But then before I can do anything, boom, we lose power at home. Windstorm.
Well, shit, can't even make coffee. Sure glad I showered before bed, and that I have some daylight to work with. Now I can just throw on some clothes, head straight to Lil's, and hope for an open seat in the 20?
I wish. Full game, and I'm fifth up. So I sit at a deadspread, surf the web with my smallest laptop, have breakfast, and an hour later I'm first up.
Then I take a good look at the game, and yowie kazowie, what a lineup! Perhaps the biggest and best collection of talent ever seen all at one table at the same time. I may have actually salivated a little. Or was that just some residual drool from breakfast?
Anyway, we got:
Seat 1. Rudolph Valentino. A tall slender mystery man from far far away. Perhaps extra-terrestrial? I mean, species indeterminate. Only faced this guy a couple times, and barely have a handle on his play. But so far it seems like he just kind of mentally rolls the dice whenever he needs to make a decision, then follows some randomly chosen option. Huh? I know. That didn't make any sense to me either. But that's Rudy.
Seat 2. Leisure Suit Larry. 50ish, monied and always well dressed Mr. Clean super whitebread entrepreneur businessman. The center of the (his own) universe. Splashes chips around like candy. Pigeon. The only thing I don't like about Larry is how he only shows up once a month or so. He needs [We need him] to become a regular.
Seat 3. Narcissus Culus. Atlanta Braves shortstop and leadoff batter. Known some for mouthing off without even knowing WTF he's talking about, and for vulgarity, misogyny, an annoying falsetto laugh, and a wild throwing arm. What's not to love?
Seat 4. A. M. Initials stand for Alpha Male? Seattle Seahawks jersey number 01010101, but out injured this year.
Friendly & easy-going guy
+ Wild and crazy player
= Good times all around
Likes to straddle, sometimes waits for the river to look at his cards. I need the money, or at least want the money, and am here trying to play good, and win. But this guy? Not particularly. He's here to have a good time, and pretty much always succeeds, win or lose. Gotta love that.
Seat 5. Russell the Muscle. RtM himself would tell you that he has spent too many thousands of hours in the psychiatrist's office, in expensive therapy sessions, for years and years. Seriously— that's neither joke nor exaggeration; I know it to be true, and also know that he would freely admit to it, and might even brag about it. Need I say more? OK, fine; I will. Headcase. Nutjob. Complete wacko. But watch your ass, because in spite of all that he's no dummy, and can be quite dangerous.
Seat 6. Baby Huey. Nice guy compulsive gambler with so much pent-up nervous energy, sometimes I worry he might just explode. I used to get happy — see dollar signs — when he sat down. But now that I know him better, well, he's such a sad case that now I'm conflicted, and am kind of sorry to see him show up.
Seat 7. The Engineer. I've been begging this guy, for years, to please just stay home, and let somebody else take his seat. Somebody who wants to donate. Hasn't worked yet.
Seat 8. Flycatcher. Atlanta Braves utility outfielder. Usually tight and semi-tough, but with a minor league attitude, and a major league tilt factor.
Seat 9. Bambi. A deer in the headlights who plays loose passive, and is short on experience, skill and awareness, but is always willing to put chips in the pot. Bottom pair, shit kicker, three bets on the flop? Sure, why not. Might get lucky. And sometimes he does, so then, like anyone who plays lots of hands, sometimes he grows a big stack for a while. But not for long.
So let's recap. The table features:
- 2 Atlanta Braves. Just right. Try to get a seat just downwind from either one of them.
- 2 World class professional narcissists, and a couple highly ranked amateurs.
- 4 Chip burners who by themselves are usually the MVP in any game. So when you got four, they can't all be most valuable, can they? What are we gonna do here, have a competition, and rank them? This I gotta see.
There is, of course, some overlap in those categories, some guys who fit in more than one. Do we need a venn diagram? :-)
But Wait. There's More.
Just about then Rudy gets up, and I get called for the game. And just about that same time, the remaining players decide they want to play 30/60 overs. Huh? I'd never seen overs play allowed at DL, but next thing I know the floorman produces overs buttons, EVERYONE takes one, and we're playing 20-30-60-60.
Crazy, baby! These guys want to gamble so bad that they somehow coerce the house into upping the stakes, plus they're rammin' and jammin' like there's no tomorrow.
The craziness peaked maybe a hour later, in a hand where UTG straddled, then the betting was capped before and on the flop, and on the turn. At that point it's down to three players, but only one of them has bothered to look at his cards! Then, as the dealer is bringing the river, the players agree that there will be no more betting, just the showdown.
