Tales from the Tiltboys - Phil Gordon

PHIL “WORLD
HOPPING ARTISTE”
GORDON

Phil was the easiest birth you could hope for. I barely noticed the
size of his head, but I felt something when we got to his privates.
No, not THAT. I’m talking about the horseshoe that was up his ass.
—Phil’s Mom

Phil is six-foot-nine, charming, rich, and retired. He travels
the world for fun and adventure while television show offers and
book deals drop from the sky. He gets provocative offers from
supermodels and party invitations from Hollywood.
It can be a bit much—even for us.
Fortunately, Phil has a tragic flaw that keeps the universe
from spinning off axis and makes him welcome at every home
game: Phil is perpetually on tilt.

We can hear him now, sweet as a lullaby:
What are you guys talking about? I’m not on tilt, I don’t care
what you say, and I’m not going to tilt tonight. Whose fucking deal
is it?

At one time, Phil and Diceboy were roommates. Quantum
physicists would call this an unstable relationship: Tilt meets
anti-Tilt. Week after week, Phil bitched about the high cost of
living with Diceboy. It seems Phil’s poker, gin, and Roshambo
losses paid for groceries, rent, and household expenses.
We dismissed these complaints as typical Phil tiltedness—
until somebody noticed a long list tacked to Phil’s bulletin
board. The larger and larger dollar amounts cascaded down,
each scratched out with increasingly frenetic strokes. You could
almost measure the tilt, like reading the Richter chart of the ’89
quake.
Phil survived this brief living arrangement, eventually mov-
ing out with enough belongings to fill the trunk of Kim’s Miata.
To us, this seemed shortsighted—just eavesdropping on
Diceboy’s calls to his broker would have offset the losses and
then some. But Phil had his blood pressure to consider, and no
other Tiltboy repeatedly redlines the TiltMeter like Phil.
With an Achilles heel like that, Phil has had to choose his
friends carefully. Luckily for him, we are not without compas-
sion. We ignore our mercenary tendencies, and refuse to exploit
his weakness to line our pockets. We’re better than that.
We do it just to amuse ourselves.
To repay such loyalty, Phil will sometimes self-tilt for our
entertainment. Planning Rafe’s 25th birthday party—back in
1995—Phil came up with the brilliant idea of inviting five ex-
girlfriends (all his) along with his current squeeze. Three drinks
later there were six ex-girlfriends to invite to the next party.
But getting back to tilt...If we’re not tilting Phil, and Phil’s
not tilting Phil, the universe will take care of it:

I set a new record last night at Bay101.
Some guy went 23 bets with me on the flop.
Here's the hand:
I look down and see Q-Q. Cha-ching! Raise
before the flop, small blind calls. I cover
my eyes and the flop comes. I ask the deal-
er if my opponent checked yet. Dealer says,
"Nope--he bet." I raise, still without look-
ing. The guy re-raises so I decide I have to
take a look at the flop. Q, 5, 4, all dif-
ferent suits. I have the immortal nuts! I
re-raise, he re-reraises ad infinitum until
he's all in--23 bets total. The table is
cracking up.

I turn over Q-Q and the table oohs. He turns
over Ad Jh! Long story short: 3 on the turn,
2 on the river. Ai-yah!

Phil on mega-tilt.

Just a few days later, Phil showed up at the game and told
us about the girl he’d been dating.

OK, so Madeleine asks me if I believe in God. I say no. She goes
into this long diatribe about past lives and karma and all that shit
and was visibly upset when I was making fun of her. Anyway, she
gets to the point of hysterics, and then she starts talking about—get
this—how her PAST LIFE REGRESSION THERAPIST relieved
her from the need to take PROZAC! I almost shit in my pants. I’m
definitely running away. (Long pause) Just as soon as I’m sure the
girl I met today puts out.

