![]() That’s how the game came to be called The Mango. For the first couple years it was in Harlem at a table made of mango wood. One night a week-lately Mondays-a game comes together in my apartment. This time I got a quorum, and have pretty much every week since. The next week, I tried again: Please join me, TOMORROW NIGHT, TUESDAY, NOVEMBER 15, for an opportunity to demonstrate that you remain unbowed in the face of the impending apocalypse and to redirect your passion and anger in a productive direction, namely fleecing your neighbors. The idea of having a weekly poker game was burning in me. Around this time, I had moved into a new apartment, my own, after separating from my wife. Thank god my poker-aligned cronies knew better than I not to risk the mixing of these two variously holy and unholy passions, poker and politics, so I wasn’t able to get a game going. ![]() ![]() I tried to start my very own weekly poker game the night Donald Trump was elected president.
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