His commute isn't bad. It's maybe three steps from his bed to his computer, which is well worth the trip when you're making $410.92 an hour.

That's what Luke Staudenmaier figures he's making this month, an unusually good one. "My true hourly is $180, $190,'' he says.

Luke will be 21 tomorrow.

		Reach Brian O'Neill at 412-263-1947 or boneill@post-gazette.com.

He didn't set out to become a professional poker player. He's just a smart kid from Brentwood, a senior at Pitt majoring in history and English. If playing poker online ever becomes felony, as just happened in Washington state, his fallback plan is to teach English in Asia.

But right now he plays a couple of hours a day, a task that has brought a new Mustang GT to the garage, succeeding his grandmother's 12-year-old Ford Escort. That and his elaborate computer set-up in the Bloomfield duplex he shares with two other Pitt students are the result of depositing $10 into an Internet poker site in March 2005.

"I've never had to make another deposit again.''

Those stories you hear about Gamblers Anonymous all remain true. Those people are losing to the likes of Luke. He calls them by their industry term: "donators.''

You have to forget most of what you thought you knew about poker when you sit down with him. Luke doesn't smoke or drink. He spent much of the past year reading poker books and Web sites, and he approaches a game the way a seasoned mechanic approaches a shaky engine.

Make that eight shaky engines. Luke has two monitors on his desk so he can play eight virtual Texas hold 'em tournaments at a time.

And you thought that lady daubing eight bingo cards was good.

I couldn't keep up, though he kept himself down to four tournaments for me. It cost $109 to get into one of the games and $215 for each of the other three, with the house raking the $9 and $15 off the top. As each of the virtual tables filled with 10 players, he recognized some.

When he saw one screen name, he said, "This guy's probably the only one who can compete with me.''

In print, that might seem like bragging, but Luke is as low-key as brown socks in church. To say he keeps a poker face doesn't begin to cover his unflappability as bets and cards appear on four tiny tables on the computer screen.

He has software that tells him a player's betting tendencies. One number below an opponent, "42.9,'' tells him the guy puts money on the table almost 43 percent of the time.

"Loose players are typically bad players,'' he says, and, sure enough, that chump gets wiped out early.

Luke prefers $100 and $200 games, even if payoffs are smaller, because $1,000 games attract better players.

"The edge isn't going to be very large if you're playing against seven other professionals. If it's full of all better players I just won't sit down. I'm not a sucker for the action. I want to be in the best spot I can be in to make money.''

I watch intently but can't keep up.

"Let's see if I can bluff this guy out of this pot. Yeah, I won this pot.''

He will occasionally play in a live game. There is a money clip on his desk with a $100 bill on top. But the computer is the center of his betting universe. He can find a game 24/7, and likes the evening because "donators will play at night after they get home from their jobs.''

In this afternoon session, he finishes in the money in only one of four games, thus losing a couple of hundred dollars. No big deal. He calls up a chart showing his winnings for the month. This loss doesn't even qualify as a fender bender on the road he's on.

He has a 28 percent return on "investments" this month by making thousands of correct decisions and sticking to a core strategy that minimizes risk. Not that just anyone could do it. In these Texas hold 'em tournaments, there are seven losers for every three winners.

His mother, Mamie, was skeptical when Luke began playing, but he has followed his father Robert's advice to play within limits. This hasn't interfered with his school work; he made the dean's list last semester.

Luke has the personality and analytical ability to excel in a difficult and dangerous game. He also was born at the right time, after the arrival of the Internet age, and before the government gambling monopoly puts its hammer down. Which could happen, Luke. Bet on it.

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Correction/Clarification: (Published July 25, 2006) An incorrect first name was given for Mamie Staudenmaier in this Brian O'Neill column as originally published July 23, 2006.