Some romantic escapades work out better than others.
There was the night Bruce was working late, and Phil was down
the hall in his office finalizing code for a new piece of software.
After noticing a tall redhead leaving the building, Bruce walked
into Phil’s office. Wearing his trademark smirk, Phil asked, “So
have you ever gotten a blow job at your desk while coding? I
highly recommend it—does wonders for productivity.”
You might think this would get old, but we’ve learned to
take it in stride. When Phil hosted the next game, and that tall
redhead was serving beers and giving back rubs, we had to
admit: It’s good to know the king.
Phil wasn’t born to the manor. An underweight, over-
limbed adolescent, he surrounded himself with books, comput-
ers, and bottles of lubricant. Rafe met Phil just as the butterfly
emerged from the cocoon, frantically making up for lost time.
We could take a few pages here to share some brilliant sto-
ries of scamming, seduction and conquest—Phil himself spared
no detail when extolling the virtues of each new girlfriend: the
when, the where and the how often. However, Phil might have
political aspirations, and it’s always good to keep some leverage.
Phil’s creativity isn’t limited to the arts of self-tilt or seduc-
tion. He’s masterminded many of the escapades that weave the
fabric of Tiltboy cloth. In fact, the cloth itself is his brainchild.
Phil designed the original Tiltboy t-shirt. On the front was a
photo Phil had taken at the game; the back had only the word
“MEGATILTED,” leaving it for the viewers to decide whether
the shirt refers to themselves, or to us.
Phil retired at 28 and began traveling, taunting us with invi-
tations to drop everything and join him. When he returned after
a few years with plans to play poker full time, we were counting
on the universe to do its thing. With Phil’s ego and tiltability,
he’d be out of Vegas and back at the home game in a month.
Imagine our surprise. Instead of burning out in cash games, Phil
channeled his energy into tournament poker. The payout struc-
ture gave him incentive to keep his tilt under control, and the
fixed buy-ins limited the effective cost of tilting. Next thing we
knew, Phil was at The Main Event final table of the World Series
of Poker.
Jimmy Carter is famously observed to be “the only man in
American history who used the United States presidency as a
stepping-stone to greatness.” Taking a lead from his fellow
Georgian, Phil made the crown jewel of poker look like a satel-
lite win. Working his usual angles of self-promotion and
schmoozing, he parlayed his new-found fame into a spot on
Blind Date, an endorsement deal from Full Tilt Poker, a starring
role in Celebrity Poker Showdown, multiple book deals, satirical
treatments by Mad Magazine and Saturday Night Liveand—the
one thing every cross-dresser dreams about—a guest appearance
on Queer Eye for the Straight Guy.
Phil is our success story—the embodiment of all that’s pos-
sible if one strictly adheres to the Tiltboy Manifesto. He remem-
bers his friends and his humbler beginnings. All successes aside,
he’s still our Phil.
So, pay no attention to that perfectly composed guy joking
with Dave Foley or promoting his latest book. Rest assured, at
the next home game, we’ll have him frothing at the mouth as
usual, flinging cards across the room and vehemently insisting
that he is absolutely, positively not on tilt.

Another chapter from Tales from the Tiltboys

JK
“TILTDAD”
SCHEINBERG




I reported directly to JK for a while at Apple, but I never laid eyes
on him or spoke to him except when playing poker.
—Michael Chow


JK became a Tiltboy in much the same way the rest of us
did—he was screwed by one. Unlike the rest of us, he married
her.
The latter was surprising—not that he married Kim per se,
but that he married at all. Nobody seemed more suited to a life
of bachelorhood than JK (a sentiment that originated with his
first wife of 14 years). JK’s own words—written just three days
before he met Kim—bear this out:

Fuck all this non-gambling crap. I, for one,
am going to BARGE to gamble. Forget chat-
ting, fuckin’ roller-coasters, fuckin’ pin-
ball (sheesh), fuckin’ nude girls, etc. etc.
I am parking my fat ass in a chair at either
the BARGE tourney, the Mirage poker room,
the RIO or other rooms for tourneys, AND
THAT IS IT. I don’t need a hotel room, as I
do not plan on sleeping.
Come find me and experience massive profits
if you can get to my table.

Their early encounters were more of the same. He first saw
Kim in the Mirage poker room, cashing out a rack with $1,000
worth of $25 chips. His own rack held $36 in $1 chips. His
opening words would qualify as the cheesiest pick-up line ever,
except that when he said, “Nice rack, ma’am,” we’re pretty sure
he was talking about her money.
Three days later, when she sidled up to him at the poker
table and invited him to a comp’ed meal at a four-star restau-
rant, he told her, “Sorry, I’m in a game, and my flight leaves in
less than eight hours. Maybe another time.”
It was a match made in heaven.
Within a year, they’d found a house within walking distance
of Garden City. Kim, an inveterate spender, converted JK—a
dyed-in-the-wool penny pincher—to the Tiltboy mindset in
just a few months.
JK presents a fiscal policy statement worthy of a Nobel Prize
in Economics:
Suppose we’re headed out to play cards with $1,000, prepared
to buy in for that. We always stop at Barnes & Noble first and
spend $300. It’s kind of a no-lose deal. If we end up winning, then
the books were free, paid for by our profit. But here’s the beautiful
part. What if we end up losing? Well, it’s a given we were going to
lose everything in our pockets anyway, but now we’ve got $300
worth of books! Either way, anything we buy before a poker session
is free.
His wisdom doesn’t stop there.
He is by far the oldest Tiltboy, having already turned 50 at
the time of this writing. As such, he is a paternal figure, the
Tiltboy ideal of aging gracefully. If we need advice, he is
approachable on the most delicate subjects. In fact, we seldom
need to approach him at all.
Bruce recalls the time JK sat down in a $20-$40 game at
Artichoke Joe’s and said nothing for 15 minutes, not even hello.
The first, and only, thing he said was, “Bengay and testicles are
a bad combination.” He then returned to his silent reverie for
the rest of the session.
He is less silent on the relative merits of Viagra, Cialis,
Levitra and on which position works best for a pre-colonoscopy
enema. (At least we think it was pre-colonoscopy). What’s
important is that his generosity is boundless when it comes to
over-sharing his experiences with us.
Most heartwarming, though, is his mentoring relationship
with Lennie. They share the bond of unwavering pessimism—
each knowing that the social and intellectual pleasures of
Wednesday evening will be punctuated by monetary pain.
Lennie had muddled through denial, anger, bargaining, and
depression. When he finally arrived at acceptance, he thought
his journey was over. JK opened Lenny’s eyes to the little-known
sixth stage: celebration.
JK didn’t merely accept his role as perpetual donor. He
embraced it. Teaching by example, JK meted these messages out
over a period of years, allowing Lennie to come around at his
own pace:

