Charlie Ho-Ho got his name from his great fondness for Christmas. He loved Christmas carols, Christmas gifts, Christmas snow, Christmas spirit, Christmas decorations – you name it. In particular, he loved Santa Claus statues, of which he had hundreds in his home.

Every December I always tried to stop by his house at least once to see what all he had up. I always said he probably had those Santa statues stuffed with hundred-dollar bills, but it was only a joke. He wasn’t what you’d call a world-class poker player, so there was no reason to expect such a bodacious rat hole.

Of course, that’s not to say I actually knew how good he was. It just didn’t seem like a particularly close call. He was old-school from the 5-Stud/7-Stud era, and the Texas Hold’em and Omaha crazes had put a little damper on his rep, not to mention his bankroll. By the time I met him he seemed quite the action player. I’d never met anybody more keen to get his chips in a pot, and to some extent I think he just loved playing.

I’ll never forget this one hand I played with him at one of the annual Christmas cash games he held. I was sitting big blind with about seven limpers already in when, distracted by that year’s spread of Saint Nicks, I checked my option in the dark.

The flop came A-K-2 rainbow, and looking down, I realized I had pocket rockets. For damn sure I’d better check, I thought. And check is exactly what I did.

But then Charlie Ho-Ho bet right out and everybody folded to me. I smoothed it, the turn being a 9 off-suit—still a perfect scenario for me. But at that point I was just lurking, hoping he really had something. Charlie knew as well as any of us how “giving” he could be, and it would come off as taking advantage of him to play my hand too well.

I checked again, and he bet again, a good pot-sized bet of about $150. Having checked the aces pre-flop and now having him so crushed, I didn’t want to Hollywood or feign weakness or anything. I just shoved immediately, thinking maybe he’d back down. He insta-called certain that he had me.

Wouldn’t you know, he had limped under the gun with pocket kings hoping for a re-pop, but when everybody else limped too, he hadn’t gotten his chance. He “knew” I couldn’t have pocket aces because I too had let it go un-raised before the flop, last to act against a large field.

Of all times to blind check pre-flop I’d done it holding pocket aces after he’d limped with pocket kings. It was almost unbelievable—but, then, you’ve always got to say “almost” in poker because nothing about the game is predictable.

So it all added up to him approximately 100 percent certain he had me beat and me 100 percent beating him despite it. When we turned them up I busted his one-outer draw and told him how it happened that I’d played it that way. He got up from the table with nary a complaint.

A few days later, however, it came back to me that he was indeed complaining. He was calling me everything from a slow-roller to a sandbagger to a conniving, lying donkey…. You name it, Charlie Ho-Ho was saying it, apparently feeling none-too-jolly about our Christmas-season get-together.

Well, needless to say I didn’t want it to be like that between us. He was such a great guy there was just no way I could let it. So the next thing I knew I was shopping for Santa Claus statues. I found a singing, dancing one with the rosiest cheeks I’d ever seen and knew instantly it was the nuts. I wrapped it up real pretty and waited about a week till Charlie had taken a good win off before paying him a visit. Sure enough, his spirits had rebounded.

A big joker-statue collector myself, I knew all too well how my mass of motley affected me every day when I got home—it was real love. So I figured if Charlie loved Santa as much as I loved jokers there was no way he could resist my gift. As it turned out, I was more than on-mark.

“And, you know, Ho-Ho,” I joked, “if you stash your cash and chips in your favorite statue while on a winning streak, sometimes the streak seems like it’ll never end, and you’ll have some serious fun going in and out of that statue.”

“Cinch,” he said almost teary, “you are a man after my own heart. Merry Christmas to you and yours.”

Carols, decorations, lights, snow—I long ago added Charlie Ho-Ho to my “Cool Things about Christmas” list, and I still put him high-up on it. To this day I’m also still sorry about that set-over-set deal. I was just “playing the nuts” in the dark. Somehow, though, I think my old pal Charlie knows.

By: Dave Cinch
dave.cinch@acehoyle.com

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