Archive for May, 2009
Posted by: Tommy Angelo on May 28th, 2009
I’ve made a new friend at Lucky Chances. His name is Django. (Pronounced Jango.) He’s a young, instantly likable player, very sharp and well-respected. The first dozen times we played together was in early 2007 when I played a few times a week for a few months. It was right after my book came out. I hadn’t played for a year and a half. During that time, he had become an established regular in the big no-limit game at LC.
One day, I raised preflop, he called from the blind, he checked the flop, I bet the flop, he checkraised, and I folded.
Another day, the same thing happened.
During those sessions I saw him do the same thing a couple times with draws.
So the next time I went up to play, I decided in the car that if this pattern came up again, I was going all the way with my hand if I had a pair.
And sure enough, it happened again. I had a pair (a pocket pair of eights), I opened for $120 preflop, he called from the big blind, he checked the flop, I bet $200, he made it $700, I called, he bet $1100 on the turn, I called, he bet $1700 on the river, I called, and he mucked. I won and no cards were shown.
(The flop was 9-4-2 rainbow. The turn was a queen and the river was a jack.)
He took a break right away. When he came back, he started talking to me about the hand. I knew right away I must really like this guy because I spoke.
“What’d you have?” he asked.
“I would like to answer your question, really I would, but I am incapable of telling the truth in situations like this, so there’s really no point in me saying anything.”
“You had pocket kings.” He said.
Fastforward to last week.
I hadn’t been to LC for about a year. I had been playing for a few hours, when Django took a seat in the game, across the table from me. Right away he started talking about the hand from a year ago. He asked if I remembered the hand.
“Yes.” I said. “The flop was 9-4-2 rainbow.” Before that sentence, it had been five or six years at least since I had mentioned actual cards at a poker table.
“Wow! Nice memory!” he said.
He said some more stuff about the hand that I didn’t reply to. A couple hours later, he moved to a seat right next to me. We chatted a little bit about this and that, and then he brought up the hand again.
“I’ll tell you what I had.” I said. “I had pocket threes. I decided in the car, on the way to the casino, that I was going to call you down with any pair if that pattern came up again.”
“I don’t believe you.” he said.
“I believe you.” I said.
“You believe that I don’t believe you?”
“Right.”
“Well, I had K6. Totally nothing.”
“I don’t believe you.” I said.
“Huh? Are you calling me a liar?”
“Yes. That’s what ‘I don’t believe you’ means. It means I think you are lying.”
“Well, I didn’t really mean it when I said I believed you had pocket threes.”
“I believe you.”
“But before you said you believed that I believed you had pocket threes?”
“But you forgot something.”
“What?”
“That I am incapable of telling the truth when it comes to talking about hands, or talking about talking about hands.”
“You’re a sick fuck.”
“I believe you.”
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Posted by: Tommy Angelo on May 23rd, 2009
Dear Reader,
This story happened in 1996, and I wrote it up a couple years after that. Now, ten years after writing it, I just read it, and man, I hardly recognized myself. It’s not just that I tilted like a maniac. I know I’ve been insane many times and that I’m now well past most self-destructive behaviors. And it’s not that I willfully placed myself precariously on a cliff’s edge. I’ve done that lots of times too, resulting in many nasty injuries. What surprised me most was the blaming. And I didn’t waste any time. It starts right there in the title.
Let me end this little intro with my current perspective. Led Zeppelin summed it up succinctly in the title of a song. These days, anytime I get upset about anything, I know that “It’s Nobody’s Fault But Mine”. Here’s the story…
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Rita Wrecks Me
Me and Rita had a dang near perfect thing going. That’s because she was dang near perfect, except for the gambling. We’d been to Atlantic City and Vegas a couple times each and I vowed never again because it was such a strain. See, I went to casinos to try to make a buck at poker. Rita went because that’s where Miss Jekyll turned into Miss Hyde. And she liked being Miss Hyde, a lot.
She pestered me into a quick trip to Vegas and we decided this time it’d be different. No gambling. That was the plan. This time around we would go and see stuff, like maybe Hoover Dam or Red Rock Canyon, and there was a new strip hotel to check out, the Monte Carlo, and we’d heard about this huge new canopy thing downtown made of light bulbs. We were both really looking forward to pretending we were like normal people. So the plan was Friday night to Sunday night and poof – back home. I would bring just enough money for food and a rental car and that’s it. Rita would bring no money as usual which was fine by me because she’d be bringing her enthusiasm, her charm, and that laugh.
