cold_cash
05-01-2004, 06:58 PM
This doesn't belong here, but since is the place where I usually distribute my drivel I don't see why I should change now. If you're not in the mood for a long "probably boring unless you were sitting there" story, you can stop right here. On the other hand, if you're already bored beyond belief and need something to do, please read on. /images/graemlins/grin.gif
My buddy and I wander into our “local” Native American gambling establishment last night to partake in a little low-limit hold ‘em with about 5,000 of our closest friends. After about a 30 minute wait my name gets called and I pull up a chair and settle into what seems to be a pretty festive, happy-go-lucky type of table. Perfect. I’ve only played live about 6-7 times, all at this same casino, and though I don’t know anybody I quickly realize it’s the same cast of characters I sat with last time.
There’s the standard middle-aged, loud-mouthed, over-weight, self-proclaimed “expert” who’s constantly complaining that the stakes are too low, who’s just waiting until he can get into the 10-20 Omaha 8 or better game to really show off his prowess. (This is the guy that everybody avoids at family reunions -- you know what I mean.)
Then of course there’s the 20 year old dude with the sunglasses who thinks it’s a capital offense to crack a smile while playing poker. He can’t be bothered with small talk. He’s studying me. He knows what I’m going to do before I do it. He can see into my soul. One cannot engage in small talk or break one’s concentration for even 2 seconds to say “Hey, how’s it going?” when someone pulls up an adjacent chair. He’s in the WSOP zone. Don’t bother him.
The drunk comes next. What a glorious sight this guy is. At least 4 sheets to the wind and feeling no pain. He’s never seen two cards he didn’t like, and he looooves to throw chips in the pot. He gets his jollies from bullying the kid with the shades, and raising so much that everyone knows it’ll cost 2 bets to limp in. Of course, this fact doesn’t dissuade anyone from limping, and it really makes the drunk’s day when he can make people roll their eyes and think “Oh crap, again with this? Come on buddy.”
Somehow, there’s also a quiet old lady mixed into this group of infidels. She’s polite, and calls guys like me “young man” sometimes. She looks like she just came from church. I’ve played with twice before, and she’s the only familiar face at the table. I know enough about her to know she’s tight as a snare drum and not afraid to get in and mix it up if need be. I like to fool myself into thinking I’m the best player at a table like this, but if I had to be honest it would probably be her. She’s a tough nut, and she looks kind of like my grandma. She’s not afraid of us.
The guy sitting to my left was a really nice guy. He’s the guy in the Hawaiian shirt that isn’t really sure how to play poker but he likes the idea. He just came from the cashier with about $300 dollars worth of white chips, and he’s placed them neatly in 30 stacks of 10 in front of him. (And in front of me, and also in front of the guy to his left.) He likes to try and bet $6 dollars on the first two round of betting, and $3 dollars on the last two. The drunk gets mad at him. He’s having fun though.
In the midst of my sociological evaluation of this scene, we managed to play a little poker. I had one really, really memorable hand which is pretty much the whole point of this post. It was a situation I had never been involved in before and I’m sure it’s something I won’t soon forget. I don’t want it to seem like I’m bragging about winning a huge pot, or just putting down these nice people I was playing with. It was truly a memorable experience, and telling it to my girlfriend or sister doesn’t do it justice, so I decided to share it with you guys. (The action is recalled from memory, but since this is all I've been thinking about for the last 16 hours, I think I got pretty much exactly.) Here it goes—
I’m second to act and find myself holding the QsJs. The drunk, “coach”, and the sunglasses and I end up in this pot for 2 bets apiece. (The coach raised before the flop.) The flop comes down Ks 9s 6d. Sunglasses checks, I bet out, Coach raises, Drunk calls, Sunglasses folds, I call.
Turn brings the 9h. I check, Coach bets, Drunk folds, I call. The river brings the glorious T of Spades.
I think to myself what a wonderful game poker can be sometimes, and ponder my good fortune. I glance over at Coach and he’s staring intently at me with a very serious look on his face. I bet. He calmly raises. I think for a moment before I declare “raise”, yet before the word is even out of my mouth I hear “re-raise” as he puts his chips in front of him. Again, I sit and ponder.
