Phat Mack
02-09-2004, 01:58 AM
I was in Seattle for a week, so I thought I'd check out some poker games.
First, let me tell you that I had a bad moment when arriving in Seattle. I noticed that I was the only male in the airport not wearing one of those Old Navy two-tone-40's-retro fleece jackets with the zipper pocket on the breast. I thought there must be a mandatory dress code. I assumed that clearing immigration would be futile without one, like trying to enroll in a Japanese high school without a sailor suit, but after making enquiries I was informed that domestic passengers were exempt from clearing immigration, so I snuck downstairs, grabbed my rental and made good my escape.
Another weird thing about Seattle: most of the drivers were competent. By competent, I mean they seem to understand how to operate motor vehicles in a way designed to get them to their destinations in the least amount of time, while at the same time driving minimizing the risk of killing themselves and their fellow humans. They merge effortlessly. They use turn signals for turns and lane changes. They not only stop at red lights, but at stop signs as well. I've always thought that the best drivers were the California drivers of the 1960's. Seattle drivers were as good, if not better. Anybody else ever notice this?
Anyway, I was talking about poker. I'm not an expert no-limt player, never have been--never will be, but I think it's one of the most fun poker formats--I'd rather play it than craps any day of the week because it provides the additional enjoyment of watching people engaged in more complex thinking behavior. I was particularly interested in the no limit game at Tulalip, so I drove up there on a friday night to check it out. No Limit seems to be growing in popularity in with the public-cardroom set. It's a strange version, however--one where the buy-ins and re-buys are capped. I think this particular format has spread, like crabgrass, from the internet poker rooms. I had never experienced capped-buy no-limit, but thinking it might be the wave of the future, I wanted to check it out.
(I don't know for sure, but everybody I have talked to seems to think that the capped-buy format was developed for two reasons: to prevent people from losing the farm playing poker (limit players never go broke); and to preserve the meritocracy of poker by preventing trust-funders from buying big stacks and chip-whipping the table (players who get big stacks by sucking out are somehow prevented from doing this). Well, as far as protecting the player's rolls is concerned, I always thought that was why we had limited-buy-in tournament poker; to let people buy in for $100, get $5000 worth of chips, and play just like the big boys. I've never bought the myth that No Limit breaks fish faster than limit, but I'm tired of beating my head against that all, so let's move on...)
I find Tulalip Casino, find a parking space, find the poker room, and the first thing I notice is No Smoking. This is good. I was born addicted to tobacco, I'll die addicted to tobacco, but I'm currently off the stuff and don't want to be around it. The second thing I notice is, of all things, an old-fashioned water cooler with the bottle on the top and the tube of cups on the side. I feel strongly about so few things, but I think every poker room should have a water cooler just like this one. Free Water! If only Bush had heard such a slogan before he was distracted by Iraq. I'm headed to the board to sign up, but am so overwhelmed by the sight of this water cooler that I amble over to it and help myself to a cup instead. The third thing I notice is that Tulalip uses blue $1 chips. This is not a deal breaker, however, since I am a citizen of a diverse America, and can accept all sorts of aberrant life choices.
Having finished my cup of free water, I proceed to the board. A lot of thought was given to the placement of the board in the Tulalip poker room. It's not elevated, so it's difficult to see from anywhere more than six feet away. It's on the far side of the room at the furthest point from the two doors. It has no easy access; you have to sidle between tables to get to it. In fact, if there are more than two people talking to the brush, you can't get to it. It is the result of a lot of thought and hard work by somebody who really hated poker.
I get put on the list for the no limit game (there are two tables going), my wife gets put on the list for 10-20 hold 'em, and our comical sidekick gets seated immediately in a hi-lo stud game. Having completed my sign-up mission, I decide to give someone else a chance to sign up, and retreat back to the cashier's area which has some open space suitable for loitering. I should use my waiting time productively, sweating the games for example, but instead decide to take advantage of one of the perks of casino poker, a complimentary copy of Cardplayer magazine. I look for one. What attracts my attention instead is a rack of fliers about the different Tulalip poker attractions. One flier is about tournaments. Another that catches my eye says, "LIVE ACTION NO-LIMIT HOLD 'EM."
