The game is Blackjack. The player had bought in for $100. A simple looking guy, grey hair, what was left of it, a grey beard and glasses, I was stunned to hear he was 54, I'm 50& ½, and I still have all my hair, still the same dark brown with a few grey hairs that you have to strain to see. My beard still dark if I grew one. I was a diamond setter for 17 years and still don't need glasses, and this guy was only three years older than me, yet he looked like he was 65.

He started with only $25 bets but was winning every hand and soon had $500 in front of him. He was a good player but seemed to be hurried when he asked for the table minimum to be raised to $25 so he wouldn't get any stray players walking up to the game and could play more hands and I could go as fast as he wanted.

In the casino business it's a simple formula. The number of hands dealt in an hour times the amounts of the bets multiplied by the houses' advantage, equals profits for the casino…in most cases, so the only way to get the casinos money back was to grant him his request, so we obliged.

This guy was a George, he was throwing me a $25 toke every time he accumulated $200 and was up to $1,000 in no time. He knew how to play and we were both enjoying the action, although my shift boss was seeing it a little differently. I had locked up at least $300 in tokes and he really knew how to play and appreciated the fact that I knew how to deal and didn't waste his time, I knew when he was going to double on soft hands, knew when he was going to split and double down, knew when he was going to hit and stay and didn't ask stupid questions like if he was good on two 10's or if he wanted to hit that soft 17 or not.

Then it happened. A mid-aged woman, grey hair and glasses, heavy set with a huge purse, walked up to my player "Whaddaya doing Mel?" she said in a loud, screechy voice.

"Hi Dorothy, I'm up almost a thousand."

"Good for you, now let's go because I want to go shopping at the mall across the street then we gotta go."

I jumped in and said "I'll take care of him while you shop."

"Hey" She pointed at me, "He's going with me, I can't trust him alone with all that money, he'll just lose it." (I thought "Oh shit, she's ruining everything, this guy's going to cash out and there goes my George.")

He looked up at her and said "O.K. honey, just give me another ten minutes." She wasn't happy to hear that but she agreed because she had to go to the room anyway and he'd better be ready to go when she came back.

Now he's all shook up because he was having a good time, having a couple drinks and winning lots of money but now this 54 year old wimps' mommy wants to buy him socks and underwear.

"I thought she already went shopping without me" he said in a sad voice.

"Hey, just call her in the room and tell her to stay up there and you'll be there when you'll be there, the mall's open until 10 and it's only 2:30"

"Naw, I can't do that, she'll just make it worse"

I was shocked, this guy was WHIPPED. It suddenly reminded me of my childhood because my dad was whipped and I didn't realize it until that autumn day in 1965.

Thinking back…

In my world in the autumn of 1965 there were very few things to deal with. By this time of year the Cubs were just a bad memory as they were every autumn of every year of my fucking life. Girls were just becoming interesting that year as I was trying to figure out why I didn't mind so much any more the lame way they tried to throw a baseball or the stupid way they'd try to throw a punch. I was now appreciating the way they always stood together on the sidelines during football practice cheering us on, looking kind of cute as I would dive for the football much more dramatically this year than I did last year or the year before then immediately looked back to see if they were watching that Superbowl winning catch as I sacrificed my body in the name of love.

The only problem was that this was Chicago, and in another few weeks the snow and cold would set in, and everyone would soon go back into their caves to hibernate. So in winter the only thing to do was to deal with it the five days a week I had to go to school, and on the weekends there was only one thing… DA BEARS. The Bears were the greatest team in the world, second was the Green Bay Packers, and everyone else were just the teams for the Bears and Packers to beat every weekend. If we couldn't watch the Bears game, we'd be watching the Packers play. But one weekend a year there was THE GAME. The Bears vs. the Packers. This WAS the Superbowl in the city of Chicago, forget what happened before or after.

It didn't matter how the teams were doing in the standings, they could both be dead last and this was still the only game that mattered. Dad started the chili early; he opened the can almost a half hour before kick off so it would be done on time. He threw in some ground beef while I chopped the onions we had the chips and dips, the drinks, we were set. I had my Bears Gale Sayers jersey on and dad had his Packers Bart Starr jersey. By the time kick off came we were gone to the world for the next three hours, to everyone…but one person.

The only person that could break through the lines, skirt our security (dad locked the screen door and unplugged the phone) the only person short of the President of the United States that could disrupt this once-a-year happening that was more important than childbirth, MY MOTHER (Or should I say "his wife"). What happened next would shape the very core of my manhood for the rest of my life. She walked into the room and said sharply "What are you doing?" (Does the Popes wife break in during mass and ask what the hell's he doing?).

"We're watching the Packers game." My dad said. "The Bears game." I corrected him. "Football! Forget about it, let's go boys, (she was right, we were boys…certainly no longer men) there's going to be traffic." (What? Traffic? What the hell's she talking about?)

"Mom, be quiet" I said, "We're trying to watch the game" (What was wrong with me? Was I willing to talk like that to her and thus end my short life right there in the living room? )

"Well I don't care if it's the World Series, we're going shopping."

"WHAT!! SHOPPING, this is the Bears game mom."

