This is one of the rotating graphics on an electric signboard at the big Medical Center we pass by every day, driving between home and the poker room.
Funny? No. Cute? No. Clever? OK, I appreciate wordplay as much as the next wannabe writer, so can give it that, but just barely. Why? Because is it ever funny to joke about someone else’s pain or discomfort? No.
And I of course have no firsthand experience, but do have it on good authority, from a trusted source, that the mammo procedure can be quite painful, both during, and for days afterwards.
So no, this sign isn’t funny. It’s just in bad taste.
Trash Hands: 9 7
Mike Caro reposted a piece recently, about NOT playing trash hands, and his prime example was 97.
That hand always reminds me of another married couple we met at the Stardust, Las Vegas, during our Hold ‘Em Basic Training there, in 1993. That year we flew 31 round-trips to Nevada, extending a “weekend trip” so often, and for so long, that it’s a miracle I kept my Boeing job. But somehow I did.
That hand always reminds me of another married couple we met at the Stardust, Las Vegas, during our Hold ‘Em Basic Training there, in 1993. That year we flew 31 round-trips to Nevada, extending a “weekend trip” so often, and for so long, that it’s a miracle I kept my Boeing job. But somehow I did.
Tishka and Dan were experienced, players and dealers both, we were newbies, and they very kindly took us under their wings just a little, showing us the ropes, freely giving tips and advice. Like how Dan coached me that 9 7 is a highly underrated and very strong hand. His favorite hand, actually.
Right. But at the time I knew nothing, so I listened to the man, tried to make sense of his advice, and probably played that hand a few times too many, until I came to know better. Still, I always smile a little inside, when I see 9 7, and remember Dan and Tishka— their last name was something like “Smolen” ? Then I muck it. Well, most times.
Couple times recently I didn’t muck it, but they turned out nicely. Note: All hands mentioned in this post are from $20/40 Hold Em at Fortune Poker, 3650 E Valley Rd, Renton, WA 98057
9 7 #1: Plan C
5 way action, after I call a raise with 9h 7h from the Big Blind. Flop comes Th 6h 7c, and I check-raise.
Right. But at the time I knew nothing, so I listened to the man, tried to make sense of his advice, and probably played that hand a few times too many, until I came to know better. Still, I always smile a little inside, when I see 9 7, and remember Dan and Tishka— their last name was something like “Smolen” ? Then I muck it. Well, most times.
Couple times recently I didn’t muck it, but they turned out nicely. Note: All hands mentioned in this post are from $20/40 Hold Em at Fortune Poker, 3650 E Valley Rd, Renton, WA 98057
9 7 #1: Plan C
5 way action, after I call a raise with 9h 7h from the Big Blind. Flop comes Th 6h 7c, and I check-raise.
Down to 3 way now, and the turn comes a blank black deuce. I bet, hoping to maybe take it right there, and if not there’s always (A) the flush draw, or; (B) my pair of sevens that might improve.
Wrong answer; they both call. Looks like one of those plans will need to come in.
Neither does. But the 8 of Spades on the river is a nice surprise, and how come I wasn’t even thinking about the gutshot draw?
Wrong answer; they both call. Looks like one of those plans will need to come in.
Neither does. But the 8 of Spades on the river is a nice surprise, and how come I wasn’t even thinking about the gutshot draw?
9 7 #2: Simple Larceny
My 9 7 gets a free play in the blind, flops a straight draw that never comes in, and on the river it’s head up. He probably has me high carded, but likely has no pair, so I have to bet, and do, and stack the chips.
Nothing special. But this was a small taste of that most satisfying, best feeling, that poker can give you: To know, or even just believe, that you took it because your bet made a better hand fold.
Nothing special. But this was a small taste of that most satisfying, best feeling, that poker can give you: To know, or even just believe, that you took it because your bet made a better hand fold.
The Whiner Family
They’re everywhere. Crossing all lines of race, religion, language, national origin, political affiliation, and sometimes even gender identity, they are by far the biggest and best known family in poker. Half the players you meet will be related— some distantly, but many are immediate family. The Whiners.
I’m up against Kimmie, but this time I’m the one with the big pair: Jacks, both black.
