High On Poker

On Saturday morning, I woke up rather late. The night before, wifey Kim and I took my parents to see comedien Lewis Black at the NY City Center, ironically the same venue where I took my Bar Exam prep courses. The show was pretty good, even if it was not wifey Kim’s normal brand of humor, but regardless, we had pulled a late night once we returned home and were happy to sleep late the next day.

Once up, though, I was raring to go. I had already exploited the insanely good comp deal provided by the Tropicana Hotel twice, but the promotion offered me two free rooms per week through May 27, so I needed to use it at least two more times to feel like I was fully exploiting the Tropicana’s generosity. Lord knows, I’m not expecting the same deal again.

Weeks ago, seeing a potentially free weekend (wifey Kim had a bachelorette party on Saturday night), I had booked the weekend without anything but a date. Earlier last week, I canceled the Friday, remembering that I had the Lewis Black tickets. But as late as Wednesday of last week, I was still flying solo; I had yet to find someone to travel with me.

I had sent out a text message to the usual suspects, but nothing checked out.  I didn’t want to put any pressure on anyone, so I figured I may just be traveling solo, when I remembered an old pal who just might be up for some poker.

Mikey Aps is a childhood friend of mine. As kids, we got to know each other around the 4th grade or so, and were close friends from grade school through high school. During college, we went our separate ways, but it was merely the distance that grows between people traveling in other directions. We were still friends all throughout, even if I didn’t see or speak to the guy. After college, I reconnected with a bunch of my high school friends, including Mikey Aps. Eventually, Aps and I started a poker game at his apartment amongst our friends. We were all horrible at first, but Aps’ competitiveness and my love of the game saw both of us push it to the next level when some of our friends stayed in the kiddie pool. Eventually, I taught the game to Roose (at an Aps homegame) and others and got more of the crew into the game, but at the beginning, it was me and Aps, and to be fair, Aps left me in the dust. He had more financial freedom (I was still a student) and he always was extremely competitive and crafty, both of which suit poker rather well.

All that said, Aps and I eventually only saw each other when the big group would get together a couple of times a year. Still, I thought it was worth sending him an invite, even though I hadn’t seen him since our group’s annual Christmas Soiree (imagine an all Jewish Christmas party) and hadn’t so much as texted with him since. I kept it simple. I texted, “I have a free room at the Trop in AC on Saturday. Are you interested?” He needed 24 hours to check his availability, but by Thursday afternoon he was in. We worked out the plans via text, arranging for him to pick me up at 2-ish on Saturday, after which we’d play everything by ear. And amazingly it all worked.

That’s the joy of being a male. I made plans with a buddy I hadn’t seen in months without so much as hearing his voice. In fact, our texts collectively wouldn’t fill two paragraphs. Low maintenance, baby! It’s the only way to be.

Everything went off smoothly. Mike got to my house closer to 3 due to the fact that he entered my address in his GPS but accidentally chose the same address in Brooklyn. Once righted, we were off to AC. Amazingly, I brought my backpack but Aps brought nothing…and I was the embarrassed one. What can I say? There is a point of pride somehow associated with going to AC with nothing but the clothes on your back.

We arrived in AC around 5pm or so. After parking, we walked to the lobby where I checked in. We were offered a room in either the West Tower or the Havana Tower. “The Havana Tower is newer right?” “Yes.” “But the West Tower is closer to the tables?” “Yes.” “We’ll take the West Tower.”

Before heading upstairs, we took a pitstop at the Seaside Cafe for dinner. I had a $40 food comp available to any Trop-owned restaurants as part of the insanely good promotion they sent me, so we ate free. I had the grilled cheese with bacon and Aps had a turkey club. I stuck with iced tea but he had a beer. I figured it would be best to start poker off stone-cold sober.

Once done eating, we decided to head upstairs to drop off my stuff. To our amazement, not only were we given a room that was fairly private, with a little vestibule area locked off from the hallway and shared with another hotel room, but the room was fairly close to the elevators. Usually, I get the last room in the row. This time, it was the last room, but an extremely small hallway.