I’ve often wondered what I would do in this situation. I know poker is about making money, not making friends. I told myself if this situation ever came up, I would bet, and bet, and bet again, until the poor sucker on the other end was busted or I was out of chips. Online that wouldn’t be a problem, but seeing his chubby face across the table made me feel differently about the situation. He was probably a nice enough guy, did I really need to take ALL those chips if I was lucky enough to get the chance? Surely I could make do with only taking a few bets. Why make him feel bad?
Strangely though, when I heard “re-raise” my attitude changed. It wasn’t really what he said, but the manner in which he said it – so quickly, so confidently. He was practically daring me to raise again. This pissed me off. I decided I was now going to get more than “just a few” bets out of him to punish him for being so smug. Before I had a chance to follow through with my merciful plan, however, Coach looks over at me and says (in his best “I’m only telling you this for your own good” voice), “You know there’s no cap heads up, right?” I smile nicely back and reply, “Really?”, as I glance at the dealer. He nods and I say, “Lucky for me you said that, I guess. I might have made a big mistake. I’ll raise.” Coach shakes his head because he can’t believe I didn’t leap at his offer to take me off the hook. “One more”, he says. “Raise it”, I reply.
We go back and forth and back and forth for what seems likes forever, and I had made up my mind not to stop until he did. By now I’d convinced myself if he was dumb enough to put all his chips in the middle with his hand, and this board, it was his own damn fault. He stopped well short of that, however, and eventually called after about 9 bets or so. The table was all abuzz because they would finally get to see what all the fuss was about. As I turned my cards over, I see his face getting red. He mumbles something about how lucky I was, and if it weren’t for that luck he would have “busted” me. I nodded in agreement while I wrestled with all those chips. There was no doubt some luck involved, obviously, and even calling his turn bet might have been a mistake. Of course, it would be a cold day in hell before I ever said that out loud, especially when Coach was within earshot. It took me awhile to stack up my new chips, but I didn’t mind.
Coach left the table shortly after this hand to play in the Omaha game. It was a really fun night at the casino. I should probably have learned something from my big hand, and I actually might have, I’m not sure yet. If nothing else, it gave me a story to tell. Is there a moral to this long story? I don’t know that either. Maybe. All I know for sure is that I had to tell somebody, and it might as well be someone who gets it.
Thanks for listening.
My buddy and I wander into our “local” Native American gambling establishment last night to partake in a little low-limit hold ‘em with about 5,000 of our closest friends. After about a 30 minute wait my name gets called and I pull up a chair and settle into what seems to be a pretty festive, happy-go-lucky type of table. Perfect. I’ve only played live about 6-7 times, all at this same casino, and though I don’t know anybody I quickly realize it’s the same cast of characters I sat with last time.
There’s the standard middle-aged, loud-mouthed, over-weight, self-proclaimed “expert” who’s constantly complaining that the stakes are too low, who’s just waiting until he can get into the 10-20 Omaha 8 or better game to really show off his prowess. (This is the guy that everybody avoids at family reunions -- you know what I mean.)
Then of course there’s the 20 year old dude with the sunglasses who thinks it’s a capital offense to crack a smile while playing poker. He can’t be bothered with small talk. He’s studying me. He knows what I’m going to do before I do it. He can see into my soul. One cannot engage in small talk or break one’s concentration for even 2 seconds to say “Hey, how’s it going?” when someone pulls up an adjacent chair. He’s in the WSOP zone. Don’t bother him.
The drunk comes next. What a glorious sight this guy is. At least 4 sheets to the wind and feeling no pain. He’s never seen two cards he didn’t like, and he looooves to throw chips in the pot. He gets his jollies from bullying the kid with the shades, and raising so much that everyone knows it’ll cost 2 bets to limp in. Of course, this fact doesn’t dissuade anyone from limping, and it really makes the drunk’s day when he can make people roll their eyes and think “Oh crap, again with this? Come on buddy.”
Somehow, there’s also a quiet old lady mixed into this group of infidels. She’s polite, and calls guys like me “young man” sometimes. She looks like she just came from church. I’ve played with twice before, and she’s the only familiar face at the table. I know enough about her to know she’s tight as a snare drum and not afraid to get in and mix it up if need be. I like to fool myself into thinking I’m the best player at a table like this, but if I had to be honest it would probably be her. She’s a tough nut, and she looks kind of like my grandma. She’s not afraid of us.
