Joe was a card player, a good one. He was so good, in fact, that he had to move from city to city and find games where he wasn’t known in order to play for high stakes. One afternoon, in a bar in the suburb of Chicago, he’s shooting the breeze with the bartender and asks,
”Say, where can I find a good card game around here?”
“What kind of stakes are you talking about?”
“Big,” Joe says, “the biggest game you know about.”
“Well now, I hear there’s a game out in the farm country. It’s a bit of a drive, but these particular farmers play for big money. Let me make a call and see if it’s OK.”
So the bartender makes the call, and then gives Joe direction to the game.
That evening, after a long drive, Joe pulls up to this barn in the middle of nowhere. Tentatively, he walks inside, tiptoeing around the fetid piles on the floor. At the back of the barn, he spots a partially open door, with lights and smoke pouring through the opening. The familiar rush of anticipating and energy sweeps through him as he enters the room and introduces himself.
Farmers in overalls sit around the table, chewing cigars and puffing their pipes. In a quick glance, Joe estimates the current pot to be about $40,000 – perfect. So he sits down. “Ante up,” says the farmer holding the deck of cards. And Joe begins to play.
About an hour later, Joes is holding his own. He is about even when he draws three aces and two queens – a full house. With a large pot already on the table, he raise $15,000. The next two guys fold, but the leather-face farmer across the table calls him and raises another $15,000, without so much as batting an eye. Joe, certain that the guy is bluffing, calls the bet and lays down his aces-high full house. The farmer lays down junk: three clubs and two diamonds of mixed numbered cards. Joe, suppressing a smile, starts to rake in the pot.
“Wait just a damn minute,” says the farmer, a stern and reprimanding tone in his voice.
“Whattaya mean, wait a minute,” says Joe, “you got nothing.”
“Take a look at the sign over your right shoulder,” smiles the farmer.
Joe looks:
THREE CLUBS AND TWO DIAMONDS CONSTITUTE A GAMBONI, THE TOP WINNING HAND IN THIS ESTABLISHMENT
Joe is really angry, but after all, rules are rules, so he continues to play with what is left of his holdings. About an hour later, he draws three clubs and two diamonds… a Gamboni! He bets everything, and on the final round of betting with the same leather-faced farmer he has to throw in his solid gold Rolex to make the call. The farmer turns over his cards of a queen-high spade flush. Joe turns over his Gamboni and starts to rake in the pot.
“Hold it there, fella,” says the farmer, his grin cutting deep lines in his cheeks.
“But I got a Gamboni!” cries an exasperated Joe.
“Sure ‘nough, but look at the sign over there,” and he points over Joe’s left shoulder.
Joe looks:
ONLY ONE GAMBONI WILL BE PERMITTED PER NIGHT IN THIS ESTABLISHMENT
Joe, broke but thankful for the invention of credit cards, leaves the barn with dung on his shoes and the leather-face farmer drives his tractor home feeling the weight of a solid gold Rolex on his wrist.”
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