After dropping off our stuff, we headed down to the casino. I was initially under the impression that it was about 7pm when we started, but in hindsight, I remember the announcement for the start of the 7:15 tournament a good hour into our session. At the poker room, there were several open seats at 1/2 and Mikey and I were able to get a seat at the same table, the last table in the back of the room. I took the 6 seat and he took the 10 seat.

One thing was clear…this was a lopsided table. The 1 seat was STACKED with at least $1,600 in front of him, and from my quick estimation, closer to $1,700 if not more. He was a slightly pudgy white guy, wearing a generic sweatshirt, polarized sunglasses sitting atop his head, and short, light brown hair. We’ll just call him Mr. Big Stack since his stack was one of his defining traits. He seemed fairly friendly at first, which turned out to be more or less accurate throughout the evening.

To his left in the 2 seat was a thin black guy with a thin mustache and a hoodie and baseball cap, sitting on at least $600, if not considerably more. To his left was a missing player who had something like $33 left. His stack was eventually picked up by the floor and a player took his seat. The new player was a baller. I had seen him before. He’s a white dude, probably in his late 30s, with an Irishness about him. If he didn’t open his mouth and have a US accent, I’d assume he was Irish. He was wearing a white cap and white hoodie. He was also a fairly sharp player. To his left was a woman who at first complained about the guy sitting out to her right, but then immediately disappeared for an hour for dinner. To her left and my immediate right was an Eastern European or Russian guy who looked a little like Tony G. He was also stacked with well over $1,000, and probably more than $1,500. He was later replaced by a Brit in his 20s with a distractingly huge mole on the side of his neck.

To my left, it was a whole other situation. The players were all under $200 in chips and were way less active than their right-side counterparts. The seat to my immediate left was empty for a while and then filled with a low-limit kid in an Ed Hardy shirt, which to me is shorthand for, “I have no personal style.” He was pretty weak, as players go, but it was nice chatting with him. He was eventually replaced by another random quiet, weak player. Hell, that describes the Asian guy to his left (two seats to my left) who spent more time on the phone than playing, but was overall friendly. And the player to his left was another British guy, who must’ve come from the same poker school as Ed Hardy and the Asian. Weak. To his left was Mikey Aps in the 10 seat. And there you have the table.

Oh my. How to do this. Let’s be honest folks. Few people like to aire their shame, but if I’m not honest here, what’s the point? So, let’s discuss my first hand, the very first hand I was dealt.

AQ in MP. Fucking AQ. Here we go. Phony G (instead of Tony G, how clever!) raised preflop to $17 and I called with AQo. The flop was KQT. He bet out $45. Frankly, in hindsight, I should have just folded there. This was a classic case of premature ejaculation of the poker variety. I somehow got in my head that the $45 bet was not a real value bet, but rather a continuation bet. I thought I’d call off one and see how he reacted on the turn. The turn was a blank and he bet out $55. Ahha!, I thought. He must have a weak hand if he is betting so small compared to his first bet. I took my time and then called again. The river was another Ten. This time, he looked at my chips and announced all-in. There was more to it than that. He seemed to hesitate before he noticed my stack and decided to push. I took my time. He was looking away from me, hands over his mouth, trying not to draw attention to himself. This read to me as weak, but in hindsight, I think I came to my solution during the flop and was now just looking for things to tell me I was right. I called and he showed KK and I lost $200 on my first hand.

After that hand, I was really embarassed. No one saw my cards, so maybe it looked like I slowplayed my straight into a rivered full house, but at the time, I just did my best to act non-chalant, even though I was feeling shame to the nth degree. I had clearly gotten over-excited by my first hand, something that I have done before on more than one occasion. So much for hoping for an easy session. It looked like I had $200 worth of work to do.

I decided to cool off and play smarter. I had my first opportunity with AQ once again. I think I was in EP. Whatever the case, I raised to $12 and got four or five callers, including Mr. Big Stack and Phony G. I was under the impression that the table either thought I was a poor player from the first hand or was in tilt mode. The flop came down Q82 with two spades. It checked to me and I bet out $25. I got a call from Mr. Big Stack and Phony. The turn was an offsuit 6. It checked to me and I bet $40. I got calls from both players. The river was an offsuit King. I’ll admit that after my first bust-out, I must’ve been a tad gunshy because I just couldn’t value bet even though I probably should’ve. Mr. Big Stack didn’t get fancy and checked behind, but if he bet, I’d have to think long and hard about what to do. As it turned out, at showdown, my AQ (TPTK) was good and I made back a lot of lost ground.