This sheet explains the game: must buy in for $100; can't re-buy until you are down to $25 or less; can't buy in for more than $100; short buys must be followed by full buys; blinds are 3-5; chips crossing the line are a bet unless you verbalize your action, etc. etc. We'll have more about this later.
Motivated by my reading, I decide to skip reading Cardplayer, and sweat the action. Back to the board, squeeze close enough to read the no limit table numbers, try and figure out where the tables are. I walk over to a couch-like bench mounted to an adjacent wall and scope it out. One of the tables is filled with old guys. By "old guys" I mean men my age. I think to myself, "Uh oh, Rocks!" The other table seats a much younger crowd that seems to be more engaged in talking, arguing and whining--probably the table where I want to play. There was nothing at the board to indicate a must-move game, so I probably can get to it eventually.
I watch the "good" table. There are a couple of players wearing dark glasses and baseball caps. When the action is on them, for twenty seconds they stare at a spot on the table half-way between their stack and the flop. Then they look right for five seconds. Then they look left for five seconds. Then they act. At first I wonder if a freak winter storm has blown up a couple of aspiring 10-20 pros from the Mirage. No, after a little observation I realized I was witnessing the Power of Television. These guys had been receiving both fashion tips and playing tips from the WPT: they have flopped bottom pair, and are trying to contain themselves.
Soon I'm called, and am seated in the "good" game. After ten minutes, a brush comes over and says, "Moe, must move to the other NL game." Moe moves. Aha! so it's a must-move game--nobody had said anything. Twenty minutes later, another brush comes over and says, "Larry, must move to the other NL game." Larry moves. Twenty minutes later, a third brush comes over and says, "Curly, there's a seat open in the other NL game. You want it?" Curly says no. Good news. They've either changed it because they think two games will make, or it's must-move status is open to interpretation. I am liking the table I'm at, and want to stay put.
One of the best features of any No Limit game is the floor show. It has been my experience that No Limit games attract a disproportionate amount of players with Histrionic Personality Disorder, or, as they are called in the vernacular, Drama Queens. The actions provided by other forms of poker (check, bet, raise and fold) are joined in No Limit by another, more popular, option: Dramatize. Happily, or unhappily, depending on your point of view, at least eighty percent of the Tulalip players hadn't caught on to the need for agonized contemplation or five-minute stare-fests to accompany any bet of over, say, $20. This was my first NL hold 'em game that proceeded at a pace of over fifteen hands an hour. This might be the influence of TV, with its well-behaved or well-edited players, or perhaps of tournaments, with their plethora of rules. All-in-all, the Tulalip players weren't yet up to speed when it came to slowing down the game.
People had told me that the dealers at Tulalip were bad. I found the opposite to be true. Most of the ones I met were competent and professional, but some seemed inexperienced in No Limit. Understandable because it is such a weird game. None of them had any trouble making all the side pots that overwhelm most NL dealers, but some of the arcane rules threw them. Apparently, Tulalip has a rule that when there is only one active player in a hand with chips remaining, the active players must turn over their hands before the cards are run out. In other words, if there are two players in a pot, and one goes all-in on the flop, both players must turn over their hands before fourth and fifth street are dealt. I have often seen this done in a ring game as a courtesy, but have never before seen it made mandatory. This rule lead to an interesting situation.
Fourth street; three clubs on the board; two players. First Player has $243, Second Player has him covered. First Player takes his loose stack of $43 in his hand, places it over the line, counts out $20, then pulls his hand and the remaining $23 back. Dealer looks at him and says, "You have to go all in."
First Player says, "What?"
Dealer: "You moved the entire stack over the line, you have to put in the other $23."
"OK."
