UNCLE MORT’S LAST GAME
You’re here just in time; they’re in the middle of the last hand. I’m Santo Antinori, and that’s my uncle Mort ‘Rip’ Calabrese on the right and Alphonso ‘Mad Dog’ DeSteffino on the left. They’re both in their late seventies, they both look exhausted.
They’ve been rivals for over forty years; a game of poker is war to them. Agreeing to play heads-up, each bought in with $150,000.00. They’ve been at four hours now and best I can determine Uncle Mort’s ahead by around $75,000.00.
Both were permitted old age retirement by the boss of the ‘Lias Family’ Big Bill, here in Wheeling. Not only did they retire with his blessings, but both as millionaires.
The pot is hot; it’s Uncle Mort’s bet, and look. He just forced Mad Dog all-in. The final down card is being dealt by the hired dealer, and it’s all over but the shouting and cursing.
The rules say the last to bet must call his cards, place them face up on the table, while the opponent either lays down topping him, or folds. The winner can now rake in his winnings.
Before my eyes, Uncle Mort picks up his last card, jumps up from his chair, starts to speak, but falls to the floor, cards clutched in his left hand.
Running to him, I kneel, it appears that he’s had a stroke. I grab his cards, stand and announce a full house, Kings over Jacks.
Mad Dog slapped three aces on the table and laughing, starts to scrape in the pile of chips.
Stop! The dealer yells, “the rules say you must announce your cards first.” I look at a table with $300,000.00 in chips, who is the owner? This folk is a $300,000.00 conundrum.