The rest of the play wasn't quite that wacky, but much of it came close. Not so much dark betting as just crazy betting, steamroller style.
And for this 20-30-60-60 structure, I'm asking myself what kind of changes to make, and remembering when we played 20-40-80-80 at the Muckleshoots some years ago.
Back then I thought about it long and hard, and concluded that, before the flop, small pairs should go up in value, while drawing hands like suited connectors would lose value.
Why? Well, pocket fives might see the flop cheaply, then punish them for bigger bets when it hits a set. In other words, implied odds improve.
On the other hand, when 98 suited flops a straight or flush draw, now you gotta pay bigger bets to chase it, even when the preflop pot is relatively small. So implied odds are worse than in the normal structure.
But that's just my take on it. What do you think? And are there other strategy changes for this structure, maybe a couple borderline situations where the balance might tip one way or another when post-flop bet size goes up more steeply than usual?
Actually, it's all moot now. DL Party Poker flew on overs afterburners for just that one day and night, then management decided they don't like it, and said nevermore. Sure was fun while it lasted.
A DL dealer kindly loaned me a really entertaining poker book by "Anonymous" (no kidding). Lots of very funny anecdotal stuff. The author kept making fun of "The Weak Player's Fourth Street Checkraise," his name for those frequent situations where just betting the turn is the much better play, but pigeons often try to get cute.
A couple of the guys in this game kept making exactly that same pigeon play, a couple times against me. And it backfired on them almost every time, too.
One time Larry slowplayed his flopped set of sixes, letting me continue, where I would have folded had he properly protected his hand against a threatening (flush draw) board.
Then he goes for the checkraise on the turn, but nobody bets, and the free card lets me back into and river an unlikely straight, and it's the nuts. Thank you. Then he goes for the checkraise AGAIN, but oops, he gets re-raised. He calls. Thank you again.
Overtime.
So I played 20-30-60-60 from 3:00 PM until 4:00 AM, or 14 hours total. Sound wrong? Bad math? That would be wrong, except Daylight Savings Time ended that night, and the clock got rolled back an hour.It kind of feels to me like some kind of a voodoo magical time when we have that once a year re-do, and get to live that one hour all over again. So add that to all the other things that made this a standout day.
I took some swings in the session, but nothing major; up a rack, down a rack, back and forth in some of the wackiest play you ever saw, and when it was over I was pretty much right back where I started. But what a ride!
Plus, I experienced a lifetime first. Until that day I had never, ever, checked or bet "in the dark." Not even once. But heads up, I'm first, and the other guy only has two chips left, so what the hell. Put it in. :-)
Who?
I'm sitting at a deadspread, waiting for a seat in the 20 game, and meanwhile using my truly tiny Sony VAIO mini-PC. I do that a lot while waiting.This guy I've seen around the room, but don't actually know, approaches, and super politely asks:
"Excuse me, would it be OK if I ask you a question?"
"Hi! Yeah, sure," I reply. I expect he wants to ask how I can see the 9" screen, or maybe something else, about the PC. Lots of people do. But not this time.
"In your blog you quote something called 'Fich' now and then," he says. "Is that a book, or some kind of system, or something? I tried to look it up, but I hit a blank."
Wow. First off, I'm completely thrilled to hear that somebody actually reads my blog. It gets so few comments that sometimes I wonder. Thank you!
No, Fich is the nickname, shortened last name, for my old Blackjack and Poker buddy, Keith F., a regular from RGP, the rec.gambling.poker newgroup on usenet. You know, back in the day. We met at a blackjack table at the Frontier, Las Vegas, in 1992. Or maybe '91.
His actual last name runs 11 letters, just like mine, and who wants to deal with all those vowels and consonants anyway? So he just calls himself Fich. I call him King of the One Liner. For example, this is the guy who famously said:
"I don't need to read any more poker books. I already know how to play way better than I do."
The sad part? He wasn't kidding.
Another time some guy was in the game and babbling on and on, talking non-stop about everything in general, i.e., nothing in particular, just making noise. Lots of noise. Then he said something about following sports betting lines, making picks, and carefully tracking his results, even though he was "just making mental bets."
Fich couldn't resist. He immediately asked the guy: "Mental bets? Are you sure you have the bankroll for that?"
I steal his jokes so much that I feel obligated to mention him now and then, give some attribution. So that's what a Fich is. And thanks for asking.
Ask anything. Email me:
sgt777rock (at) gmail (dot) com
