High On Poker

After losing two tournaments and some lackluster cash play, Roose and I decided to change things up with some table games. I usually avoid table games unless I am with wifey Kim, but I promised Roose to cut loose a bit this trip.

The Trop was packed, which was a good sign for AC and the recently bankrupt hotel, but a bad thing for anyone looking for reasonably priced table games without huge crowds. We decided to take a walk to the Hilton, the closest casino.

The Hilton still had its share of people, but like always, it lagged behind. The crowds were a tad more sparse and the players in general looked more seedy. We walked the casino floor and perhaps Roose stopped somewhere to play something. I don’t rightly recall, other than we were out of there pretty fast and heading back to our hotel.

Back at the Trop, we hit up some Pai Gow, where I scratched out a $50 profit. Roose didn’t fair as well and after loosing $50, he moved over to roulette. When we both met up after, he was up and I held onto my $50.

Part of our plan was to play 2/4 limit hold’em, which is normally torture, but a lot more bearable if your goal is to make prop bets on each flop and drink as much as possible. Sadly, there was a line for 2/4, which meant not only would we have to wait, but that we’d likely be sent to different tables. That wouldn’t do, so instead we went upstairs to play some Israeli Poker and order in some room service.

In the end, we didn’t return to the casino floor. We did, however, discuss poker, and I came to a realization that only someone who is as close to me as Roose could help me realize. I was an asshole.

More accurately, Roose pointed out that sometimes at the table, I play the role of table asshole, and it wasn’t cool. I tried to explain myself away (it wasn’t my fault that people start with me; I don’t mind the image; etc.), but in the end, I realized that Roose was right.

Sometimes, the excitement or adrenaline or competition of poker can fuel me in a very negative way. I get confrontational. Other times, my jokes are not received well by others and it can go the wrong way, similar to my recent issue with Guy at my last trip to the Tuna Club. But whatever the cause, the point was that it wasn’t cool. I didn’t want to be that guy. So, I thanked Roose and resolved to keep my mouth shut more often. I would have to test this new strategy the next day.

We ended up crashing out and waking up early the next morning.

It was about 7:30 when I heard Roose rustling in his bed. Last night, like all nights with Roose, it was like sleeping in a woodworking shop, with heavy machinery running all night. I had prepared for this, having shared a room with Roose from time to time since we were 3, but even with headphones in, his snores were dominant.

At 7:30, I just wanted to sleep some more, but part of our plan when we gave up on 2/4 the night before was to get some poker done in the morning. After a while of hearing noise, I stated (without removing my headphones or the bandanna I tied around my eyes to keep out the light) “What’s the plan?” I heard no response, so I asked again, “What’s the plan, Davey?” Nothing. I took off my blindfold and saw that he wasn’t even in his bed, but rather in the bathroom. Fine by me. I got another 30 mins of sleep in before I finally really woke up.

We packed up our bags and checked out of the room, stopping at the car to dump off our stuff. Then we returned to the poker room, where I immediately was seated at a 1/2 NLHE table. Roose was moving a bit slower and didn’t put his name on the list, but he did rail me for the last 30 minutes of the hour-long or so session.

When I first came to the table, a player in the 7s had literally two full racks of $5 chips ($1,000) and a third rack that was about halfway full. Usually, you cannot keep your chips in a rack while you play, so I assumed that he was preparing to call it a night. The dude was white, kinda athletic looking, with stubble on his face and light-ish, short hair. He looked like he was having the time of his life, although he also looked about ready to leave, sorta half-sitting on one folded leg.

To his left was an empty seat, and I headed there first, seeing as how I wanted position on this monster stack, but then I saw the two black guys in the 9s and 10s. They both had decent stacks over $400 each, and if Three Racks was leaving, I still wanted position on the Brothers. So, I took the 1s.

From my side of the table, it was clear who was running the show. It wasn’t the Three Rack Kid or the Brothers, but rather, the Three Rack Brothers, all three of them apparently good friends. From what I gathered from their conversations with dealers, they had met playing poker and became friends. It seemed like this was a reference to a prior trip, since by this session, the three were good ole pals. Since they all had such significant stacks, they were also controlling the action with large bets over and over and over, with Three Rack Kid showing down shit cards repeatedly. It was clear he was playing any 2.

