February 21st is the 52nd day of the calendar year.
There are 52 playing cards in a standard deck.
A piano has 52 white keys.
Professional Football Hall of Fame member Ray Lewis wore jersey number 52, as did Baseball Hall of Famer CC Sabathia, Basketball Hall of Famer Jamaal Wilkes, and Hockey Hall of Famer Dave Andreychuk. There may not be anyone who wore 52 on their shirt in the Soccer, Lacrosse, Volleyball, Softball, or Roller Derby Halls of Fame, but that doesn’t matter. The point is, if you want your child to stand out athletically, get them into uniform number 52.
William Shakespeare died the day he turned 52. Actor Christopher Reeve, who was born in 1952, died at age 52.
Also born in 1952: Vladimir Putin, Mr. T, Paul Reubens (AKA Pee-Wee Herman), and Harvey Weinstein. Make of that what you will.
Further 52-related significance: a standard 365-day year contains that many weeks, plus one leftover day. That’s why, shortly after 3 AM this coming Sunday, the first seventh of 2026 will be history.
Fifty-two is also the name of a diabolical poker game. It begins with each player anteing up and getting dealt five cards. There’s no further wagering; everyone assesses their hand and declares, in order, whether they’re “in” or “out.” Those remaining get two more cards; those opting out wait for the next deal. Then each participant who stayed simply lays down their finest quintet. The best hand wins the pot. The also-rans who stayed all have to match it. That means if there are four losers of a one-dollar pot, the next hand gets dealt with four dollars in the middle of the table. If there are three losers in that round, the following hand’s fee for the loser(s) increases to twelve dollars. The pot continues growing until only one player stays “in,” everyone else folds, and the game mercifully concludes.
The odds of any particular hand winning a round should be the same regardless of how much money is in the middle of the table, but for those without a six-figure annual salary or a trust fund, the strategy changes as the stakes grow.
Years ago I got into a game of 52 with five other twenty-something adolescents. The pot started at $1.50, but quickly rose to six dollars, then 24, then 72, then 144, then 288, and finally to one last hand before someone stayed “in,” went unchallenged, and walked away with $864. My hands were shaking when the pot hit $24; when it reached triple digits I wouldn’t have considered staying in with anything less than four of a kind.
Watching some of the other guys at the table get peer-pressured into making ill- considered decisions they’d have never made if they’d been thinking rationally confirmed for me that gambling can be every bit the toxic life-ruiner that alcohol, tobacco, opioids, or any other addictive-by-design scourge is.
There’s nothing wrong with an occasional low-stakes poker game amongst friends. But even when most of the faces around the table are familiar, having some common sense helps. Years ago a fellow who wasn’t the smartest guy in the world dolefully recounted losing the previous evening’s second-to-last 52 hand. Thankfully it only cost him fifty dollars, since before the game began everyone agreed to a $50 pot limit.
“I got dealt a full house, aces over kings, so of course I stayed in,” he said, continuing, “I can’t believe I got beat.”
“What’d the other guy have?” I asked.
“Four kings,” he replied glumly.
Forrest Gump was right. Stupid really is as stupid does.
Andy YoungReturn to main page
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