So Freddy walks into the Commerce one day and sees the high stakes poker table, and eyes the line up. Freddy knows this “Main Game” is incredibly juicy, and wants in – immediately. He calls the floorman over and insists they create an extra space at the table for him and for the game to be played 10-handed. 10-handed was actually the common number of players in Las Vegas poker tables at the time, and Freddy was usually based there. Freddy is sort of 'big timing' the floorman, reminding him how much he's played there over the years, how much rake he's given that casino, and how all these new poker players want to play with someone like himself, a big-shot, old school, now famous poker player.
There is nothing that poker players like more than poker room drama (except maybe comped food), so this commotion has drawn the attention of every table within earshot. Everyone near by was focusing on the Main Game with Haralabos in it. Drawn from many accounts, here is a recreation of what happened:
Freddy (accented, slightly broken English)(to Floorman): Johnny, there's no board. Just put me in big blind right now and we can play with ten.
Floorman Johnny: Table's not big enough for ten, Freddy. This isn't Vegas. Our players will object. Everyone wants their space.
Freddy: Just ask then. If there are objections then Freddy will wait. But no one will object! C'mon Johnny, how much action I give to you? Freddy is “action player”. Everyone wants to play with Freddy. They see me, they know “That's Freddy” and they want to play.
[Yes, Freddy was talking about himself in the Third Person. What can I say?]
Floorman Johnny (reluctantly, to Main Game): Guys, Freddy wants to sit and play 10-handed. There is no board an he doesn't want to wait around for nothing. Any objections?
Haralabos (immediately): I object. Who the **** is this guy? [To Freddy] Buddy, you're not special. What makes you think you control this game? If more people come, then you can start a “Must-Move” game and play in that. Otherwise, wait your ****ing turn like everyone else. Ok, buddy? [To Floorman, incredulous] What the ****?
Freddy (heated at Haralabos): Listen, buddy. Everyone here know Freddy. Floorman. Dealer. Players. All know Freddy, love Freddy. Who the **** are you? In Vegas, Freddy wants a game, the manager come running to help Freddy! They bring in best table to start new game for Freddy! They get best dealer on break to come deal! They bring in new chips, new cards for Freddy! They bring special chair for Freddy to sit in!
Haralabos: Oh yeah, Freddy? Is it a high chair?
A thunderclap of uproarious laughter rang out from all who were listening in, perhaps fifty people or more, all rubberneckers from other tables drawn in by the drama. There was no denying the spontaneity, no denying the reason, and certainly no denying the focus of who the laughter was directed at. Fast Freddy, all five feet zero inches of him, with the hair-trigger anger and never lacking words, was truly stunned and humiliated into silence. His eyes became squinted and his face was stuck in a wince of pain, his whole head turning as red as a stubborn, two-week old pimple that just wouldn't pop. He rocked back and forth as if recovering from a physical punch, not knowing what to do as a second, smaller wave of laughter began because it was just that funny, and now the story was being instantly re-told.
The few that were present and could actually feel sympathy quickly stifled their laughter, feeling the guilt of knowing the guy just got hit in his most sensitive area in front of a very large audience, and was truly wounded. They were hoping Freddy would finally say something, anything, to show that he wasn't completely crushed inside, that he wasn't as hurt as he seemed. Instead, Freddy walked away silently, his decades of “bluster armor” built protecting his sensitivity about his height laid on the ground, smashed.
Souls are crushed all the time in poker rooms. You think you've seen it all, and you just grow immune. But this one stood out, as almost a warning. You just don't want to get into a verbal war with Haralabob.
There is an addendum to this story.
A year or so later, and strictly by chance, Freddy and Haralabos found themselves at the same table during a big tournament. Neither man had forgotten their previous encounter (how could they?). By this time, poker was being covered in real-time by a fleet of new poker reporters and journalists, and, by all accounts, Haralabos was riding Freddy hard that day, with verbal put-downs and jokes at Freddy's expense non-stop. Freddy tried to play it cool, knowing he was no verbal match for HBob.
Until this happened. There was a Random Guy sitting directly on Freddy's left hand side who was new, didn't know anyone at the table (or their past history with each other) and who politely told Freddy this (recreation):
Random Guy (to Freddy): Hey man. You need to protect your cards better. I can see your hole cards flash sometimes when you look. I saw you had paint last hand. You need to learn to peek without flashing.
Freddy: Buddy, do you know who I am? I'm playing this game since before you were born! I win more money this year than you will have in your whole life! They ask me to write new poker book, that is kind of player I am! Buddy, I'm writing now, next time I see you I bring you a signed copy of my poker book!
Haralabos: Next time you should bring a phone book instead so you can sit on it and see your cards better.
Well, Freddy was playing it cool with HBob until then, but that last comment instantly set him off. Again, by the written accounts of the poker reporters live blogging the event, Freddy shot straight up out of his chair (though you probably couldn't tell...) and challenged HBob to a fist fight, screaming expletives at him and demanding a duel. Haralabob just sat in his chair laughing, saying he didn't want to go outside and fight Freddy because he didn't want to get arrested for child abuse.
