The Marina Club

The Marina Club

It was a few weeks ago Friday, the time was 2:15 a.m. I was in Monterey, California visiting my brother, and had just completed a night of heavy drinking in preparation for my 11 a.m. flight home. I don’t particularly recall the $30 cab ride from the bar we had closed, but the next thing I knew, the two of us were stumbling-in to the side-door entrance of a quasi-legal poker room/Korean massage parlor known to the locals as, The Marina Club.

Yes, The Marina Club – as the flashing neon sign says, “Degenerates Welcome!” Yes, The Marina Club, “Where you’re 5 miles from Marina Center, but right around the corner from the end of the Earth.” Yes, The Marina Club – “Where poker is the game, and prostitution is permitted.” At least that was the rumor.

“Ho-lee shit” I said to myself as I entered the club, now wide-eyed, scared, and suddenly sober, “Ho-leee shit.”

All I can say about the clientele at this place was that it made the Star Wars cantina look like Sanctuary on a Saturday night. I mean we’re talking about characters whose lives have spiraled so out of control that they’re playing low-limit poker at 3 in the morning in a joint where “Sledgehammer!” reruns are being shown on a wall-mounted TV and fake plastic penis rings are on sale in the men’s room for 25 cents a pop. Seriously, how do you reach a point in your life where you wind-up in a place like this? (pausing…)

The room itself was tiny, maybe 15’x 20’, with 4 tables packed in. But at that time of night who the heck is counting. Actually, 2 of the 4 were occupied - 1 running a Paigow game and the other with Texas Hold Em’. At the two empty tables were these stragglers just sitting there, sipping the coffee from the free pot in the back. Why they were there I had no idea and didn’t ask. One of them was actually watching the “Sledgehammer!” episode and would only get up during commercials.

The joint reeked, but not of cigarettes and alcohol like you’d expect. Instead it was the delightful scent of chlorine and urine that filled the air. In fact, it dominated the room so much so that within 10 seconds I thought I was back in my high school pool, the only difference being the walls in my pool weren’t decorated with a Price is Right-sized King and Queen of Hearts. “What is this Alice in Wonderland?” I said, hopefully quietly. Remember, offending people was not exactly a good idea. My brother and I already estimated we were the only ones here WITH a reason to live and WITHOUT a gun.

It was time to play poker. After sliding our money under the bulletproof glass cashier’s window where we received our chips, we took our seats at the Hold ‘Em table. I was in seat 9 and my brother in seat 10, which are the two seats to the right of the dealer. The game strangely enough was $2-$6 Limit Hold Em’. Not 2-4 or 3-6. It was 2-6, with the dealer as the big blind and the person to the left of the dealer as the small. Ridiculous, I know, but given the situation, it all kind of made sense.

“No Fold-em Hold Em’ is the name of the game” said a Mexican guy in seat 4 sporting a Braves hat and molester’s mustache. Apparently, although not an official rule of The Marina Club, no one folds. My brother had warned me of this. In other words, any bet you make will be called by someone all the way down to the river. And, just as expected, that proved to be the case. Two hands in, I saw a 95 year old Chinese guy next to me with no visible teeth and a white mesh hat that said, “Time for Golf!” call my brother all the way down with J-5 to catch a Jack on the river and beat my brother’s pair of pocket 10’s. A few times when the cards were turned over after the river I couldn’t even figure out what these people had! No pair, no draw, no nothing. It was like playing Yahoo online in my younger pre-real money days.

After about an hour I was getting crushed, and had to re-buy for another $80. My concentration level was probably 1 out 10, and by now I had already witnessed 2 fights – one between the Korean owner and the dealer at our table, I have no idea over what since they were both screaming at each other in their native tongue, and the other between 2 players at the Paigow table who had to be physically separated by “security” a.k.a., the stragglers watching “Sledgehammer!”.

A half an hour later, after the awkward meter had already been decimated, a man walked into the Marina Club wearing a black leather jacket with studs on the sleeves, matching black leather pants, black boots, black gloves, and a black motorcycle helmet, with visor down. He looked like he was here either from visiting from the year 4000 or an extra from “Tron 2”. I didn’t know what to think, he could’ve blown the place up and you wouldn’t have heard about it for weeks. Thankfully, the few regulars there knew the guy and in unison shouted “Robocop!” as he entered. It was like Norm from Cheers. “Robocop!” The man removed his mask and smiled. The guy was dead-ringer for Billy Blanks, and strangely enough I felt better about the whole situation as he took seat 4 at our table.

Still down money but now legitimately sober, I decided to play ultra-conservative and fold everything until I picked up either 10’s, J’s, Q’s, K’s or Aces. Then win a pot and go to freakin bed. It was 3 a.m. and my flight was in 8 hours. Finally after 45 minutes of doing this, I was dealt AA. Ba-bam. I raised preflop to $12, and was surprised to see everyone fold except a 50 year old Korean woman in seat 6, who come to find out, “worked” at the massage parlor next door. No joke, they allow the “masseuses” to play poker at the club, and yes, I know what you’re thinking, I found myself right smack in the middle of a pot with a real-live prostitute. What does she do though, she RAISES my Aces. A dream come scenario. If this was Celebrity Poker the announcer would’ve said, “Manzo raises, Korean Prostitute RE-Raises…” Of course I call. Flop comes Q-9-4. Nothing. The hooker bets $6, I raise to $12, she calls. Turn card is a 6. No help again. Same thing, she bets, I raise, she calls. River card is an Ace. Bingo! We got bingo! ONCE AGAIN though, she bets into me, but this time I think for a minute, just to verify my trip Aces are the nuts, which they are. (No straights or flushes on the board.) But then, before re-raising, the following thought actually crossed my mind: “I’m in the shadiest poker room in America right now, playing a fairly substantial pot with a prostitute. Maybe there’s a card in this deck higher than an Ace? Maybe she’s gonna turn over pocket Doyle Brunsons or something?” No way. So I re-raised another $12 and she called. I proudly turned over my trip Aces which crushed the Korean prostitute’s pocket Jacks. (Now there’s a sentence I thought I’d never write.)

The remainder of the night I spent trying in vain to bluff the table but it just couldn’t be done. It was impossible. Robocop called me one hand all the way down with nothing but King high, and beat my nothing but Jack high. Around 4:15 our cab had arrived, and it was time for my brother and I to cash out. Sure we were down a few bucks and smelled like urine, but the main thing was we got out of there alive.

The next morning when I woke up the only physical evidence I had of the club was an empty wallet and dirty fingernails. It’s been several weeks now and I’m still not 100% sure I was even there. But either way, the next time you’re in the area and have a late-night urge for some poker and “Sledgehammer!”, bring a wad of cash and a gas mask, and tell the cabbie to take you to a place where the locals call, The Marina Club.