High On Poker

This AC trip starts where they usually start, with me grabbing my shit from my office and rushing out the door on a Friday night. This time, I left a tad early. I had already committed myself to working on Sunday to catch up with some stuff (thankfully, my decision to skip the Omaha tournament really helped), so I figured that my early exit was justified. It didn’t help that Roose had been out of work since about 4pm and was sitting on my couch in my apartment with Robbie Hole waiting for me. Out the door, a quick subway ride, and I had joined my compadres.

Allow me a moment to shoe-horn in some props and pimpage to my buddy Edgie, who recently started his own poker blog, Chasing the Dream – Edgie’s Poker Opus. Edgie plays in some of the same underground rooms as I do in NYC, and has appeared in a variety of acting gigs, so he’s got a unique background that should make for a good read. Check him out!

Okay, back to the report. I got home and tried to rush through my routine, since my buddies were anxiously waiting. Lord knows why they were rushing me, because we were also waiting for Mark, aka TwoDiamondPhillips, another one of the Roose Crew. Mark is a fucking comedian and a half, non-professional, of course. So naturally his presence was more than welcome.

Shit, though, Roose rolls deep. I had offered to pay for the hotel room, but I had expected to share it with one other person. Now that it was me plus three, I simply had one requirement: I get my own bed.

The ride was mostly uneventful, but it did take us first to Robbie Hole’s apartment in Jersey City, NJ. Hole lives in the lesser half of that city, so the trip involved a PATH train ride, and a brisk walk through a couple of parking lots, some scary alley ways, and a what felt like a trip through a rabbit’s hole before we ended up in his hood. The guys waited in the car as Hole and I went up to his apartment for provisions. Once set, we hit the road.

Oh, that uneventful ride, maybe there was one event. We had been on one of the roads for a while when I asked to see the ticket needed for the exit toll. That’s when I realized that we were 2 exits past our intended exit. We quickly did some map work and decided to just ride it out, which probably took an extra 15 to 20 minutes, but at least added some variety to our trip.

We arrived at the AC Hilton at around 10:10pm. Roose had found an outdated website that listed a 10pm poker tourney, but once we got to the “poker room” we realized that the tourney was a relic. The poker room used to be a large, separate section on the second floor of the Hilton. More than a year ago (or at least that’s how it seems) that room was changed to the Asian Pit and the poker room was reduced to three or four tables literally in the middle of the casino floor. It’s like, Craps, Craps, Roulette, Roulette, Poker?

There were two 1/2 NLHE games going, but they were both full of what appeared to be amateur hour. I can’t say it was anything specifically; it’s that the games seemed shortstacked and slow.

We dropped our stuff off in our room, which was pretty decent given the small price tag. I had found the Hilton through my High on Poker Atlantic City Hotel Room Algorithm –> find the cheapest room in a casino/hotel on the Boardwalk. I don’t usually stay at the Hilton (in fact, never before) but the price was right.

Once suited up, we returned to the casino floor. I had already announced that this was a P&P trip (Poker and Pai Gow). When I said that, some of the guys agreed that this was a good idea, but within 5 minutes of returning to the casino floor, Roose was playing roulette. Ug! I walked over the to poker “r0om” put in my name and followed the amateur hour action. My suspicions were confirmed, but unfortunately, it didn’t look like anyone was leaving anytime soon, and there were already two names before me on the list.

I returned to roulette, but the guys were gone, having moved to a Three Card Poker table. Roose and Hole weer basically giving their money away with that dumbass game, and I told them so. Finally, I got them to walk away, and we made our way in the freezing cold to the nearest casino, the Tropicana. I put myself on the 1/2 list and waited for about 10 minutes before I was called to a seat. Hole went to another 1/2 table. Roose and TwoDiamond sat in a 2/4 game with the sole goal of getting drunk.

When I sat down at the 1seat, it didn’t take long to sum up the situation. A player across from me was doing well, but other than that, everyone else on my side of the table were fucking miserable. They were grumbling to each other about how they hadn’t been dealt a playable hand in hours, nor had they hit any flops. It was a bitch-and-moan fest, with each miserable dude upping the one before him. “I haven’t seen a flop in an hour.” “Well, I haven’t seen a flop in 2!” Whatever. You all are unlucky saps. Good for you!

I eventually moved seats twice, because I, too, was not getting much going, and besides, the 1 seat didn’t allow me to eye the people who were in most pots. Those two included a fat kid who was there with friends and a thin Hispanic guy who was ravaging the table with his loose aggressive play.

I suffered my biggest loss against Fatso. It was clear that the kid thought he was better than her really was. He was talking a big game, but none of his play seemed to support his pride. He was trying to be too fancy, and I was hoping to exploit that.

I had initially sat with $300, but was probably down to $250 when this hand occurred. As a bit of background, I had literally folded every for the first three or so orbits. I maybe limped one time in the fourth orbit. But this was a much tighter-than-usual strategy for me. I sincerely wanted to get a handle on the table before I began to play more hands.

With that caveat, you’ll have to excuse my shame when I tell you that I opted to raise preflop to with 94c to $12. I was in position and thought that I had probably built a sufficient image as a grinder, since I was so tight, but also had a card cap and sunglasses. I got a couple of callers, including one of the Complainers on my immediate and Fatty, who was in the 4 or 5 seat.

The flop came down T97, with two spades. It checked to me and I put out a $25 continuation bet with middle pair, shitty kicker. I got two calls from the complainer and Fatty.