After playing for a while, Phony got up and left. I was happy to see him go, even if he still had some of my money. Meanwhile, I had gotten a much better read on Mr. Big Stack, who was literally playing almost every hand and would call raises with reckless abandon preflop. I also noticed that he was particularly happy to play against me. Meanwhile, the Black Guy on his left was limping a lot and calling a lot, too. He was definitely the better player of the two, but was still playing too many hands. In hindsight, he may’ve been intentionally playing any hand Big Stack was in, which eventually turned into my strategy as play progressed.

In fact, it was with that looseness in mind that I began to open up my hand selection. I mean really open. I won my next pot with Q3s.  It was a limped hand and on the Q-high flop, I bet $10 out of position. I got calls from Big Stack and the Black Guy. After the undercard turn, I bet $15 and got two more calls. On the river, a four-card straight was made for any player with a 9, but when it checked around, my TPSK (top pair, shitty kicker) took down the pot, and I was suddenly up a whopping $9 after being down $200.

It just occurred to me that my audio notes kept on my cell phone are saved by the date and time, so from here on out, I’ll do my best to mention the approximate time of the hand. This is all very loose, though, since I wouldn’t necessarily record a hand right away, lest it be obvious that after I play a hand, I always go immediately to the cell phone.

Shiyit! It was only 8:30pm, meaning I was playing for a maximum 2.5 hours at most, before this next hand occurred. From my recollection, it had felt longer. In fact, from hindsight, I remember the game was very slow until about 9:30. I kept checking my cell curious about the time and was constantly surprised at how slow time crept. By the later hours, though, that changed.

So, around 8:30, and by now, I had taken to calling Mr. Big Stack a dousche in my audio notes. I had won another medium pot off of him with another top pair of Queens with a low kicker and got involved in one of my larger hands with A2s.

I had limped from EP considering the play at the table. Mr. Big Stack called as well. My notes aren’t too detailed, but I vaguely recall a lot of players limping along. The flop was 322. I think I bet the whole way and Mr. Big Stack called the whole way with top pair Jacks, when he called the flop with KJ and hit the Jack on the turn. Based on the way I was playing, I probably bet $10 on the flop, $25 on the turn, and $55 on the river, if not slightly more. That is how I recall it vaguely. After that hand, I was up about $250.

At nine o’clock, the tone of my audio notes tell me that I was less than thrilled. As you will see, most of my hands were against Mr. Big Stack. It was equal parts his calling station behavior and my efforts to isolate. I came to realize that he particularly called my raises preflop. I also started to develop reads on his behavior. I caught micro movements in the eyes. I know it sounds silly, but he looked at a flop and immediately looked away for a split second, like his eyes twitched. After that showdown, my read was confirmed. Other times he’d stare at the flop and it turned out, those were the good flops for him.

That’s all well and good, but it took a while to learn all that. Early on, I was just going on his ridiculous calls against me where I won with top pair and his huge stack. He looked like a pig fattened and ready to slaughter and I don’t keep Kosher.

In EP, I was dealt KK and decided to raise to $15, a bet that would push out most players with mediocre cards but practically guarantee a call from Big Stack with a reasonable holding. And, tada, it happened. He called in position and we saw a flop, 823. I bet $25 and he called. The turn was a blank undercard. I bet either $45 or 55 and he called once again. The river was a 6. I bet $75. He squinted at the board, looked hurt and confused and then called with resignation. I’ll admit, at this point I didn’t have the eye read yet, but it didn’t matter. He had 86h. He called my preflop raise in LP with no other limpers with $15, called my flop bet with top pair (not unreasonable), called a large turn bet with second pair, shitty kicker (less reasonable), and then caught lucky on the river by hitting two pair. He later said he was squinting to see if he missed a possible straight on the board. Whatever the case, that brought me down to $100 profit. It stung, losing KK to 86, but if he kept playing like that, it’d only be a matter of time that I’d get those chips back.

Oh my! New cell phone, folks. As a result, I apparently erased all of the rest of my audio notes. No problem, though. I have two more hands worth discussing on the top of my head, and both star our favorite foe, Mr. Big Stack.