Second Player calls the $43. Fifth street is a club; First Player checks; Second Player checks; First Player turns over 4c4s and says, "Flush." Second Player says, "You win," and throws his hand in, face down. Now comes the interesting part. The dealer turns to Second Player and tells him to turn over his hand.
Second Player: "Huh?"
Dealer: "Turn your hand over, we've got an all-in player."
Second Player turns his hand over. He has a black king, but it's not a club. I usually stay out of these things, but I suggest to the dealer that, in this land of the strong NRA lobby, it wasn't a good idea to make Second Player turn over his hand as neither he had clearly intended to muck it, and neither player was all-in. "No, but he was all-in with his bet." Okaaaay.......
Now let's discuss how bright I am. I play for three or so hours, get lucky and get 900 in front of me. The game is slowing down. The next biggest stack has less than 200. I'm thinking of hopping. Much to my delight, a kid sits down, starts talking smack, and proceeds to lose a couple of buy-ins. The kid has been drinking. A second kid sits down, and the first kid, with little or no trouble, proceeds to talk him into drinking shots. I think to myself that if I can win some pots from these guys, they'll get irritated, buy enough to cover me and come after my stack. What's wrong with this picture? I'm a supposedly sane adult, I'm in a game with a max re-buy of $100, and I'm patiently waiting for a chance to motivate someone to re-buy for $900. It took me a half hour of searching for an opportunity to isolate a Shot-Drinking Kid before a little light bulb went on over my head. I love those Aha! moments. I looked around like a cat caught doing something stupid to see if anyone had been reading my thoughts for the last half hour, but apparently no one had.
My only immediate option was to play my stack against small ones, which is an art unto itself and can be fun in the right circumstances, but can more often resemble work--or to split. I chose the later and booked a nice win.
It seemed like an interesting game. The players were having fun. Not exactly what I'm used to; more of a compromise between the anarchy of a full-blown ring game, and the cost-controlling structure of a tourney. Let's call it a ongoing tournament with flextime entry and flextime egress. I'll be interested to see what long-term legs these games have.
First, let me tell you that I had a bad moment when arriving in Seattle. I noticed that I was the only male in the airport not wearing one of those Old Navy two-tone-40's-retro fleece jackets with the zipper pocket on the breast. I thought there must be a mandatory dress code. I assumed that clearing immigration would be futile without one, like trying to enroll in a Japanese high school without a sailor suit, but after making enquiries I was informed that domestic passengers were exempt from clearing immigration, so I snuck downstairs, grabbed my rental and made good my escape.
Another weird thing about Seattle: most of the drivers were competent. By competent, I mean they seem to understand how to operate motor vehicles in a way designed to get them to their destinations in the least amount of time, while at the same time driving minimizing the risk of killing themselves and their fellow humans. They merge effortlessly. They use turn signals for turns and lane changes. They not only stop at red lights, but at stop signs as well. I've always thought that the best drivers were the California drivers of the 1960's. Seattle drivers were as good, if not better. Anybody else ever notice this?
Anyway, I was talking about poker. I'm not an expert no-limt player, never have been--never will be, but I think it's one of the most fun poker formats--I'd rather play it than craps any day of the week because it provides the additional enjoyment of watching people engaged in more complex thinking behavior. I was particularly interested in the no limit game at Tulalip, so I drove up there on a friday night to check it out. No Limit seems to be growing in popularity in with the public-cardroom set. It's a strange version, however--one where the buy-ins and re-buys are capped. I think this particular format has spread, like crabgrass, from the internet poker rooms. I had never experienced capped-buy no-limit, but thinking it might be the wave of the future, I wanted to check it out.
(I don't know for sure, but everybody I have talked to seems to think that the capped-buy format was developed for two reasons: to prevent people from losing the farm playing poker (limit players never go broke); and to preserve the meritocracy of poker by preventing trust-funders from buying big stacks and chip-whipping the table (players who get big stacks by sucking out are somehow prevented from doing this). Well, as far as protecting the player's rolls is concerned, I always thought that was why we had limited-buy-in tournament poker; to let people buy in for $100, get $5000 worth of chips, and play just like the big boys. I've never bought the myth that No Limit breaks fish faster than limit, but I'm tired of beating my head against that all, so let's move on...)