The Duke of Edinburgh is in there too, and on the turn the board is 7 8 9 T, but three Diamonds. I bet, she raises, Duke calls, I re-raise, she calls, and Duke folds.
The Duke of Edinburgh is in there too, and on the turn the board is 7 8 9 T, but three Diamonds. I bet, she raises, Duke calls, I re-raise, she calls, and Duke folds.
I put her one big Diamond, raising on the come, trying take it right there, and my winning the showdown seemed to confirm that.
Then Duke whined a little too loud, and way too long, about how he had a Jack too, and knew exactly where he was in the hand, but couldn’t call for a split pot.
Right. Good laydown! But instead of crying about it, could you maybe just grow up, and STFU?
Just kidding. I love The Whiner Family. Every last one of them. Seriously.
And to be fair, Duke is an aggressive and pretty damn good player, with probably zero “book learning,” and little regard for the math, but with great instincts, and more natural talent in his little finger than I’ll ever have.
Best Friends Forever Never
Props, and Many Thanks to Fortune Poker, for having a Betting Line that really is a Betting Line. And shame on you, Commerce and Bellagio, for the “fake” and meaningless betting line on your tables, that confuses the tourists and favors the locals.
Took a while to refine the actual rule at Fortune, to where it’s a bet when chips cross the line, on the cloth OR in the air. And now, it’s not “optional” for your opponent(s) to call you on it, or choose to let it go. No. As of January 1, DEALERS are instructed to make you put it in, if you crossed the line.
Like I myself did, one day not long after New Year; I reached out and knuckled the table to check, but across the line, and with chips in my closed fist. Oops. Honest mistake, but three different guys gestured, ready to spout off, so before they could I just quickly confessed my error, and put in the bet. I’d been going for a checkraise in the first place, but then my “accidental” bet got raised, then re-raised, by me, with Aces.
Then, more recently, it happened again. This time a stranger checked to me, heads-up, but with chips in hand, and across the line. Right away the dealer started to tell him what’s what, but I felt like a new player might deserve a warning, so I tried to wave her off, and said something like “Gee, just let it go . . .“
I pretty much expected to be ignored, but then she let me check too, and was ready to bring the turn. Then Atlanta Braves shortstop & leadoff batter Narcy spoke up, and I found out it's mutual, and he’s also my BFN, when he said, matter-of-factly, “As much as I dislike you [me], I still have to object.” (To giving the stranger a break.) I and a couple others laughed, surprised by his frankness, and he added “Well, it is what it is…”
Took a while to refine the actual rule at Fortune, to where it’s a bet when chips cross the line, on the cloth OR in the air. And now, it’s not “optional” for your opponent(s) to call you on it, or choose to let it go. No. As of January 1, DEALERS are instructed to make you put it in, if you crossed the line.
Like I myself did, one day not long after New Year; I reached out and knuckled the table to check, but across the line, and with chips in my closed fist. Oops. Honest mistake, but three different guys gestured, ready to spout off, so before they could I just quickly confessed my error, and put in the bet. I’d been going for a checkraise in the first place, but then my “accidental” bet got raised, then re-raised, by me, with Aces.
Then, more recently, it happened again. This time a stranger checked to me, heads-up, but with chips in hand, and across the line. Right away the dealer started to tell him what’s what, but I felt like a new player might deserve a warning, so I tried to wave her off, and said something like “Gee, just let it go . . .“
I pretty much expected to be ignored, but then she let me check too, and was ready to bring the turn. Then Atlanta Braves shortstop & leadoff batter Narcy spoke up, and I found out it's mutual, and he’s also my BFN, when he said, matter-of-factly, “As much as I dislike you [me], I still have to object.” (To giving the stranger a break.) I and a couple others laughed, surprised by his frankness, and he added “Well, it is what it is…”
One Toe (not) Over The Line
I’m sitting in Seat 3, minding my own business, and a guy I’d never seen before, and haven't seen since, comes into 2. Let's change one letter, and call him Crank. Pushing 50, glasses, small and slim, with a long and scraggly yet slender beard, Crank staggers up, beer bottle in hand, and circles the chair, but doesn’t quite sit down. More like a controlled fall.
Then right away he leans over, and starts asking bizarre questions about personal bodily functions. It’s so disconnected and off-the-wall I’m thinking he’s surely talking to someone else, not me, but he’s right in my face, solid eye contact. WTF?
