WHAT ARE THE ODDS THAT POKER WILL GO AWAY FOREVER?

Byline: Jillian O'Connor

At first, I laughed at all the poker zombies popping up in L.A. But then they got my husband.

If you don't act now, nearly everyone you know could be affected by the virulent strain of pokermania sweeping the 48 contiguous states.

And meanwhile, the CDC does nothing to control its spread.

Though the poker zombies haven't tried to bite off my flesh, they have, in fact, eviscerated our social life. Friends are no longer interested in dinner, drinks and, say, talking. Instead, they gather around IKEA tables, muttering about implied odds and "the nuts" - a card-junkie expression I don't quite know the meaning of, though I'm told it's not dirty.

All of a sudden, everyone's decided to join the math league, and the only protection I've found is to hide the chips. Poker is the new meaning of their lives, and there is no cure.

People who once couldn't be enticed to do something so cerebral as watch "Wheel of Fortune" are now at risk as the disease takes hold and reprograms their left brains. Complicated odds estimation is, like, so cool now.

The first sightings of poker zombie gangs were reported back in 2003, after Bravo began airing table footage of highly admired celebrities like, um, Ben Affleck and Coolio. One would think that celebrity lineup would be enough to prevent would-be hipsters from taking up the game, but no.

After infection, my local zombies were first identified by their incessant e-mails about upcoming games. As the addiction took hold, they changed from bar-hoppers with no discernible interests to instant card freaks who couldn't go more than a night without a fix.

In the movies, zombie language is mainly confined to "arrrgghhh!" But in real life, nascent poker freaks speak in glib tones about "a beer hand" (usually a 2-7, and thus a good time for a drink) and "pocket pirates" (a pair of jacks face down). Which, in uninfected English majors like me, generally provokes the response "arrrgghhh!"

The zombies' current game of choice is Texas hold 'em (As Seen on TV!). But I have also noted the Omaha style creeping into West Hollywood. (I live in fear that every state has its own variation, and that - someday - I shall be privy to them all.) Poker, once just a grown-up alternative to fish and war, has now become as basic a need as food, water and iPods.

Everybody's doing it, so there's almost no escaping, especially if you come upon an impromptu game at an alleged nonpoker party. Even hiding in a corner with a bag of Trader Joe's cookies doesn't work; I've tried.

They will draft you and claim your twenty.

And if you beat the zombies at their game, they'll accuse you of having beginner's luck, which seems to rank as mortal sin among the poker-devout, whose god is none other than repeat champion David Sklansky, author of "Hold 'Em Poker" - always a fledgling freak's primer.

The craze is by no means limited to men, but you will find few females at the Southland's more frightening offtrack card rooms, where the stained drapery, creepy bartenders and hollow-eyed clientele set the scene for a wedding reception of the damned.

In the event you do find yourself in one of these tawdry gambling palaces, one useful weapon I have found for warding off the undead - male or female - is the universal "don't make me play poker" cry: "arrrgghhh!" That usually distracts the zombies long enough to make a getaway.

After all, it's not in the Sklansky book.

Jill O'Connor, [phone]

jillan.oconnor(at)dailynews.com

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