I find Tulalip Casino, find a parking space, find the poker room, and the first thing I notice is No Smoking. This is good. I was born addicted to tobacco, I'll die addicted to tobacco, but I'm currently off the stuff and don't want to be around it. The second thing I notice is, of all things, an old-fashioned water cooler with the bottle on the top and the tube of cups on the side. I feel strongly about so few things, but I think every poker room should have a water cooler just like this one. Free Water! If only Bush had heard such a slogan before he was distracted by Iraq. I'm headed to the board to sign up, but am so overwhelmed by the sight of this water cooler that I amble over to it and help myself to a cup instead. The third thing I notice is that Tulalip uses blue $1 chips. This is not a deal breaker, however, since I am a citizen of a diverse America, and can accept all sorts of aberrant life choices.
Having finished my cup of free water, I proceed to the board. A lot of thought was given to the placement of the board in the Tulalip poker room. It's not elevated, so it's difficult to see from anywhere more than six feet away. It's on the far side of the room at the furthest point from the two doors. It has no easy access; you have to sidle between tables to get to it. In fact, if there are more than two people talking to the brush, you can't get to it. It is the result of a lot of thought and hard work by somebody who really hated poker.
I get put on the list for the no limit game (there are two tables going), my wife gets put on the list for 10-20 hold 'em, and our comical sidekick gets seated immediately in a hi-lo stud game. Having completed my sign-up mission, I decide to give someone else a chance to sign up, and retreat back to the cashier's area which has some open space suitable for loitering. I should use my waiting time productively, sweating the games for example, but instead decide to take advantage of one of the perks of casino poker, a complimentary copy of Cardplayer magazine. I look for one. What attracts my attention instead is a rack of fliers about the different Tulalip poker attractions. One flier is about tournaments. Another that catches my eye says, "LIVE ACTION NO-LIMIT HOLD 'EM."
This sheet explains the game: must buy in for $100; can't re-buy until you are down to $25 or less; can't buy in for more than $100; short buys must be followed by full buys; blinds are 3-5; chips crossing the line are a bet unless you verbalize your action, etc. etc. We'll have more about this later.
Motivated by my reading, I decide to skip reading Cardplayer, and sweat the action. Back to the board, squeeze close enough to read the no limit table numbers, try and figure out where the tables are. I walk over to a couch-like bench mounted to an adjacent wall and scope it out. One of the tables is filled with old guys. By "old guys" I mean men my age. I think to myself, "Uh oh, Rocks!" The other table seats a much younger crowd that seems to be more engaged in talking, arguing and whining--probably the table where I want to play. There was nothing at the board to indicate a must-move game, so I probably can get to it eventually.
I watch the "good" table. There are a couple of players wearing dark glasses and baseball caps. When the action is on them, for twenty seconds they stare at a spot on the table half-way between their stack and the flop. Then they look right for five seconds. Then they look left for five seconds. Then they act. At first I wonder if a freak winter storm has blown up a couple of aspiring 10-20 pros from the Mirage. No, after a little observation I realized I was witnessing the Power of Television. These guys had been receiving both fashion tips and playing tips from the WPT: they have flopped bottom pair, and are trying to contain themselves.
Soon I'm called, and am seated in the "good" game. After ten minutes, a brush comes over and says, "Moe, must move to the other NL game." Moe moves. Aha! so it's a must-move game--nobody had said anything. Twenty minutes later, another brush comes over and says, "Larry, must move to the other NL game." Larry moves. Twenty minutes later, a third brush comes over and says, "Curly, there's a seat open in the other NL game. You want it?" Curly says no. Good news. They've either changed it because they think two games will make, or it's must-move status is open to interpretation. I am liking the table I'm at, and want to stay put.
