Stuck in the middle with you

Clowns to the left of me

Jokers to the right

Here I am

Stuck in the middle with you

Just another blue-sky weekend in Las Vegas as we punch the ignition, trigger 309 restless horses powering the Challenger GT and point it toward the South Point. The Challenger responds with a guttural sound, and we are soon purring down the 215 Beltway at about 70 mph. Even at that speed — five mph over the limit — there are plenty of vehicles (a Cadillac Escalade for one, doing about 80-85 mph) blowing past us. (I always find it amusing when NHP troopers in their state-issued Dodge Chargers, first cousins to the Challenger, have pulled the most blatant speeders over down the freeway and are issuing speeding tickets. But that’s another story for another time.)

When we arrive, we are almost immediately seated in a new game of no-limit Texas Hold’em with a cast of mostly familiar regulars and a few new faces. We even recognize the servers, a brunette with a striking hourglass figure and an enigmatic Asian woman with shimmering waist-length hair. 

We catch a little luck on the get-go when our suited 8-7 flops two pair and turns a full house. A guy with pocket queens (who could have chased us away with a robust preflop raise) pays us off on the river. We later make three-of-a-kind when our pocket 6s flop a third 6. But a competitive guy wearing a hoodie that says “Product of the Westside,” a reference to the Historic Westside in Las Vegas, misses a flush draw and our river bet goes uncalled like a Tomahawk missile dud that falls harmlessly into the ocean.

Along about midafternoon, we meander over to the race and sports book to make a small short-term investment in the Arizona Wildcats -1.5 vs. the Houston Cougars. It’s a totally square bet, but we have not been impressed by the Cougars’ play down the stretch nor their four-game losing streak in the last month.

When we return to the game, the guy who should have raised with pocket queens earlier, has opened for $6. We look down and see one of our favorite hands: A-A. We make it $26 to go, and the young man with the hoodie and the original raiser both call. The flop is 3-5-3 with two clubs. The original raiser checks, and I make a two-thirds pot size bet. The guy with the hoodie snap-calls, and the original raiser gets out of the way. The turn card is another club, completing what appears to be a flush draw. We check, and the guy with the hoodie goes all-in for his last $52. It is somewhat likely he has a flush. We check our hand again to see if we have the club ace. We don’t. We calculate the price of the pot. It’s a reasonable price, and we make a crying call. The river is an inconsequential king, and we get to see his flush. Ouch, ouch, ouch.

In fact, it’s the second time in two sessions we have had pocket aces cracked. But we are comfortable with our decision-making process, and the hands keep coming our way.Meanwhile, Arizona has opened up a comfortable lead over Houston so we peek at the in-game betting line. It’s tempting us with Houston +6.5 so we are emboldened to hedge our initial bet on Arizona at -1.5. That also creates the possibility of “middling” the game. For the uninitiated, a successful “middle” means you cash both sides of the short-term investment—not unlike arbitrage in securities. We feel comfortable with the 8-point window for a potential middle and tap the appropriate buttons on the phone.

When we look up, a few players have busted out of the poker game, and a few new faces have appeared. One stocky, hirsute 50ish guy, who during a discussion about bonus hands, remarked, “I don’t care, I’m on vacation,” moves to the seat on my immediate right. During a break in hands, I ask him if he is indeed on vacation, and he says yes. “From where?” I inquire. “Seaside, Oregon,” he says. “Sounds like a pleasant place,” I say, and he remarks they saw snow recently. He also informs me that he was born and raised in Seaside, Oregon, population about 7,000.

But in the basketball game, Arizona has bolted to a 44-36 halftime lead. Which makes my investment on Arizona at -1.5 look all right, but the Houston side at +6.5 tenuous.As the afternoon drags on, the young man with the hoodie straddles the big blind with a $5 bet. It’s called in six places back to me. Again with 8-7, I elect to call, creating a monster $35 pot. The flop is Q-7-2. It’s checked around and when a jack appears on the turn, I take a stab a the pot with a $20 bet. There are no callers. But Mr. Seaside, Oregon, comments, “I saw you do that before. And it worked then too.” I chuckled at his Holmesian powers of observation.

Arizona was opening a bigger lead over Houston in the second half, and we had had enough fun for one day. So, along about cocktail hour, I set the Challenger on cruise for home. AM radio had a full complement of programs but nothing on the Arizona-Houston game, so we carefully dug out my phone and saw that Houston was making a late run.

In fact, just about the time we were turning the Challenger into the garage late Saturday afternoon, the score went final: Arizona 79, Houston 74. Ah, a rare and delicious middle.

Yes, I’m stuck in the middle with you

And I’m wondering what it is I should do

— Lyrics to “Stuck in the Middle with You” by Gerry Rafferty and Joe Egan