielding gamblers were no cause for alarm.

Had I met him earlier, I would have made the line on him dying of natural causes about a million-to-one. But he's made it to the big "Six O" intact. He just doesn't know how lucky he is. Trained marines have had it in for this guy, but somehow he always came out okay. Maybe everybody just likes his action too much; nobody ever wants to do anything to hurt the game, you know.

I did a "Kentucky Derby of Poker" mock write-up a few years ago and dubbed him "Bald Bidder," after the tough and obstinate Bold Bidder of Kentucky racing lore, the sire of Spectacular Bid. But the only thing spectacular about Dr. Robert was his amazing streak of consecutive hands played. Forget about Cal Ripken, forget about Joe DiMaggio, forget about John Wooden and the UCLA Bruins - Doc's streak of consecutive hands seeing the flop in Omaha is the one that ought to be in the Guinness Book of World Records. Starting in 1983 when I met him, right up to the present - that's 20 years - he never folded a hand before the flop in Omaha when he was loser in the game. I've seen him play trips in the stack and be proud of it. I'm talking about wide-open, real live gambling sausage-type stuff.

He wasn't "embarrassed" about it either; they don't even have that word in Brooklyn. He'd gladly show you his preposterous holding if you were out of the hand, which was only fair because he was a world class "peeper." He'd croon his neck around like a giraffe and could always tell you the hole cards of the two players to his right, and the two to his left. Nobody even minded he played so bad, except for occasionally, which I alluded to, when someone would run home for his piece.

You could build a game around this guy in no time flat. Anybody who called in, their first question was "Is Dr. Robert there?" They'd ask that even before they'd ask what was for dinner, or who was offering their services as "hostess" for the night. (Of course those questions weren't far behind.)

Doc went to vet school at Auburn, and I guess that's where he "learned" how to play poker. He was in a ritzy fraternity down there and claims he financed his college career in their frat house poker games. All I can say is, if he did, his fraternity brothers must have been the dumbest son-of-a-******* on earth. The state of Alabama, not known as a haven for intellectuals (see current hit movie "Sweet Home Alabama"), was even worse back then. The cat doctor-to-be Dr. Robert was actually considered a "sharpie" down there, which is a scary, scary thought.

But all he's considered nowadays in Kentucky is "Prick of the Year" 12 years running, following in the footsteps of the infamous "Marvelous Marvin" - another real wild card - who had moved out west to Vegas and vacated the crown. Doc's filled his shoes admirably and is worthy of the crown in all respects, I must admit.

If it sounds like I'm dissing Doc a little strong, away from the poker game he's really an all around prince of a guy. He's just got that Brooklyn attitude when he's gambling. He has a reputation around town as an excellent vet, just be careful about going to see him on Wednesdays - after the Tuesday night game. The price of cat neutering goes up a little on Wednesdays, if you know what I mean. A man's got a right to make a living. It's just like the airlines and hotels, you charge whatever they'll belly up and pay.

But your cat is in good hands with Dr. Robert. Beasts of all sorts love him, and he loves them. Exactly to what degree has never been established, but there have been rumors - and a court case or two. He was up for beastly-ality in front of our local no-nonsense hanging judge. Don't worry, the judge made the newspapers with his landmark ruling: "The presumption of innocence is man's best friend sometimes, and witnesses are hard to come by out in them barnyards. Case dismissed." The judge was one of Doc's poker-playing buddies, and the fix was in. It was good for the game.