Later he would make me practice pushing chips into the pot. For years, all I did was move chips, until my motion flowed, and the chips were part of me, and it was myself I was pushing into the middle of the table, saying, “Throw it away, you don’t have the balls to call.”
Finally he let me begin to learn. He taught me the hand rankings, the odds of making a flush with two cards to come, as well as poker etiquette, like what to do if someone has a heart attack at the table (if he wasn’t in the hand, call the card room manager to announce an open seat).
Then the hard lessons began–discipline. Discipline, discipline, discipline. He would put duct tape over my mouth, bind my hands to my side, and deal me aces.
It was hard, but gratifying. I became one with the felt. My consciousness would expand until process was everything, results nothing, unless I took a really bad beat, in which case I had a Smith & Wesson.
Fill, or fill not. There is no draw."