Our flight was detoured to Phoenix because of a flash flood in Vegas. It was only two days after TWA flight 800 blew up in mid-air and nobody knew if it was a terrorist attack or what. To be on the safe side, President Clinton had put sudden and severe emergency security measures in place at airports and everybody was jumpy, especially employees.
So we’re sitting inside a tube on wheels full of people itching to do the Vegas thing, at midnight, in Phoenix. Someone came on the microphone and told us the situation was not good. They told us there were ten other planes like ours in Phoenix that had been diverted from Vegas, and that the airport was way too understaffed to deal with all the extra planes and people and luggage and headaches until the morning crew came in. They told us that if we stayed on the plane, they would take us to Vegas in about nine hours, probably, and that if we got off the plane, we could not get back on, period. We would be totally on our own, with very little hope of getting a different flight out in the morning on any airline.
It so happens Rita and I were carry-on mobile. No checked luggage. We had the same thought at the same time. Let’s grab our bags and get the hell off this plane. Doesn’t matter what we do, let’s just do it elsewhere. How about we rent a car and stop by the Grand Canyon on the way to Vegas? Cool! Great plan! So just like that we were off the plane and skipping through the empty airport all giddy.
We were heading north on Route 17 in Arizona both yakking and driving at 100 miles per hour, in the dark, with no cars anywhere, and feeling like we were getting away with something. No dumb rainstorm hundreds of miles away was going to slow us down. No way.
Our timing was astronomically awesome. We reached the Grand Canyon just as the sun came up, making long shadows and saying good morning to the rocks and lizards and hawks inch by inch without even leaving spots in our eyes. I love sunrise, especially over a sharp horizon. We just stood there, quiet, in that piney western air. Watching that sun come up and looking into the canyon. We hung around for an hour or three. Hard to say with us and time standing still like that.
We stopped at Hoover Dam and went wow but we were now too close to Vegas and too slap-happy from sleeplessness to chill out. An hour later we were cruising The Strip. That place is energizing, like having one pot of coffee dumped down your throat and another one on your head. It’s like, Hello! I’m here!
We had a room reserved at The Mirage. After abusing the buffet we finally slept for probably not that long. It’s hard to rest in Vegas, no matter how tired. When we woke up it was like Hey babe! We’re in Vegas! And we were loving it that we had arrived basically broke and that this time we wouldn’t be getting all hissy over money stuff.
Everything was cool until Sunday night. Our flight home was a few hours away. Oh no. Here it goes. Here it comes. She’s got a ticket to Hyde, and she don’t care. Rita started freaking. She started out all bubbly and then popped.
Hey Tommy. Let’s use your credit card and get a few bucks and play a little blackjack before we leave. Okay? Please please Pleeeze?
I was thinking good lord, here we go again. A perfect trip with the perfect person about to turn into a perfect hell. She had me in the car with no escape when this went down. Man she sure knew how to put the pressure on at just the right time. No I said. No no no no no.
C’mon! Just take out a few hundred and let’s play a little blackjack. No biggy. Right? Sheesh, you’re such a grump.
Rita is a gal who gets her way. No amount of resolve can withstand her power. First she tried sulking and when that didn’t work she got desperate. I knew better than to fight on her turf but this time I was determined. It wasn’t just the money. It was a power thing. We were having our first real showdown because this time, for the first time, I was determined to not give in no matter what.
I got angry. I didn’t like it, but there I was, raising my voice and ranting about how it’s easiest to hurt those closest to you and asking Why are you doing this? Rita countered by turning the volume up to hysterical.
She had me on full tilt so I threw her a wicked but wild curve ball. Okay Rita, here’s the deal. Here’s what we’re going to do. I’ll take out $1000 on my credit card. Yup. You heard right. One thousand. We’ll go down to the Horseshoe…
That was her favorite place to play blackjack or anything else because she’s stayed and gambled there about a million times. She knows the staff by name without even looking at their badges and they know her, and she’d get all decked out and she was so hot when she did that, real easy to look at and everybody did.
After I said the bit about getting money out on the credit card, she didn’t care what came after. We were going to gamble. Rita was no different than any other addict looking as far ahead as the next fix and absolutely no farther. I told her my contingency plan anyway to make it official. Honey? You want to see some gamble? From a tight-ass poker player? Well, you got it.