Up $100 was fine and dandy, and much preferred to where I was going next. I ended up in another pot against Big Stack with my JJ preflop against his call with 95s. Once again, he hit the flop, but this time he had the decency to hit his two pair all at once. As a result, at my worst, I was down about $175.

I hovered between -$175 (still better than the -$200 hole I started in) and -$125 for a long time. I was playing a lot of pots, hoping to get into it with the calling station, and for the most part, I was winning some small pots and then giving it back in drips and drabs as I limped in a lot. I was wary about overcommiting a lot of chips preflop, which probably helped me tread water. After all, I had a particular target in mind. Mr. Big Stack was still my Moby Dick, and ‘THERE HE BLOWS!

My final hand was a doozy. A bit of poetic justice, if you will. AA. Preflop, in EP, I decided to raise to $15, which obviously resulted in a call from Mr. Big Stack and perhaps one other player. The flop was K49, with two spades. I bet out $45. Mr. Big Stack called. The turn was a Jack. I bet out $75. Mr. Big Stack announced “All-In.”

By now, Mr. Big Stack had taken a lot of hits. I had watched throughout the night, and while he held onto a good $1500 of his $1600 well through 9pm, as the hours moved along, he dipped to $1200 and $900 and $600. After he pushed all-in, I looked down and realized that I had him covered by less than a hundred. “I call.”

The river was dealt. It was another 4. The board read K94J4. I tabled my AA, fairly confident I was ok. He tabled KJ. WHAT? When the money all went in, he was ahead. I guess what goes around comes around. I rivered him to bust his last $275 (that was what he had in his stack when he announced all-in) and was back up about $150.

This was around 12am. The table complexion had changed considerably, but the attitude remained the same. It was a relaxed, fun table. Even when Mr. Big Stack busted, he just took out another $300 and laughed it off. Admittedly, it sounded like he was reassuring himself as much as anyone when he said, “I’m just down $300. It’s no big deal.” But at least he didn’t leave or get pissy.

Mikey Aps, meanwhile, was having his own fun. He lost his first stack of $200 and bought in for another $200. I was a bit worried that he was going to have a tough night, especially since I sorta felt responsible for him playing NLHE. He was thinking about playing the pink chip limit game at first, but he ended up joining me. Turns out I had nothing to worry about. Aps got his stack in against Mr. Big Stack and another player holding the nut flush draw against a set (Mr. Big Stack with 22, after calling a bet on the KQ8 flop) and another player with two pair (KQ). He ended the night up around $350.

As things got more social, I started to drink. I started to burn off some of the tilt from the second suckout, but I was pacing myself to keep my wits about me. When things started getting boring late, I upped the drinks and started to fold a lot more. It was easy, since I wasn’t getting too much worth playing.

Eventually, at 1am, I was up only $72, after losing some small and medium pots. I was tired and the table had lost a lot of the fun. Mr. Big Stack was still there but didn’t have enough chips to keep things interesting. New, fresh players had joined the table. I pulled Mike aside and pointed out that it might be a good time to book while we both had some profit. He was willing to oblige, so we hit the road.

Our first stop was Adam Good Deli in the basement level of the Trop. It’s a sandwich shop with the most shitty sandwiches, but it was open. We ordered and watched all sorts of piece of ass drunk chicks stumble by with their too-high heals and their too-tight dresses, causing them to stumble like baby deer fresh from the womb. The show was entertaining enough and much better than the meatball sub I regretted early the next morning.

On the way out of AC the next morning, Aps and I stopped by the poker room to see a 7 person list. We opted to just leave, rather than wait for a while and not have a lot of play time. On the way out, we searched for the sub shop opened by the original owners of the White House Sub Shop, but when we went in the wrong direction and found ourselves facing home, we just shrugged it off. At least we have a goal for next time.
$72 is better than a loss. When I played smart, I played well. If not for those two ridiculous suckouts by Mr. Big Stack, I’d be in better shape, so at least I’m rich on Sklansky dollars. I had my own suckout with the AA, but he sucked first, and I sucked best.

Now I need to find a weekend in May for AC.

Until next time, make mine poker!