The turn was another 7. It checked to me, and here I thought for a moment before deciding to continue my story. As I saw it, I was representing an overpair most likely, so a $55 bet made sense, since an overpair would fear the flush and straight possibilities and a $55 bet seemed like a protection bet, given the play at the table. The Complainer folded, but Fatty took some time before pushing for $89 more.

Now, I think most people reading this are thinking it is time to fold, but I had been watching Fatty and he was more than capable of making a move here. I considered this, what I saw earlier, and his present demeanor. It felt like he was weak. At this point, I put him on a flush draw or maybe even an underpair, like 66 or 55. I think perhaps here I was doing a bit of wishful thinking. I made the call, relying on my read, and we saw a blank river. My opponent then showed his hand: T6o. WTF.

I mucked and the table was shocked. I tried to let on (without saying anything) that I missed a monster draw, so as to save some face. My opponent, meanwhile, was explaining himself. “I thought I was on a bluff! I thought I was bluffing you!” I answered, “I thought so, too, but as it turned out, only one of us was right.” That one was me. I read his bluff correctly, but he was wrong about his own hand strength relative to mine. I just tried to shake it off, though. I guess I let a little bit of tricky play screw me too.

I lost another chunk of change when I was dealt AKs. Preflop, the scrawny, aggressive Hispanic guy led out with $6 in EP. By the time it got to me, there was a caller, and I expected more to join. I opted to just call, since I wanted to see how the flop helped me before getting too deep into this pot. There must’ve been 5 or 6 players to the flop.

The flop was AJ9, with two spades. That was a pretty great flop, giving me top pair, top kicker with the nut flush draw. Hispanic Guy bets out $25, which doesn’t really concern me much. I decide to just flat call and toss in my $25, since it is all too likely that my preflop passivity allowed a AJ or A9 to see the flop. Unfortunately, as soon as I called, the guy on my right, clearly a more skilled player, points out that he was next to act. I pulled back my $25 and he raised to $75.

I took my time, now. I had a strong hand, but it was very vulnerable to two-pair. A set was also possible,  but AA and JJ would’ve raised preflop and 99 probably would’ve raised as well. I had about $250 at this point after rebuying, so I pushed the entire stack into the center and announced all-in.

It folded back to the guy on my right, who asked me if I was making a play, since I had originally showed a call but then switched to a raise. I think we exchanged some light chatting. I did my best to seem cool and collected. Honestly, part of me thought I was still ahead, and if I wasn’t, I could possibly push him off of most two-pair hands. Alas, he eventually called. The turn and river didn’t help, and at showdown, he had 99 for a flopped set. And I lost some more money.

All this while, I was doing my best to have fun. These two debacle hands were broken up by mostly tight play. When Fatty left, I took his seat and was able to make some of my money back, but eventually, Roose and the crew wanted to leave and I had to cash out. At my lowest, I was down over $550, but by the time I walked, I was down $467, which is still pretty awful. Yet the entire time, I did it smiling. What can I say? There is no benefit to being a sore loser.

Two other notable occurrences at the table. The first is that Matty Ebs stopped by. It turned out he was in town for a bachelor party. Matty Ebs is my little brother’s age and my lil bro’s buddy. That’s how I know Ebs, at least originally. In fact, I used to babysit for him and his two brothers, all of whom are now bigger than me by a conservative foot. The bachelor party was for a friend that Ebs and my little bro grew up with, so my bro was also in town. And the soon-to-be-groom was also in my fraternity in college. For what its worth, the only guy I saw at Trop, though, was Ebs. Why? Because we love poker, don’t we?

At some point, a dipshit preppy looking douche joined our table. He claimed to be drunk, but really just seemed like an attention whore. When no one was reacting to his obnoxious routine: “This is my first time playing poker? Anyone have any tips for me?”, he became more aggressive with his shit talking, “Oh, look at all these 1/2 grinders. I’m surrounded by pros.” I finally got fed up when he annoyed a player enough to get him to leave. I wanted to keep the attention whore at the table, though, so I mostly toyed with him. I just needled him with little lines like, “How are you doing over there, Amateur Hour?” That was the nickname I gave him. “Learn anything yet?” He bit back, “Do you give lessons? I am really impressed by 1/2 grinders.” I laughed, “Who is a 1/2 grinder? Anyone?” I directed this to the table. Then I turned back to him, “Listen, Amateur Hour, if this is too much for you, I’m sure we can set up a play money table in the back. You should go play some roulette or something. It’ll be less intimidating for you.” There isn’t much of an end to this story. He eventually busted and walked, but I just love the fact that I can get some aggression out at the poker table without shoving all-in.

The guys got me and we took the chilly walk back to the Hilton. Once there, we headed to the diner-like dining establishment for some late night grub. It was either that or room service, and room service can be slow in the early AM hours. The guys all ordered different variations of burgers and I had the official casino meal of High on Poker, a grilled cheese. Delicious.

On our way up to the room, I bumped into none other than my actual little brother, Dave. We caught up for a bit. He and his group came to the Hilton for the cheaper table games. They were all done, though, and were looking for a cab to the Borgata, where they were staying. How the fuck is my non-gambling brother staying at the Borgata and I’m in the P.O.S. Hilton? I guess its all about priorities.

Back at the room, I got in a quick game or two of Israeli Poker before we all went to bed. We didn’t have much in the way of plans for the next day, but I still wanted to play some more poker, Roose wanted a White House Sub, Hole had to get back to LI by late afternoon, and Two Diamond, was, well, Two Diamond.

Next time, we’ll get to the Aces Conundrum with a little more early morning poker action!

Until next time, make mine poker!