I told her we’d go to the Horseshoe and play roulette. We’ll bet all $1000 on one spin, on red. If we lose that spin, we’re done. You can hate me all the way home if you want to for blowing the money before you could properly play princess, but you’ll love me again after a few days and it’ll be okay and we’ll laugh about it eventually.
Then came the devious part. I told Rita that if we win that first spin, we’re going to let it ride. We’ll bet all $2000 on the next spin, on red. If we win that second spin, we’ll have $4000, and we’ll stay in Vegas and gamble and party and have a terminal blast until the money is all gone or until we win so much it’s stupid.
She was thrilled, of course, and terrified too. See, it wasn’t like I was rolling in dough or anything. If I lost a grand, especially at a pure gamble and not at poker where I mustered an edge, it would hurt me. I mean rent-wise hurt, and emotionally too for pissing it away. Only Rita could rock me one instant and wreck me the next. Only she could tilt me till I toppled. That scared her and she said so. But for now we were going to gamble and that’s what mattered more.
We went to the Horseshoe and even though Fremont Street had recently been, like, totally covered for five blocks by an indescribable Vegas-sized semi-circular awning, we barely looked up and we went straight to the cage. I did the deed and we bee-lined to the nearest roulette table. I put down $1000 in cash on red and said all of it, roll the ball. The dealer called the pit boss over to verify what was going down. These guys have seen everything but they still have to watch. Knowing Rita’s ways, I told the pit boss that the money was all mine. Right Rita? Rita reluctantly nodded.
WHIRRerrERRRerrr. The ball went round and round in time with that Steely Dan song, “Then you find yourself in Vegas, with a gambler in your hand.” Okay, so the actual lyrics are “handle in your hand.” What’s the dif. Round and round went Rita. She was jittery and pacing and mutilating a cigarette and totally freaking out. And there I was with my money sitting there on the altar like a sacrifice to the glittering gods of tinsel town. And I didn’t even care. In my mind that money was already gone. I was stabilized now. I was making a statement about how Yeah, I love you babe, but when it comes to money and gambling, from now on, don’t dare mess with me anymore, please, alright?
Clickety clickety click click click. Red. The ball stopped on red. Rita erupted. Let’s go! Let’s stop now! C’mon Tommy! We got $2000! Let’s just get a room right here right now and slow down for a while. C’mon hon. Let’s quit.
She was tugging hard on my arm. The strange thing was that it was still my money. My $2000. But she totally felt that she had rights over half of it because without her pestering I never would have risked $1000 in the first place. This was typical Ritalogic.
Let it ride, I said, all of it, $2000, on red. The dealer couldn’t help but pause for a moment before spinning the wheel with Rita screaming in his face, No! No! No! Stop! Stop! Stop! The pit boss thought he had seen everything but now for sure he knew he had.
WHIRerrERRerr, clickety click click. Red. We won. The ball stopped on red. Rita exploded. I mean, she did. Right there. You’d think she had just, well, I can’t think of an analogy. There isn’t one, since no one could ever be that tense and knotted up and then that relieved in that short of time over anything, except for Rita, in exactly this spot.
I said we’re done and I gave the dealer $100. I still didn’t give a rip about the money. I had made a deal with Rita and I was plenty happy to make good and live it up in Vegas and not fret. This was going to be fun. We had $4000 that was already gone, just a matter of when, and she knew it. My god she was the happiest person on the planet ever. Being around someone who is that happy you can’t help but be bigtime happy too, doesn’t matter what they’re happy about.
So there we were all zippity-do-da with a wad of cash and no certain day we had to get back home and we’re in Vegas babe, we’re going to do this town up right. And we did. We even saw a show.
It’s true what they say about not trying to change people. A few days later, we were sitting in the Vegas airport waiting to board the plane home, tired and sated like after a long fine meal with extra dessert and wine. Rita asked if we had enough money to rent movie headphones and buy beers on the plane. I pulled out seventy bucks. Is that it? That’s it. She kissed my cheek while she gently removed the cash from my unresisting hand. Then she bounced up, and off she went to the airport slot machines. Hey Rita! Save enough for the parking garage when we get home! She waved without turning or slowing down.
