Phil2
06-02-2005, 12:06 PM
Live 1/3 NL at the last cardroom in Atlantic City that stills allows their faithful to smoke. Like any room, this one was filled with regulars; I see the same ones every time, usually wearing the same thing as last time, drinking the same drinks (tanqueray and tab, scotch and water) telling the same lame beat stories I hear at every table I sit at. In between telling these sob stories they usually flirt with the cocktail waitresses or yell to Gus and Jimmy at the one to five table. Gus is stuck $15 in the game and missed his up-and-down straight draw; I heard all about it.
Coop and Bobby are sitting to my immediate left. Coop, a short, unshaven fat guy in his mid-twenties, who probably stares in the mirror at nights before he goes to bed, drunk and depressed, wondering how he got into grinding low-limit no-limit hold-em’, has about $130 dollars in front of him. He has missed several draws at the end, and let everyone know about it by slamming his fists on the table. My chips fell over, and I shot him the “you’re a stupid lowlife degenerate donk, and you just knocked over my stack” glare. He showed me his busted flush, the A of clubs and three of clubs. I sipped some coffee and shook my head. “Look at yourself, you make me sick,” I wanted to say, but he probably already knows it or has heard it all before, and the last thing I wanted to be is redundant.
This beat (missed flush) that Coop took was enough for him to get up for another cigarette break. Watching this guy hammer down that smoke made me feel genuinely uncomfortable. He was over by the large, glass windows that overlook the rundown Sands Hotel; the deserted boardwalk and the black ocean; the porn shops, cash for gold, and Murphy’s Bar. It was raining again.
The arrival of a middle-aged man, smoking Marlboros, who apparently goes by “Coach,” grabbed the attention of the regulars in the room. “Hey Coach, go easy on ‘em tonight!” One yells. He smiles. “Hey, doll!” Coach yells to Liz, the blonde cocktail waitress who looks like she is desperately clinging onto her 30s, “bring me the usual!” He points to his open seat next to Coops vacant chair. “Tanqueray and tab, you got it sweetie,” she replies, and scurries to the bar.
Coop comes over to greet Coach. “Play my chips,” Coop offers, “I can’t do anything with em’.” Coach gives a “what the hell” shrug and sits in Coops chair. Coach is just in time to post the big blind. I am on the button and pick up the Q /images/graemlins/diamond.gif Q /images/graemlins/spade.gif, the first hand I have seen in the hour I've been playing. I still have around $200, my initial buy in.
UTG Folds, UTG 2 Folds, <font color="red">MP 1 raises to $12 </font> , MP 2 calls, CO calls, hero calls, SB folds, Coach calls.
Notice how I opt not to raise, tragically.
Flop: (5 players) $61
2 /images/graemlins/spade.gif 5 /images/graemlins/spade.gif 7 /images/graemlins/spade.gif
<font color="red">Coach bets $35 </font> , fold, fold, fold, <font color="red"> Hero raises to $100 </font> , Coach calls.
Coach checks in the dark.
Turn: $261
K /images/graemlins/spade.gif
Figuring I am now dead, I check.
River: $261
6 /images/graemlins/spade.gif
Coach moves in. Hero looks out at the rain and the black ocean, and the dense fog hovering over the Taj and Showboat. "Look at this!" yells Coach to Coop, "My AK offsuit finally hit! And I only used one card!" I sipped some coffee. "Nice hand, Coach," I said. I finished my coffee and made my way to the bar to chat with Vinny and Gus, and listened to a few more beat stories. I may stick to online poker. If I play this poorly there I'll still loose, but at least I don't have to physically give my money to a grown man who goes by "Coach" and the aspiring young poker phenom, Coop.
Coop and Bobby are sitting to my immediate left. Coop, a short, unshaven fat guy in his mid-twenties, who probably stares in the mirror at nights before he goes to bed, drunk and depressed, wondering how he got into grinding low-limit no-limit hold-em’, has about $130 dollars in front of him. He has missed several draws at the end, and let everyone know about it by slamming his fists on the table. My chips fell over, and I shot him the “you’re a stupid lowlife degenerate donk, and you just knocked over my stack” glare. He showed me his busted flush, the A of clubs and three of clubs. I sipped some coffee and shook my head. “Look at yourself, you make me sick,” I wanted to say, but he probably already knows it or has heard it all before, and the last thing I wanted to be is redundant.
This beat (missed flush) that Coop took was enough for him to get up for another cigarette break. Watching this guy hammer down that smoke made me feel genuinely uncomfortable. He was over by the large, glass windows that overlook the rundown Sands Hotel; the deserted boardwalk and the black ocean; the porn shops, cash for gold, and Murphy’s Bar. It was raining again.
The arrival of a middle-aged man, smoking Marlboros, who apparently goes by “Coach,” grabbed the attention of the regulars in the room. “Hey Coach, go easy on ‘em tonight!” One yells. He smiles. “Hey, doll!” Coach yells to Liz, the blonde cocktail waitress who looks like she is desperately clinging onto her 30s, “bring me the usual!” He points to his open seat next to Coops vacant chair. “Tanqueray and tab, you got it sweetie,” she replies, and scurries to the bar.
Coop comes over to greet Coach. “Play my chips,” Coop offers, “I can’t do anything with em’.” Coach gives a “what the hell” shrug and sits in Coops chair. Coach is just in time to post the big blind. I am on the button and pick up the Q /images/graemlins/diamond.gif Q /images/graemlins/spade.gif, the first hand I have seen in the hour I've been playing. I still have around $200, my initial buy in.
UTG Folds, UTG 2 Folds, <font color="red">MP 1 raises to $12 </font> , MP 2 calls, CO calls, hero calls, SB folds, Coach calls.
Notice how I opt not to raise, tragically.
Flop: (5 players) $61
2 /images/graemlins/spade.gif 5 /images/graemlins/spade.gif 7 /images/graemlins/spade.gif
<font color="red">Coach bets $35 </font> , fold, fold, fold, <font color="red"> Hero raises to $100 </font> , Coach calls.
Coach checks in the dark.
Turn: $261
K /images/graemlins/spade.gif
Figuring I am now dead, I check.
River: $261
6 /images/graemlins/spade.gif
Coach moves in. Hero looks out at the rain and the black ocean, and the dense fog hovering over the Taj and Showboat. "Look at this!" yells Coach to Coop, "My AK offsuit finally hit! And I only used one card!" I sipped some coffee. "Nice hand, Coach," I said. I finished my coffee and made my way to the bar to chat with Vinny and Gus, and listened to a few more beat stories. I may stick to online poker. If I play this poorly there I'll still loose, but at least I don't have to physically give my money to a grown man who goes by "Coach" and the aspiring young poker phenom, Coop.