I decide to ignore him, say nothing, and just lean away, but then he starts putting his hands on me, and I did have to loudly say four words. Well, two actually, but repeated.
“Off Limits!”
Second time he gets it, and stops with the touching, so I didn’t have to call for the floor.
Then Crank proceeds to play nearly every hand, semi-maniac style, rebuys a time or two, has another beer or two, and puts on a real show.
Then comes a hand where we’re head up, he bets on the end, and I don’t have much, but feel like I need to call, if only because Crank has been consistently betting and raising with nothing ever since he sat down.
So my fingertips are pushing out my call, 8 chips, two stacks, when Crank suddenly and prematurely throws down and shows down. I stop pushing, and look. Crank has a wheel, and my chips are still two inches behind the betting line. I put them back on my stack, muck my hand, and, surprisingly, nobody says one word about it.
“Off Limits!”
Second time he gets it, and stops with the touching, so I didn’t have to call for the floor.
Then Crank proceeds to play nearly every hand, semi-maniac style, rebuys a time or two, has another beer or two, and puts on a real show.
Then comes a hand where we’re head up, he bets on the end, and I don’t have much, but feel like I need to call, if only because Crank has been consistently betting and raising with nothing ever since he sat down.
So my fingertips are pushing out my call, 8 chips, two stacks, when Crank suddenly and prematurely throws down and shows down. I stop pushing, and look. Crank has a wheel, and my chips are still two inches behind the betting line. I put them back on my stack, muck my hand, and, surprisingly, nobody says one word about it.
Protecting Your Hand, Not
I bet the river, and both opponents fold. So I release my hand, face down, halfway towards the dealer.
Oops. Somehow I have overlooked, or forgotten about, the remaining guy at the other end, who went all-in early in the hand. What’s worse, I am oblivious to the dealer’s gestures, trying to let me know to grab my hand, and turn it over, if I want to claim the main pot. After an awkward and confused moment, I finally get it, and do that. Ok, fine. End of story.
Well, no. Next day this dealer tells me how a couple of Atlanta Braves who had been there, both members of my “Not-Fans” Club, gave him shit later for not having immediately taken my hand to the muck, so that my error could cost me, like it should. If he had, I couldn’t, shouldn’t, and wouldn’t have complained, nor whined about it, either.
I feel stupid for not protecting my hand, and badly for the dealer who cut me a break, then took heat over it.
Playing by the Book
Pinky open raises early, and I re-raise with two black Tens. Want to get him head-up, but Marathon Man and another guy call, then Pinky caps. Oops. Plan gone South already. I may need to flop something good, no?
Yes. Flop is Ten high, two diamonds, and is capped again, by me. Turn is a third diamond, and Pinky checks.
Boogie is beside me with no hand, and for some unknown but probably stupid reason, very unusual for me, I show him my cards, and tell him “The book says to check now,” even while I bet.
Wait, let’s clarify that. It’s not unusual to be stupid. It’s just very unusual, for me, to show cards, or to make speeches like that.
OK. Same two guys call, then Pinky raises. “Now the book says I have to raise,” I tell Boogie, and it’s capped again, but now head up.
“Pair the board!” I am of course yelling, but silently, and she did. Extra nice pair, too: the case Ten.
“The Book Was Right!” Boogie gives back a small smile, and a tiny nod. Pink’s slow and not-happy release at the showdown suggested that he had me on the turn, and indignation that I dared to re-raise him with the worst hand.
Sea Change
Things have changed at Fortune Poker. Big time. $20/40 Hold Em is still alive and well, but it ain't King no more. Now they’re spreading Omaha, at 3 different limits, and $1/3 No Limit (spread limit, $500 max) and still the 4/8 and 8/16 limit games
The players seem to like all this variety, but for a one-trick pony like me, it's not so good. I don't do Omaha, tournaments, No Limit, or any of that stuff. Limit Hold'em, period.
Plus, for a while they went totally nutso with the inexplicably popular live straddle in the 20 game, and even had a separate list for that structure: 20/40 with 10, 20 & 40 dollar blinds, oftentimes densely populated with MVPs, such that it should appear quite attractive. But I posted before, in detail, about why I just don't like to play in a straddle game.
