ONLINE GAMBLING AND CASINO GUIDE

This probably goes without saying, but hit and run poker doesn’t always work. Sometimes, it can be downright brutal.

Case in point. I just got back from the Venetian Poker Room. I was on The Strip, had $200 in my pocket, and I had to stop at the grocery store on the way home.

Why not let the tourists foot the bill for my groceries for the next week? I mean … that’s what they are here for, to support us locals.

So I bought in, and sat down at a 1/2 No Limit game.

On the third deal, I got AA in the pocket. Aces are good, but if the hand plays out, they are only two of seven cards that I will eventually play. That’s not even half … hell it’s not even a third, it’s only 28% of the hand.

I like Aces as much as the next guy, but I realize that it’s not like blackjack where you are declared a winner as soon as you are dealt the best hand.

I don’t always like getting Aces too early, either … because I have not had time to see anyone play.

What amount will they call, to what will they muck? I’ve no idea.

So after a couple of people in front of me limped in, I raised it to $50. Given that it was 1/2, and there were no dominant stacks, I thought it would be aggressive enough to reset the hand, but I was wrong.

Some kid in a baseball cap firmly said “Call”.

Okay … his stack is maybe $220 or so, and he is in for almost a quarter of his stash pre-flop. He’s got KK, QQ, AK, or something in that range. I know what I am up against.

The Flop came 2-7-9 rainbow. Probably not of any help.

I fired another $50 into the pot.

Then I heard it. Immediately. He didn’t even wait two seconds. As soon as I threw my chips in, he announced it boldly. The two words that either indicates to me that a guy either has me completely dominated, or has watched way too much ESPN poker coverage.

“ALL IN!”

I looked at the board again. The flop was garbage, and I doubt he had caught a set. I didn’t think he would smooth call 7-7 or 9-9. I still put him on a pair of overcards. I think everybody did.

Fine, the kid’s swinging with Kings or Queens. He thinks I’m chasing, or he’s gunning for the set regardless of what I have.

Either way, we’re going to have a “Degree All-In Moment”.

I flipped my Aces over.

Homeboy didn’t want to show, but he was politely talked into it.

When he finally flipped, he revealed 4-5 offsuit. 

Really?

I mean … REALLY???

I refuse to talk to people that I am in a hand with. I act like they are not there until the hand is over, and even then, I usually don’t address them. I have to be honest, though … this particular time, I was tempted to ask “why?” … just to fulfill my own curiosity. Did he misread his hand? Did he think I was bluffing with the worst hand imaginable?

Hell, even with 7-2 offsuit, I would have been ahead.

Some other players laughed out loud, or made condescending comments, but I said nothing as usual.

The guy hadn’t bothered me, he wasn’t mouthing off, I wasn’t his coach, and it was none of my damn business. Anybody is entitled to play any two cards they want. I hate it when people tell me I should or shouldn’t have played something. If you are so damn poker-brilliant, leave me alone and go play high stakes with Ivey and Hellmuth.

Now comes the part of the article in which I have a moral conflict.

I hate bad beat stories. I just hate them with a passion. Every time you get together with a friend that plays poker, they just can’t wait to tell you about the bad beat they took the week before.

They always act like they are the only ones who have ever taken a bad beat. Bad beat stories are like fingernails on a chalk board.

They always end the same. “And he made the straight on the river!” or flush, or set or whatever. A bad beat happens in the city of Las Vegas every three and a half seconds. Part of living in Las Vegas, is listening to at least 100 bad beat stories per month.

You get used to it, and I’ve learned to kind of zone-out and go on auto pilot.

I have the reaction memorized.

I politely feign shock and say “Yeah, you should have won that hand and the guy was an idiot for calling you.”

What else can you do? As I am typing this, I guarantee you that some guy is getting sucked out on the river at the Luxor, or maybe the Bellagio, or maybe the Wynn …

The point is, bad beat stories are banal.

If you’ve heard one, you’ve heard them all, and I wish people would shut the hell up about them.

Yet, here I am … breaking my own cardinal sin.

Or am I?

I can actually see the temptation of purging oneself of the details, and being reassured that one is not a scum-of-the-earth-world’s-worst-poker-player. That’s why bad beat stories are told.

The person telling the story wants reassurance.

Reassurance that their loss was through absolutely no fault of their own, and reassurance that their opponent was intellectually inferior.

For some reason, these concessions from others make bad beats easier to handle.

At times, it seems only fair for Michael Jackson and his superstar friends to hold one of those “We Are the World” concerts, in which all of the proceeds go to offset our horribly unfair losses.

The fact is, I was this close to putting something in the cupboard that would actually qualify as “food”.

One of these days, I am going to come home from the store with not only fresh vegetables, but meat as well. I am talking about meat that doesn’t come in a can. Laugh if you must … but just wait, and you’ll see. It will happen.

Now if you will excuse me, I can hear the water boiling. These Ramen Noodles aren’t going to cook themselves.

• Keep updated through Newsletter or on Facebook

  E-mail:
  

  Subscribe
  Unsubscribe