Because of their aggression and my continued cold cards, I wasn’t getting anywhere, losing about $80 of my original $300 buy-in. Three Rack, meanwhile, was still riding high, busting a poor girl with his AA against her KK, all-in preflop. Obviously, she didn’t respect his raises.

Meanwhile, the Three were patting each other on the back and talking themselves up, including how well they were playing. It was like a fucking circle jerk right at the table.

Roose came by when I was near my peak of frustration. “Let’s just go, then,” he suggested. It was a decent suggestion, but I explained back to him, “I’m just waiting on a hand. Once I have a hand, I’m going to get paid off by these guys.”

And so, as I said, it happened. I got 77, a top 10 hand, but barely. Preflop, Brother 1 raised to $12. It folded to me and I raised to $32. It folded to the Kid and he called. I think Brother #1 folded.

As the dealer was preparing the flop, I announced, “Blind check.” I did it because frankly, I wasn’t sure what my best move would be on any given flop, and I knew he would be aggro, so I’d likely be facing a raise no matter what. At least with a blind check, its just as likely that he’ll be straight bluffing when I bet and he inevitably raises me. I dunno. Perhaps this was a weak play, but I wanted more information before I had to act.

The flop was 667. Yep. I flopped a boat. Since I had blind checked, Three Racks led out with a bet of around $50. I took my time, finally grumbling before I call. The turn was a J. I had blind checked again, and this time, he bet $80 or so. “I’m all-in,” I announced. He insta-called. The river came down as a nine and instantly, Three Racks threw his cards onto the table face-up, showed 8To and shouted triumphantly, “I HIT MY STRAIGHT!” He showed 8To. His boys erupted with joy. “OH DAMN! HE HIT HIS STRAIGHT! DAMN!” I quietly tabled my cards face-up and said to the dealer, “full house.” I then sat there politely while the monkeys celebrated. The dealer announced louder, “Full House takes the pot,” and pushed the chips to me. Three Racks did a double-take and then reality set in. “What?” It had finally dawned on him. Roose, meanwhile, was in my ear: “Just keep quiet.” I took his advice. On other occasions, I may’ve said something here. Either a joke at my own expense, or whatever, but I realized that there was no reason to talk. Just take your chips.

I stacked up the chips while Three Racks went on and on about how lucky I was. He had read my blind checks as a sign that I had a weak hand, which I suppose is accurate as to the first blind-check, and had hung himself in the process of trying to push me off of the pot. He went on and on in this way about how lucky I was, and I just kept my mouth shut until probably a good four or five hands later, when I conceded to his still-complaining ass, “Yeah, I got really lucky there.” Of course, I just wanted to shut him up. I didn’t think it was luck. Shit, I called the situation before the cards were dealt (“I just have to hit one hand and these donks will pay me off”). But none of that shit mattered anymore. Let him think what he wants. I liked him thinking I was clueless.

I messed up a hand against Brother #2. I held KJ, called his preflop raise, but folded to his flop re-raise on the Jack-high board. I feared AJ based on his bold re-raise or perhaps a set or overpair based on the action, but he showed KQ for nada. That was the first sign it was time to leave. I think all the talk was getting to me.

The second and final sign was when Three Racks said, “I can’t believe that cocksucker got so lucky.” It was loud and clear. Everyone heard it. Roose reassured me, “Don’t say a word, bro. We could leave now, if you want. Use me as an excuse.” Without Roose, this is where I would’ve called the guy out for being a fucking tool who didn’t know what the fuck he was talking about. What can I say? I have a lot of anger pent up inside and these are some of the best opportunities to release it, but Roose had suggested a better path.

I grabbed a rack while Three Racks continued to lament what a lucky cocksucker I am and began to pack up my chips.

“You’re just going to leave?” Three Racks was practically pleading.

“Yep. He’s my ride,” I gestured to Roose. “What can I do?”

And then I left with that prick’s money because he was too mouthy to realize that he was forcing me to leave with his cash. Sucker.

The ride home was uneventful except for our regular stop at White House Sub Shop. Overall, I think I won a little under $100 for the trip, with about $50 of it from poker. It wasn’t the most financially successful trip, but I learned some self control that will hopefully pay off in dividends in the future.

Until next time, make mine poker!