Bill Kilfoil muses on missing his and his buddies Irish Poker club. - J. R. Roy

BILL KILFOIL

During Scotlands 18th century, when the Scots were busy inventing the modern world, several social/intellectual societies were at the heart of the Scottish Enlightenment. In 1762 in Edinburgh, the remnants of The Select Society formed a group called The Poker Club, whose commission it was to meet weekly, sit civilly, drink all the available claret and exchange ideas in a cordial atmosphere. Their stated mission was to improve themselves in reasoning and eloquence and by free debate discover the most effective ways of promoting the common good. Membership, which included the likes of Adam Smith and David Hume, met weekly at Thomas Nicholsons Tavern in the Old Town of Edinburgh. Their Poker Club had nothing to do with card games. It was so named to encourage members to stir up the controversies of the day as a fireplace poker stirs hot coals to flame.

In our neighbourhood, back in pre-covid days, a bunch of us had a poker club of our own. We met every Thursday from 7 until 10 (facially unmasked, digitally unwashed and socially un-distanced) to play Irish Poker and tell lies. At these card games, during those carefree days before the plague, the principles of hygiene were routinely violated. We dealt the same cards with greasy hands, passed around the same stale potato chip bowl, circulated slabs of cheese and pepperoni sticks and breathed the same stale hoppy air.

The cards have not been dealt since Thursday, March 5. Our pious congregation is dispersed, our noble tradition deceased, one of the petty casualties of the pandemic. Interruptions such as these, in the grand scheme, are trivial and inconsequential. But as advanced thinkers have suggested, for our general well-being, even frivolous and gratuitous occupation should not be discounted. We miss the little things more than we thought we would. Something is lost.

Needless to say, our Thursday night poker club is nothing like the Scottish version (those guys in Edinburgh were smart); no deep thoughts for us, nothing high-minded about what we do, no extravagant talk, no highfalutin nonsense, no high-horses got on. We may debate the urgent questions of the day or express vigorous opinions, but the conversation was neither eloquent nor enlightened. We know that our views are not necessary for the survival of western civilization. From time to time, we used words that are not part of the Christian tradition.

Mostly retirees, we go through the entire evening and nobody checks their cellphone. A couple of guys who are still working claim to pay the pensions collected by the rest of us. They recommend we show a little gratitude. To this suggestion no attention was paid. We all understand that the purpose of our aging is to introduce us to a variety of mental and physical deficits.

At these gatherings, the prattle is sustained without effort most of the time it involves ridicule, whining, insulting, or commentary on political alliances and pulmonary disorders. Pearls of wisdom and erudition are rare. There is no place for delicacy of thought or feeling. Anyone taking things too seriously doesnt really belong at the table. All the card players know that sombre, humourless dialogue should be avoided if it goes on too long, someone might send for a doctor.

Most of us are beer drinkers except for the senior ex-military statesman among us who sips Protestant whiskey from a small flask Bushmills Black, from the North of Ireland. Moderate for the most part, we drink just a few beers over the three hours. And when the seal is broken, we get up every 10 minutes to pee. These bathroom visitations are frequent, flatulent and weak-streamed.

Although one among us (a Scottish immigrant) relentlessly attempts to enliven the conversation by poking and fanning the flames of argument, we are, for the most part, well behaved. A range of opinions hardly ever leads to violence, property damage or legal action.

Our game is a version of Liars Poker, renamed by members of our group as Irish Poker because some players believe (in an attempt to irritate me) that when Irish eyes are smiling, theyre usually lying as well, and the Irish (with their celebrated history of blarney) have an unfair advantage in a game whose outcome depends on the ability to persuade others that you might be telling the truth. Where some see prevarication, the Irish see creative genius. Its all part of the craic.

To be successful, each successive player doesnt have to be able to make the hand theyre claiming, they just have to convince the guy on the left that they might. A prudent player needs to be careful. Knowing that the next guy can challenge your claim, he can choose to tell the truth, perpetrate a previous lie or fabricate a shiny new one. Lies need to be told with the voice and intonation required for credulity. This behaviour is not distinguishable from that of a seasoned politician or car dealer.

When the clock strikes 10, one of the guys (the Scot, of course) discharges his fiduciary responsibilities, doling out the dividends of the evening. Little heed is paid to the redistribution of wealth; no fortunes are won or lost. The proceeds might buy a double-double and a donut. No one counts their money while sitting at the table, and when the dealings done, well have a wee deoch-an-doris and then go home. We all live within walking distance.

It has been a couple of months since we enjoyed the poker and the lies. We dont know when the prohibition will be lifted. We fear we are in danger of losing the requisite poker skills. Prevarication is an acquired talent if not practised and polished, it may be lost just ask any Republican.

Recently, Premier Stephen McNeils relentless chin has been wagging about easing restrictions on parks, fishing and golf, but there hasnt been a peep out of him about re-opening the Irish Poker economy. I guess its no big deal. Everyone has to play with the cards theyre dealt. For now, its solitaire.

Returning to 18th century Edinburgh, those learned Scots (busy conceiving capitalism and democracy) appreciated the sedentary and restorative nature of their Poker Club. Enlightenment philosopher David Hume (understandably depressed thinking about the powers of human reasoning) found his Poker Club a relief and a remedy, where he would ... be merry with my friends and after three or four hours amusement, return to my speculations.

See what I mean?

William J. Kilfoil lives in Mineville.

Read more:
BILL KILFOIL: The plague: Playing the cards youre dealt - TheChronicleHerald.ca