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Posted by: Tommy Angelo on May 19th, 2009
Went camping last weekend. One night solo, my best one of those yet. Kay appeared the next day. The day after that, we had people over, some stayed, some just ate. It was all quite glorious.
One morning I was up ahead of the rest. I made a fire and put the kettle over it. The kettle was fairly high above the fire, and it had quite a bit of water in it. I got my meditation bench out and spread out a mat right next to the fire and assumed the position. My eyeballs were aimed at the kettle. I had a couple logs next to me prepared to put on the fire as needed.
I don’t know how much time passed, but I do know that the kettle did start making that pained screechy sound it makes when it has boiling water inside. So I can now attest, first hand, that a watched pot does in fact boil.
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Posted by: Tommy Angelo on May 13th, 2009
UPDATE: Here’s a new page (2010) that has all the music and tons of other stuff from the series:
http://www.tommyangelo.com/blog/2009/11/09/announcing-the-the-eightfold-path-to-poker-enlightenment-web-page/
Since the dawn of DeucesCracked.com, I have been singing their praises. I know all five founders well. I’ve played poker with them. I’ve hung out with them. I’ve coached a couple of them. I’ve watched the videos they make. I see the community they have built and the dedication of their faithful. Being part of the DeucesCracked family is a source of joy and gratitude for me. And now that I have a video airing, I feel like I’ve been promoted from cousin to brother.
The only way to see the videos is the be a DeucesCracked subscriber. If you decide to do that, and you use this link to DeucesCracked.com, I will get a piece of your action.
The Eightfold Path to Poker Enlightenment — EPTPE, pronounced rapidly like so: eh-puh-tuh-puh — is an eight-part video series that, according to these people who have seen the first episode and written about it in the EPTPE thread at the DeucesCracked forums, is really good. I of course have no opinion on such matters since I am opinionless. (This is when my partner in the series, Wayne Lively, would call bullshit.)
Speaking of Wayne, he’s the reason this whole thing happened. Back when he had his own poker show on Hold’em Radio, he had the idea of me coaching him on the air. This was an especially good idea because not only does Wayne have an awesome voice and great microphone sense, he also exhibits some behaviors and attitudes that make him ripe for my coaching.
Well, Wayne’s tenure with Hold’em Radio came to an end right about the same time the idea was bouncing around about me doing a video series for DeucesCracked. When I learned that the DC videos are released in eight-episode-long seasons, it was an instant slam dunk idea for me to use Buddha’s eightfold path as an outline for a series, and just start filling in the blanks from there.
Wayne and I kicked lots of ideas around on the way to settling on having the audio portion of the series be improvised conversations on pre-determined topics. That’s the meat of it. Wayne and I talking. For flavoring, I decided to put short bits of piano music in between the conversations. I played all of the 100 or so piano inserts. Some of them I “made up” and others are excerpts borrowed from classical composers such as Mozart and Neil Young.
The poker talk covers a lot of ground, with the recurring theme being: How can we play our A-game more often, and have more fun (or less agony) doing it? Along the way there are many how-to’s that pertain more directly to modifying thoughts and actions that will lead directly to more profit (or less loss). Wayne came up with the best way to summarize the series: “It’s not about how to play poker. It’s about becoming a poker player.”
The visuals of the videos have been an absolute blast to think up. We use text, sparingly, to let the viewer know what topic we are on, and to emphasize an occasional spoken phrase, and to create a humorous wise-cracking third character. We use original drawings by my good friend Wendelin Montciel that capture ideas with grace and levity. We use occasional photographs, cartoon images, and flash movies, to drive home key points and to keep you from nodding off during Wayne’s long boring parts.
Two words: Rob Cole. Also known as Entity. If EPTPE is a house, Rob is the carpenter. He’s the brains and the brawn behind assembling the pieces, while adding much artistic input along the way. Basically, EPTPE is a three-man job. Me, Wayne, and Rob.
The reason EPTPE exists is because I went from being a self-destructive tilt monkey to being pretty much stable. And I want to increase the probability that you will do the same thing.
Posted by: Tommy Angelo on May 8th, 2009
Can you be in the future and the present at the same time?