One of the best features of any No Limit game is the floor show. It has been my experience that No Limit games attract a disproportionate amount of players with Histrionic Personality Disorder, or, as they are called in the vernacular, Drama Queens. The actions provided by other forms of poker (check, bet, raise and fold) are joined in No Limit by another, more popular, option: Dramatize. Happily, or unhappily, depending on your point of view, at least eighty percent of the Tulalip players hadn't caught on to the need for agonized contemplation or five-minute stare-fests to accompany any bet of over, say, $20. This was my first NL hold 'em game that proceeded at a pace of over fifteen hands an hour. This might be the influence of TV, with its well-behaved or well-edited players, or perhaps of tournaments, with their plethora of rules. All-in-all, the Tulalip players weren't yet up to speed when it came to slowing down the game.
People had told me that the dealers at Tulalip were bad. I found the opposite to be true. Most of the ones I met were competent and professional, but some seemed inexperienced in No Limit. Understandable because it is such a weird game. None of them had any trouble making all the side pots that overwhelm most NL dealers, but some of the arcane rules threw them. Apparently, Tulalip has a rule that when there is only one active player in a hand with chips remaining, the active players must turn over their hands before the cards are run out. In other words, if there are two players in a pot, and one goes all-in on the flop, both players must turn over their hands before fourth and fifth street are dealt. I have often seen this done in a ring game as a courtesy, but have never before seen it made mandatory. This rule lead to an interesting situation.
Fourth street; three clubs on the board; two players. First Player has $243, Second Player has him covered. First Player takes his loose stack of $43 in his hand, places it over the line, counts out $20, then pulls his hand and the remaining $23 back. Dealer looks at him and says, "You have to go all in."
First Player says, "What?"
Dealer: "You moved the entire stack over the line, you have to put in the other $23."
"OK."
Second Player calls the $43. Fifth street is a club; First Player checks; Second Player checks; First Player turns over 4c4s and says, "Flush." Second Player says, "You win," and throws his hand in, face down. Now comes the interesting part. The dealer turns to Second Player and tells him to turn over his hand.
Second Player: "Huh?"
Dealer: "Turn your hand over, we've got an all-in player."
Second Player turns his hand over. He has a black king, but it's not a club. I usually stay out of these things, but I suggest to the dealer that, in this land of the strong NRA lobby, it wasn't a good idea to make Second Player turn over his hand as neither he had clearly intended to muck it, and neither player was all-in. "No, but he was all-in with his bet." Okaaaay.......
Now let's discuss how bright I am. I play for three or so hours, get lucky and get 900 in front of me. The game is slowing down. The next biggest stack has less than 200. I'm thinking of hopping. Much to my delight, a kid sits down, starts talking smack, and proceeds to lose a couple of buy-ins. The kid has been drinking. A second kid sits down, and the first kid, with little or no trouble, proceeds to talk him into drinking shots. I think to myself that if I can win some pots from these guys, they'll get irritated, buy enough to cover me and come after my stack. What's wrong with this picture? I'm a supposedly sane adult, I'm in a game with a max re-buy of $100, and I'm patiently waiting for a chance to motivate someone to re-buy for $900. It took me a half hour of searching for an opportunity to isolate a Shot-Drinking Kid before a little light bulb went on over my head. I love those Aha! moments. I looked around like a cat caught doing something stupid to see if anyone had been reading my thoughts for the last half hour, but apparently no one had.
My only immediate option was to play my stack against small ones, which is an art unto itself and can be fun in the right circumstances, but can more often resemble work--or to split. I chose the later and booked a nice win.
It seemed like an interesting game. The players were having fun. Not exactly what I'm used to; more of a compromise between the anarchy of a full-blown ring game, and the cost-controlling structure of a tourney. Let's call it a ongoing tournament with flextime entry and flextime egress. I'll be interested to see what long-term legs these games have.