Dear Joan Rivers

Dear Joan Rivers:

I recently saw a YouTube clip from "The Celebrity Apprentice," in which you called poker players "trash." You were not, judging by what you said - and here comes the clip, just for the record - referring only to Annie Duke (who, admittedly, is annoying as snot - but still).



Yes, I realize that the Vegas of decades past was rife with corruption. Obviously, anyone who's capable of picking up any sort of book that recounts the fabled city's history will know about the mob, and the Binions, and all the other big-time things that have happened there over time.

I realize that poker has a sordid, nasty history. We don't call Aces and eights "the dead man's hand" just because it sounds cool, after all.

But things change, and group dynamics change. And even back when Doyle Brunson was a young'un, there were plenty of poker players who would stab themselves in the face before they'd renege on a deal, or backstab someone. Though not every poker player, then or now, is a wonderful person, there have always been good guys and gals in the game. You fail to see that, and that's your shortcoming, not ours.

What's saddest, though, is that you're nobody, Joan. The only thing that I knew about you before this fiasco was that you were on "Hollywood Squares," which my grandmother watched when I was a young'un. And that, frankly, was a very-dim memory until "The Celebrity Apprentice." How great is that - knowing that you're just a random, tiny recollection based on some grandmother's television-viewing habits?

Even though you're fighting very hard to look like you're only twenty or so, Joan, you're going to die at some point. And when you go, who's going to remember you...and for what?

The poker community - millions of us, by the way, and that's just here in the United States - will remember you as the bitter old woman who called us all trash. People who are addicted to reality TV aren't going to remember much about you, because they have the attention spans of toddlers on meth. Folks who were around back when you were doing stand-up, or whatever you did when you were really as young as you're trying to look now, are going to be either dead or senile, and therefore won't recall anything about you.

Some dusty, old obit will be yanked out of some dusty, old filing cabinet in some newsroom. Some lackey will update the file to include the date of your death, as well as a couple of details about it, then publish it on the Internet and in the papers. But the odds are good that the kid doing that menial, thankless job isn't going to know much of anything about you. He probably won't really care, one way or another, that he's updating Joan Rivers' obit.

Now, you're best known as the woman who pitched a childish tantrum on a game show. This is what people in and near my generation will remember about you every time you make any sort of appearance on television or in the news. Unless you do something huge, and soon, this is what people are going to remember even after you're gone.

There's nothing wrong with being nobody. There's nothing wrong with being somebody. But there's nothing right about being known for being a rotten, nasty, bitter person. Even though I don't particularly care for Annie Duke's on-camera antics, and even though I wouldn't exactly be thrilled to be stuck playing at her poker table, the heat is on you, because you're the one who stereotyped a very-large group of people...many of whom are not even remotely close to being "trash," despite what you think.

So, Joan, the real reality here is that, among "my" kind of people - the trash, don't you know - you're basically a big donk. Congratulations - we very-rarely award the "donk" title to anyone who doesn't play poker, so you should bask in the glory of your awesome achievement.

Sincerely,

A poker player

P.S. LOL Trumpaments!