My dad just sat there and didn't say anything, I couldn't believe what I was seeing and hearing. He was whipped and we both knew it at the same time.

"We're going to the mall and buy you boys pants and stuff and us girls needs shoes."

"SHOES, PANTS… ARE YOU KIDDING…DAD!!….DAD?...dad?"

He didn't answer, he put the bowl of chili down and my mother walked over to the television and turned it off. The screen faded into a pinpoint of light on the black screen as the Bears were pushing from their 25 yard line in a scoreless duel as the screen went black. It was hopeless, I could beat up my older sister, but my mom could still beat the shit out of me even at 13. It was hopeless, my dad was beat and if he was beat, so was I.

Back to now…

I looked at the Blackjack player in pity. So now here was this guy, too late to save. She was turning off his TV. And like my dad, he wasn't going to argue with the wife, he was whipped.

He told me to deal faster; he was starting to look at his watch every few hands and loosing hand after hand. He'd increase his bet when he'd lose and just make things worse. Then I saw her coming from around the slot machines and warned him she was on her way. He put the $500 up on the spot as his head darted back and forth from his cards to his bet to the direction the Fuhrer was coming from. He came up with a pair of 5's against my Queen and fumbled in his back pocket for his wallet. She had stopped to look at a window display from one of the mall stores as he pulled all the cash out of his wallet to double down.

Disaster of all disasters as she approached I hit him with a 3 of diamonds and flipped over an 8. As I snatched up his $1,000 he turned to shield himself between her and the Blackjack table. He handed her the few silver dollars he had left and told her to put it into the Megabucks machine which had reached $17 million and she obliged as she said…

"Let's get going, get your chips and cash out."

"O.K. honey" he said and pulled out the last few bills that were left in his wallet as she turned her back to walk to the slot machine.

"Hurry up, give me $1,000 in black and some green chips." He said nervously.

I counted out the nine black and four green checks and called out "Change one thousand."

"Shhhh" he said, "Just give me the chips."

I handed him the checks as he snatched them up just in time before she put the $6 in the Megabucks machine and when she lost it was heading back to get him.

"Come on" She hollered, "How much did you win?"

"A thousand honey."

He held up the chips I just gave him to show her so she would think it was his winnings instead of the last cash the poor schmuck had in his pocket.

"Good, go cash out."

He walked away with the thousand in checks to cash them right back at the cage. How was he going to explain the fact that he was still light in the back pocket by $1,000? But I'm sure when she finds out we'll hear her screaming at the poor shlub. He left the spot and immediately another player sat in his seat to play the next hand. He had walked up to the table and threw $200 on the layout and ten minutes later walked away with $1,100.

Eleven hundred bucks that would have been the poor schmucks' money had he just stuck up for himself, told her to get lost, and play a few minutes longer. Had he still had his balls planted firmly in his own hands. What is it about some men that somehow destine themselves to marry their own mothers? Do they just look for women that will clean up after them and tell them what to do and scold them when they don't like their performance?

Why is it when you come home to get comfortable, if you take your pants off and hang them neatly on a hanger then sit like a human being on the couch to watch television until she tells you it's dinner time, then come to the table before it gets cold, everything will be fine...with the understanding that you perform correctly each and every time.

But try walking in the door, throwing your pants on the chair, do a swan dive onto the couch while executing a perfect move for the remote control at the same time, grab a beer first then turn on the baseball game while popping dinner in the microwave and she comes unglued. And never let you forget it for the rest of your life…hmmm, sounds like a mother to me.

It was the screech of the ladies voice, a delicate balance between fingernails on a blackboard and a dentists' drill. The poor guy walked by my table in tow behind his old lady when he briefly stopped to try to place a $20 bill on the layout for one last hand.

"Whaddaya doing? Goddamn it! Take that twenty and let's go right now!!"

He almost had tears in his eyes as he obeyed her and went to grab the $20 back off the spot.

"TOO LATE!!" I hollered. "I already got the cards out, now you have to play the hand."

He was scared, she was glaring at both of us. I wasn't just afraid for that moment, but feeling a little guilty thinking what would happen to the poor guy after they left the casino? Would she grab his arm, whip him around and spank his butt in public while everyone looked on? Would she just pull him around and holler with her finger in his face in front of everyone? Would she refuse sex and not talk to him again? No, that was too good for him. He got a soft 16 against my 9.

"Stay" he said. He was so nervous he couldn't even think of how to play the hand.

"Don't you want to hit that?" I asked.

He looked down at the cards."Uh, yah, I guess I do huh?"

"Yah ya do. Keep your head in the game man, shake it off." I advised him.

I hit his 16 with a 3 and I pulled up a 17. Now she was really getting hot.

"Hey, he just won lady." I told her but she wasn't buying it.

"Well don't deal him in again, he has to go."

"Yes maam" I said respectfully, and then under my breath I said "AND EAT SHIT." She looked up "WHAT DID YOU SAY?" she asked sternly in her most irritating voice, she was pissed.

I said "That was a great hit."

With that she walked away and all I could think to myself was WHEW!

-Ken Pearlman