Anyway, 20/40 Mandatory Straddle was the fad for over a month, but now has faded, and died. Thankfully. Sometimes I just can't grasp why people do some of the batshit crazy things they do. And that reminds me...
Thank You Trump
Thank You Trump. At first your bizarre and surreal ascent to the White House was quite a shock. I mean, seriously, show of hands please, how many of you out there expected, like me, to wake up next morning and find out it was all just a hoax, a joke, or a bad dream?
But we didn’t. And it wasn’t. Nightmare maybe, but all too real, and that gave me more than enough FUD (Fear, Uncertainty and Doubt) to get off my ass, and start on the big task we’ve talked about— but just lip service— for 20+ years. Now it had become a Mission: Sell out, cash out, slim down, and hunker down, before The Shit Hits the Fan, and your fake presidency implodes, or just collapses under the weight of its own bullshit.
So February began the Major Downsize: Sort, sell, donate or dump 70.7% of the high quality junk collected over the years, and pack the rest. Literally tons of Ham Radio, computer and other electronic equipment, wire and cable, books and office stuff, tools and hardware, etc., etc., went out the door.
Then the house we’ve had since my 1986 Army retirement went on the market, and sold quickly.
Meanwhile, we got a quiet nice apartment, uniquely in the middle of everything, yet private and isolated. If that sounds contradictory, well, hit me up and come visit sometime, and you’ll see.
So now I’m fully retired, living the simple life, even closer to the cardroom than before, with nothing better to do than go play, or maybe finish up some draft posts. Proceeds from the home sale went for a wood barrel of silver dollars, buried at the Union 76 Station in Pahrump, NV.
Thanks, Trump.
Pants on Fire
Last time it was Fingers, a few weeks ago. This time I’m in Seat 8, my head-up opponent in 5 shows down at the end, and it was LC Fedora, beside me in 7, who calls out “Straight!” It almost looks a straight, but is not, and my pair wins.
So then I ask him, but smiling and laughing, in a conversational and not confrontational way, “Why did you say that? What’s your motivation for that lie? What do you hope to accomplish?”
I keep asking those same questions, and M.S. in Seat 6 joins in. “Yeah, why did you say straight?”
Fedora mumbles some bullshit non-answers a couple times, but then, surprise, after being asked repeatedly, he finally ‘fesses up. “He’s my friend,” he says, gesturing towards Seat 5. “I wanted him to win.”
Thank You! And I did sincerely thank him, a couple times, for coming clean, and we all had a real good laugh over his really bad etiquette.
Isn’t it funny how a poker table is the one place where there’s no penalty for lying? That by itself might be a good topic for a blogpost sometime, so the first-cut draft outline is presently in-queue. In my head.
Boat Won’t Float
Do you often make a full house on the turn, then check and fold?
Me neither. But this time one guy limps, button raises, and I call in the Big Blind with 22. Flop comes AQQ, and is checked around! I’m asking myself what the hell I should do if the Turn were to be a deuce.
So of course it is. Can I like it? Should I bet? No. Check and *maybe* raise? I check, limper bets, and button raises.
Um, never mind. I fold my boat; it just can’t float. Button has Big Chick (AQ), and flopped an Ocean Liner.
Tommy Tasteless
If you use only the fingers of one hand, and count off the very top level Fortune 20/40 MVPs, he’ll be in there.
He’s loud, boisterous, can get belligerent in a heartbeat, and when he’s drinking, he’s all those things, squared.
And Tommy does like to drink.
"Whatever they want to buy me, I’ll drink it,” he told me, just the other night. Seriously.
"Whatever they want to buy me, I’ll drink it,” he told me, just the other night. Seriously.
Tasteful, kind, and polite; a gentleman? No.
Rude, crude and lewd? Yes.
And a misogynist. If you wonder why that comes up so much in this blog, it’s because (a) it comes up so much in life, all around us, every day, and; (b) I don’t like it.
Tommy also plays lots of hands, and loves them long time, too long, taking them too far. But unlike other guys who play lots of hands, and so take big swings, Tommy is such a dedicated and hardcore chip burner that he rarely builds much of a stack, even when Lady Luck smiles on him for a while. Go figure.