On our anniversary each year, Kay and I drive to some awesome getaway location and stay for three nights. On our latest trip, we woke up one morning and starting talking about future anniversary vacations. We decided that next year, on our fifth anniversary, we would revisit the scene of our marriage: Hawaii. This set an implied precedent that every five years we would go somewhere we couldn’t drive to. “How about Florence?” We’d been thinking of going there. “We’ll do that on our 10th anniversary,” we decided. “We’ll stay for a month.”
When we looked forward, we saw a rosary of April vacations, with a fat bead every fifth bead. “What an excellent plan of plans!” we thought.
The next morning during my meditation it occurred to me that none of the plans we had made meant diddly squat to me. In fact, no plan I ever make holds control over my happiness. What a wonderful realization and condition. For example, let’s say I plan on finishing a project – large or small – by this afternoon or next year or whatever. I will do my best to satisfy obligations I have made to others, but as to the obligation I made to myself, well, there simply isn’t one. If the project gets done “early,” I don’t rejoice, and if the project takes longer than projected, I don’t suffer. Even if it peters out and doesn’t happen at all, no problem.
It didn’t used to be that way. Just the opposite. I used to be totally at the mercy of my hopes and expectations of the future. If I planned a cookout, I’d worry about rain. If it rained, I suffered. If it didn’t rain, I wouldn’t slow down; I was on to some other idea of what would make me happy or unhappy down the road. I literally never stopped. And I believe I never would have stopped if I had not taken up the practice of frequent stopping, as in, meditating.
That’s not to say I do any less planning than before. I still make many, many plans. I make plans for the next second, minute, hour, day, week, month, year, and years. The difference is that now my plans come with a handful of assumptions that make the whole process free and easy.
The main assumption I make is that a day will come when I make a plan that goes unfulfilled because I died before the, uh, deadline. And I never know when my death will cause a plan to not go as planned. So when I say to you, “I’ll meet you for lunch tomorrow,” I actually do think to myself, “Unless I die first,” but I don’t bother to say that. It’s just assumed.
Another assumption I make is that sometimes I will not be physically able to fulfill a plan, which is really just a subset of the whole dying thing. I consciously accept that injury or illness will inevitably interfere with my plans. And that way, when I do have to change my plans because of injury or illness, it will be as expected and as welcomed as, say, going bald. Which is not to say I will be overjoyed about it. But the stress will be slight and brief, it having been pre-wrapped in a bundle of swaddling non-resistance.
I assume that priorities will sometimes shift between the time the plan is made and when it comes due. For example, I might plan to start writing an article tomorrow called, “How to Plan Stuff Without All the Agony,” and then something might come up that’s more important or appealing or whatever, and I do that instead.
I assume that my net worth will never stop changing, and that sometimes I will make a plan based on reasonable financial projections that then don’t pan out. I remain ever-ready to change plans accordingly. For example, in 2015, because of our finances at that time, Kay and I might not take a month-long vacation to Florence as we recently planned. Maybe we’ll go for a week. Maybe we’ll go for a year. Maybe we won’t go at all. However it goes, if I’m alive in April of 2015, my plan is to be grateful in April of 2015. That’s the only plan I really hope I can keep.
I assume that sometimes things out of my control will happen that cause a change in plans. For example, you might invite me to lunch tomorrow, and then die tonight. Or maybe you just forgot the appointment. Does it really matter? Either way, I eat alone, when that was not the plan. It doesn’t matter to me why you aren’t there because as I place food in my mouth, the most important thing to me will be the food in my mouth. Later, I will find out if you are dead or delinquent. Until then, it is irrelevant. And in either case, I won’t hold you accountable for having foiled my plan.
I assume that your suffering is never my fault. Let’s revisit our lunch date, but this time, it’s you who are sitting alone in the restaurant waiting for me. And waiting. And waiting. Various feelings arise inside you: frustration, confusion, worry, anger. The next time we communicate, I will not say “I’m sorry” because that would be a lie. If it becomes clear to me that you believe that my tardiness caused you to suffer, there will now be a slightly greater than zero chance that the words “I’m sorry” will come out of me. But if they do, it won’t mean what you think it means. The translation goes like this, “As spokesperson for the universe, I’m sorry that you are unable to just sit, just drink, just eat.” In other words, I am no more responsible for your happiness or your unhappiness than a distant planet. It’s never my fault when a failed plan makes you unhappy.