The guy sitting to my left was a really nice guy. He’s the guy in the Hawaiian shirt that isn’t really sure how to play poker but he likes the idea. He just came from the cashier with about $300 dollars worth of white chips, and he’s placed them neatly in 30 stacks of 10 in front of him. (And in front of me, and also in front of the guy to his left.) He likes to try and bet $6 dollars on the first two round of betting, and $3 dollars on the last two. The drunk gets mad at him. He’s having fun though.
In the midst of my sociological evaluation of this scene, we managed to play a little poker. I had one really, really memorable hand which is pretty much the whole point of this post. It was a situation I had never been involved in before and I’m sure it’s something I won’t soon forget. I don’t want it to seem like I’m bragging about winning a huge pot, or just putting down these nice people I was playing with. It was truly a memorable experience, and telling it to my girlfriend or sister doesn’t do it justice, so I decided to share it with you guys. (The action is recalled from memory, but since this is all I've been thinking about for the last 16 hours, I think I got pretty much exactly.) Here it goes—
I’m second to act and find myself holding the QsJs. The drunk, “coach”, and the sunglasses and I end up in this pot for 2 bets apiece. (The coach raised before the flop.) The flop comes down Ks 9s 6d. Sunglasses checks, I bet out, Coach raises, Drunk calls, Sunglasses folds, I call.
Turn brings the 9h. I check, Coach bets, Drunk folds, I call. The river brings the glorious T of Spades.
I think to myself what a wonderful game poker can be sometimes, and ponder my good fortune. I glance over at Coach and he’s staring intently at me with a very serious look on his face. I bet. He calmly raises. I think for a moment before I declare “raise”, yet before the word is even out of my mouth I hear “re-raise” as he puts his chips in front of him. Again, I sit and ponder.
I’ve often wondered what I would do in this situation. I know poker is about making money, not making friends. I told myself if this situation ever came up, I would bet, and bet, and bet again, until the poor sucker on the other end was busted or I was out of chips. Online that wouldn’t be a problem, but seeing his chubby face across the table made me feel differently about the situation. He was probably a nice enough guy, did I really need to take ALL those chips if I was lucky enough to get the chance? Surely I could make do with only taking a few bets. Why make him feel bad?
Strangely though, when I heard “re-raise” my attitude changed. It wasn’t really what he said, but the manner in which he said it – so quickly, so confidently. He was practically daring me to raise again. This pissed me off. I decided I was now going to get more than “just a few” bets out of him to punish him for being so smug. Before I had a chance to follow through with my merciful plan, however, Coach looks over at me and says (in his best “I’m only telling you this for your own good” voice), “You know there’s no cap heads up, right?” I smile nicely back and reply, “Really?”, as I glance at the dealer. He nods and I say, “Lucky for me you said that, I guess. I might have made a big mistake. I’ll raise.” Coach shakes his head because he can’t believe I didn’t leap at his offer to take me off the hook. “One more”, he says. “Raise it”, I reply.
We go back and forth and back and forth for what seems likes forever, and I had made up my mind not to stop until he did. By now I’d convinced myself if he was dumb enough to put all his chips in the middle with his hand, and this board, it was his own damn fault. He stopped well short of that, however, and eventually called after about 9 bets or so. The table was all abuzz because they would finally get to see what all the fuss was about. As I turned my cards over, I see his face getting red. He mumbles something about how lucky I was, and if it weren’t for that luck he would have “busted” me. I nodded in agreement while I wrestled with all those chips. There was no doubt some luck involved, obviously, and even calling his turn bet might have been a mistake. Of course, it would be a cold day in hell before I ever said that out loud, especially when Coach was within earshot. It took me awhile to stack up my new chips, but I didn’t mind.
Coach left the table shortly after this hand to play in the Omaha game. It was a really fun night at the casino. I should probably have learned something from my big hand, and I actually might have, I’m not sure yet. If nothing else, it gave me a story to tell. Is there a moral to this long story? I don’t know that either. Maybe. All I know for sure is that I had to tell somebody, and it might as well be someone who gets it.
Thanks for listening.