GAME ON at Rafe’s? Is he even back in town?
Excellent! We only lost $120 last night and
don’t feel comfortable with all this extra
cash in the house.
* * *
Sadly, we’re out this week. Maybe we can
just send a check?
* * *
We have extra spewing to do to make up for
last week when we were only able to get as
far as Palo Alto before Max’s screaming
caused us to bail and return home. This
week, we bring earplugs.
* * *
You have shamed me into showing up tonight.
However, I spewed all our cash at Garden
City during “lunch” today, so you’ll have to
list my $500-$900 loss.
* * *
It’s 15 minutes to Rafe’s place, and 45 min-
utes to Steve’s. We’d really rather play at
Rafe’s. Our sitter stays four hours. Steve’s
place means $40 in babysitter fees and only
two and a half hours to donate our weekly
quota.

It was this one that inspired Lennie’s eventual break-
through:

Kim pointed out that we’re still in New
York, and therefore cannot play. Not so
fast! We’re usually good for $300-$400 at
least so, here’s my VISA number, just charge
whatever you think we’d lose tonight to that
and consider us “in.” Maybe I’ll call from
the plane to “see how we are doing.”

Imagine the heartache when JK announced that he and
Kim had bought a house in New Jersey. JK knew he would miss
Lenny most of all, and could only hope he’d had enough time
to get through to him, to make a difference.
When JK responded to weekly roll call with...:

Auto-Pussy for the next four weeks. Working
three jobs to afford the next house payment.

...his eyes filled with tears reading Lenny’s reply:

You should definitely be coming to the game
then. My spewage alone would probably have
you in NJ by May...if you stuck around till
July, you could buy in Connecticut some-
where!

Kim and JK continue to defy the laws of dubious begin-
nings and ill-founded relationships. Even we were skeptical until
their wedding, where they radiated such happiness, beaming at
one another the way only two people with a deep, abiding com-
mitment to an extravagant lifestyle can.
They live off an annuity of sorts—paid out every year by
people who wagered their marriage wouldn’t last. That first year
wasn’t worth much, but their fifth anniversary paid for the
swimming pool. If they make it ten years, they can afford to
move back to Silicon Valley.
We can hardly wait.

Official Energy Drink of the Tiltboys

http://www.tiltthenight.com/main_site.html

I saw this at the grocery store near me, and it comes in two different strength: 6.6% and 8.0%.

They should really call the stronger one "Mega Tilt".

Dicebuy rules again!

The following message was sent to the Tiltboys list after the most recent home game:

For those of you who were not at the last game, Diceboy's magic was clearly back (if it ever went away).

Two hands in particular tell the story.

The first hand was spit and shit, where Diceboy left to call his wife but Paul played his hand for him while he was gone. Diceboy called all the way, then replaced on the end, drew an inside straight wheel vs my open trips, declared both, and scooped a rather sizable pot without having ever been there.

The second hand we were playing a wild variant of Dingaling. The details of the variant aren't all that important, but the "drop" cards are dealt from a different deck. When it came time to the final card, Diceboy says "This WAS going to be the last card" and shows a 5. He burns that card and flips a different one. Diceboy was on tilt because he had 2 cards left in his hand, and A and a 5. However, after the final betting round was over, I showed Diceboy the REAL tilter: I had two cards left as well -- and they were 5 - 5. I would have dingalinged, not dropped, and declared both and scooped a nice pot. I don't think Dice could have put me on a dingaling and probably would have been raising with me (although I guess A-A is as likely as 5-5 since he had one of each).

Diceboy continues to amaze.

Other tilters from that night:

I tried to pre-tilt Phil for the game. First I mentioned having just seen him on Poker After Dark, where Erick Lindgren called him an idiot.

Then a few of us were sitting around, and we were trying to decide what to play. Someone teasingly says "Why don't we play that Hold'em game. Isn't that what Rafe won a bracelet in?" I replied "That game is boring. Let's play something else. Phil, what is your bracelet in?"

There was much other teasing and Phil came into the game on full megatilt. Phil ended the night as the big loser, but no one really won or lost huge.

Perry