Public Notice: Warning! Do Not Shoot Pool With This Man!
I’m issuing a public announcement.
DO NOT SHOOT POOL WITH TODD ANDERSON.
Keep you’re sanity. Preserve your hope. Save your money.
The chrome-domed gentle giant from the great white north of Minnesota has spent a decade masquerading as a poker executive. What an act. He effectively established his cover story, first as the co-creator and owner of the Heartland Poker Tour (HPT) which exploded into a national success. Then, he most recently turned his attention to Poker Night in America, which he also founded and now oversees.
Come to find out, this was all just a sham.
In fact, TODD ANDERSON IS A POOL HUSTLER.
Tonight, I got stuck worse than a roasted pig over a flame, and I never saw it coming. Here in the high roller suite overlooking Reno, we took over the Safari Room, which — come to find out — is stocked with a pool table. I know it was all a set up. I thought could take Todd down, easy. As it turned out, I left flat heartbroken and bankroll busted.
It started off so innocently. First, it was playing partners “for fun.”
Gee, Todd really sucked. He couldn’t make a shot. Guy played like a turkey.
Then, wallets popped out and cash started hitting the green felt. First, it was $20 a game. Todd still didn’t play very well. He managed to scrape by and win a few games, each time seemingly getting a lucky break.
Next. some idiot suggested playing for $100 a game (I won’t announce who because the answer might incriminate me). Hundred bucks a pop. Guy seemed to struggle to move around the table. What a mark.
Todd got so lucky that first game. I don’t know how he won, but he managed to edge me out by a single ball.
Another C-Note hit the felt and quicker than I had lifted the wooden rack from the green surface, Todd popped the break shot with the full force of sledgehammer. The eight-ball spun and then dropped in the side pocket for an instant win. I hadn’t even picked up my cue, and I was stuck another $100 in 4 seconds.
“How much?” he asked.
I was so damned tempted to say $200. Man’s got to get even.
But sanity prevailed. Another $100 to the felt.
Wham, Crack. Bang. Pop. Zwoosh. Clack. Six balls down, and I finally get my first shot.
Of course, my board looks like a complete clusterfuck. I blow the only shot I get, and Todd basically does a war dance on what’s left of my dignity. Bang! Bang! Eight ball — ka-boom!
Here’s the greedy beast lined up next to a rhino, making one of his last fateful, fatal shots, another dagger to my bleeding heart (photo above).
Let me tell you something, Todd Anderson! I think you snowed me big time! In fact, I know it! I’m sure as hell not happy about it!
So next time, we’re playing for $200 a game. And your not partnering with the rhinoceros.
PS: After I left busted, Joe Sartori was getting hustled next and was down three bills. Stop that evil man