Only three things can cause one of my plans to not go as planned: 1) I might die 2) Circumstances might change 3) I might change my mind. What makes this simple awareness extremely refreshing and a source of shockingly rich freedom and joy is that when I am making a plan, I am actually just making the plan. I’m not entangled in or reliant on the plan itself. I am not at the mercy of its fruition. I just make the plan, now. If the plan comes to be, then I will experience it, now, as in, then, which will at that time be now. And if the plan doesn’t happen, there is no loss, because at the moment that the plan is not happening, I’m still just me, now, and whichever now is happening then will always be just as now as if it was planned or not. So I’m free. Free to plan. Free to change plans. Free to not have plans. Free to not have plans go as planned. It’s all just part of the same bowl of soup. And it’s tasty.
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Posted by: Tommy Angelo on May 1st, 2009
The first time Andy slithered into our little snake pit, he had no chance. Not because he was drooping around like someone who had washed down his quaaludes with Jack Daniels, and not because he lacked basic card sense. There was no way to tell if he did or not. That’s because this was his first time ever playing poker for money, as in, ever. Have you read the part of “Shut Up and Deal” by Jesse May, toward the front, where he talks about poker being an easy game to play? Jesse makes the point that because of the assistance that dealers and players can give to other players, all you really have to be able to do is not fall out of your chair, and you can play poker. Andy was still in his chair.
Let’s set the scene. The year: 1991. The place: a home game with a house dealer that ran almost every night. The stakes: $3-6 limit. The games: hold’em and Omaha, alternating each round. The things you might not have heard of before: The Omaha was not hi-lo. We’re talking high-only limit Omaha here, a sickly gumbo of gamble.
And there was no checking. Yup you heard right. You could bet, or raise, or call, or fold. And that’s it. No checking. The only name for this structure I’ve ever heard is “bet or get,” meaning, when you are first to act, your options are to bet, or fold. This structure was so common in the games around town that when Columbus did start having games with checking, it was considered by many to be violently rude to check-raise. Which of course made me want to do it all the more.
(Here’s the details on “bet or get,” included for inquiring minds who want to know, and also because it’s slightly germane to the plot. In “bet or get,” the button effectively moves on every street. Let’s say seat 3 is first to act on the flop. On the turn, first action would be on seat 4, or whoever the next player to the left is. On the river, same thing, first to act moves to the next player to the left. This means that the catbird seat is being first to act on the turn, which means you’ll be last to act on the river. Also good is first to act on the flop, which makes you last to act on the turn, and either last or next-to last on the river depending on what your left-hand opponent does on the turn.)
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These games were loose. How loose you ask? I’ve played in games where folding was frowned on. This player pool was so loose and loving that if you folded before the hand was over, you got genuine sympathy. If you’re getting the feeling that these games were chip-hurling brawls, like poker carnivals with a double shot of ruKus The Flesh and Blood Show mov, then you have it pictured exactly right. Let’s get back to Andy…
After a couple rounds, Andy had settled into a betting strategy everyone else was happy with. Every time it was his turn, we would tell Andy how many chips to put into the pot to call, and then he’d do it. He never raised and he never folded. Andy was kind of slow with the chips, so we did not wait for him to finish his calling before the action moved on. The result was that Andy was pretty much continuously putting chips into the pot on every hand. I was sitting next to Andy and I oftentimes helped him with the betting and showing down and tipping and such.
And then, this hand came up…
The game was Omaha. The hand ended with one of the most spectacular rounds of river betting I have ever seen. Andy was last to act. There were two other players in the hand, we’ll call them A and B. Player A was first, which meant he had to either bet $6 or fold. He folded. Player B was next. Player B was facing an opponent who only on occasion had a vague sense of what he had. Player B folded. Andy won the pot without a showdown. The dealer started to push the pot to Andy, and a proud smile moved onto Andy’s face. Andy snatched up one of his cards off the table. He cupped it secretly in his hands and he showed it to me, and only me – the ace of hearts. (There were no aces or hearts on the board, but hey.)
Immediately the howls came forth from the throngs: “SHOW ONE SHOW ALL! SHOW ONE SHOW ALL!”
Andy of course had never heard of this common, ancient rule, which states, “If you show someone your uncalled hand, then everyone is entitled to see it, but only after they do the show-one-show-all chant with disdain.”
Puzzled, but still able to understand English, and knowing that he had done something terribly wrong, Andy followed the instructions he had been given. He picked up his other three cards, and he showed them to me.