Anyway, would you agree that his misogynistic comment the other day was depressing, sad, and in bad taste? Tommy is from a land halfway around the world, went home for several months not long ago, and someone asked him why he stayed so long.
“Bitches,” he replies, with a big grin. “So many bitches.”
Double Down
After ragging on Roman Fingers so much in the last couple posts, I thought the point was made, assumed he’d get the message, and so expected to be able to just let it go, and move on.
Wrong answer. Fingers’ own behavior since then kept renewing my outrage over how he took my cards- stole my hand- so it seems I ain't got over it after all.
I call him Fingers, but everyone else refers to him by initials. Atlantic City? Air Conditioned? Not sure, but if asked to guess, I’d say either Angling Champion, or Annoying (borderline) Cheat. So I’m gonna Double Down, and keep reporting all the sleazy things he does and says in the game, until the house wises-up, and kicks his sorry ass to the curb, where it belongs.
Wait. Choosing that path, words like Libel, Slander,” and “Defamation of Character” come to mind, and I wondered if I was asking for trouble? I mean, people get sued for those things, and my lawyer charges $330.00 an hour, and No Thank You Very Much.
But then I looked up each of those scare words, and it turns out I’m in the clear. Turns out you’re doing those things only if you’re badmouthing someone, and lying about it. So long as you stick with the truth, you’re good. So I’m good.
First he stole seat change buttons 5 times in a single session, and was called out on it each time. Then he reached into the muck again, and tried to take his cards back, for no particular reason. Minor stuff, but annoyingly typical Fingers behavior.
Blind Angle Cheat
Fingers sits down behind the button about 10 minutes after a new game starts, and tries to tell the dealer that he should get a free hand if it hasn't gone around yet. That doesn't fly; the dealer tells him no.
So Fingers has four chips in his hand, across the line, ostensibly to post his blind, as the deal begins, but he hasn't released to the chips yet. As soon as the dealer pitches Fingers’ first card, some asshole at the table speaks up, loudly. Give you one guess who.
“Time, please.” Dealer keeps dealing.
“Time! Please!” Dealer stops dealing.
“Is the gentleman going to post a blind?”
“Time, please.” Dealer keeps dealing.
“Time! Please!” Dealer stops dealing.
“Is the gentleman going to post a blind?”
The dealer gives that deer-in-headlights look, and by this time Fingers has looked at the card dealt to him, and doesn’t like it. “No,” he says, “I'm not posting.”
Misdeal. Are you kidding me? I should have called for the floor to complain about the cheat, but instead just said “I want to apologize to everyone for using the word ‘gentleman’.”
True Colors
Couple times before I’ve posted about how “Everyone’s true character shows itself at the poker table; good, bad or ugly, everyone will eventually show you what they’re really like, deep inside, and you may not like what you see.”
A good example is how Fingers cemented his pariah status with a remarkably offensive racist comment.
Players like, for example, Brad, Charles, B.C., Fred, or Kelly might have felt an urge to jump up and put his lights out if they heard this speech. Knowing that, Fingers paused, and conspiratorially looked around first, to see if any of those guys were around.
None were. But he ¿forgot? about the dealer, Lauren, who, even more than me, was indeed insulted, offended and outraged by his words. If you doubt me, ask her.
And I’m not saying comments like that are OK if there’s nobody there to whom they directly apply, anyway. They’re not. In all my years in the Army, at Boeing, and playing in cardrooms, I’ve probably heard remarks like that in private settings a few (too many) times. But in public? No. At least I can’t recall any offhand.
Fingers gave a second look-around after his hate speech, seeming to seek approval, agreement, or maybe even respect, sort of a “Who’s with me?” or “Can I get an Amen?” kind of a look, along with his everyday dumbass smirk and high pitched nervous giggle. To their credit, nobody gave back anything besides a couple groans, frowns, and sad head shakes.
The Speech
There was some table talk about how far players had drive to reach Fortune Poker. I may have bragged a little about how ridiculously close we live.
Then Fingers said he lives at the North end of town, and has to drive 25+ miles to get here, but that--
“It’s worth it," he says, then he drops his volume a notch, and gives that quick look-around, “...because there's not very many black people up there."
