Conflict of Interest

For the last six years, and unless out of town, I've played exclusively at Diamond Lil's.  My driveway to their parking lot is under 3 miles, and it's the only daily 20/40 game this side of California or Nevada, so why go anywhere else?

All those years, there have always been at least two prominent signs posted in the room, telling us:

English Only

At And Around Gaming Tables

At All Times

Then, several times, various floorpersons have explained that the rule really only applies when a hand is in progress.  Ok, fine.  Whatever.

I can't begin to count how many thousand times I've heard that rule violated, nor how many hundred times I've heard dealers, or occasionally another player, tell someone "English Only!"  

But I can easily count how many times I've seen the violators, repeat offenders all, face any kind of consequence:  Exactly Zero.   They simply get warned, again and again.  Then again.  And again.

I personally am not too worried about non-English conversation during play at DL.  Maybe I am annoyed some, by their arrogance, when players ignore the rule.  After all, it is a very good rule, imposed for a very good reason, that we all understand.

But 97.84% of the time, they're not talking about the hand in progress anyway.  They're just talking about what's for dinner, or last night's booty call, or the big Karaoke party coming up next weekend, or maybe even what a dick Sgt. Rock is, and let's get him.  You know, something completely innocent.

So I don't sweat the small stuff, except, well, there still is one problem.  Like I tell them at Bellagio, and at Commerce:  "Look, I really don't care what language you guys wanna talk, but let's play by the rules anyway, because IT MAKES THE TOURISTS NERVOUS!"

See, here's the thing:  There are lots of wannabe 20/40 players in Seattle — I've heard this from more than a few of them —  who might like to come play at DL, and make these great games even better, except for the room's reputation.  Deserved or not, there is a widespread perception that Lil's is full of team players, and is a good place to be taken off by collusion.

And yeah, a couple players may make some lame, ill-conceived attempts at hanky panky now and then, but, like I said, for me it's not really a problem.  If were, then my six year result there couldn't be what it is. 

But still, "English Only" truly is a complete joke at DL.  Then, last week, came word that some person(s) had complained to the state gambling commission, that the rule will now be strictly enforced, and that anyone having to be warned twice will be barred for 24 hours.

Here's where the Conflict of Interest comes into play, same as it always has.  First line of defense for enforcing "English Only" is the house dealer who is in there working for tokes.  And she knows how much these players will resent being told that they can't converse with their buddy in their native tongue, even when they already know the rules.  Remember, these are the same giants of intellect and logic who personally blame her when a river card completes some other guy's ugly suckout, and beats them.  So don't expect them to be reasonable.

And now, if someone needs to be reminded a second time, she's supposed to call the floorman, who pretty much also works for tokes, and the player gets sent home?  Yeah, right. 

So far, with this "strict new enforcement" of the rule, we have seen just as much non-English as ever, slightly more frequent and stern warnings from a few dealers, and zero instances of floorman summoned or any hammer descending.  Long story short:  No change.

I have suggestion for fixing this problem, but it would never fly.  I would take the burden for enforcing this rule off the dealer's shoulders, and give it to the other players.

Specifically, I would propose that if non-English is spoken by, or to, a player with a live hand, then any other player with a live hand can have the dealer call the floor, who would KILL the offending player's hand.  That's right, break the rule during play, and your hand is dead.

Hard to prove?  They already have video surveillance, cameras in the ceiling, so why not audio surveillance, microphones in the table rim?  OK, I never said this idea was practical, but it is viable, at least in theory, and it certainly would be effective. Don't think we'd see very many repeat offenders.  I mean, after a guy's hand was killed a time or two, that *should* get his attention, even when a thousand warnings didn't, and I think he'd respect the rule just fine after that. 

Atlanta Braves

Do you have some online accounts with security, like banking, email, or shopping, that use logon name and password, but then they also have you give answers to some “secret security questions?”   You know, like a pet’s or girlfriend’s name, or the street you grew up on, favorite high school teacher, or TV show, whatever.  


One account I have asked me a cute one:  “Name the sports team you love to see lose.”  Seriously, that was their question.  Lol.


I’ve said it before, but it’s worth repeating— —  The only sport I’m really into is: Co-Ed Wrestling.


But some years ago, when stationed at Ft. Knox, Kentucky, Mrs. Rock & I were actually genuine baseball fans.  We lived on the base in family housing, about a mile from the gold depository, in a two story end-unit townhouse, plus full basement, in case of tornados.  Seriously.  We also had cheap cable TV, with HBO, and stations from LA, Toronto, Atlanta, New York, Chicago, Cincinnati, etc, etc., plus ESPN, and the networks.


Well, we were big Dodger fans back then, and watched lots and lots of games.  This was in the days of Steve Garvey, Steve Sax, Steve Howe :-), Mike Scioscia, Dusty Baker, Ron Cey, and of course our hero, the man, Fernando Valenzuela.  Later, Orel Hershiser was a hero, too.


And it sure irritated me to see the Dodger’s big rival, the Atlanta Braves, call themselves “America’s Team” on the Turner Station, Channel 17.  Some nerve.  I’m in America, and they’re not my team, so WTF?  Therefore, although I must admit they were a pretty damn good team back then, I liked to see the Braves lose, even it if wasn’t the Dodgers beating them.  

And so that was my "secret" answer on [I’m not saying what site]:  Atlanta Braves.


Well don’t we all have our own “Atlanta Braves” at the poker table?  You and I both want to win, want to beat the other guys, sure, but aren’t there a couple guys you *really* like to beat?  Or maybe guys you just *really* like to see lose, even if it’s not you that beats them?  


Like, for instance, Lenny Whiner, from Florida, playing 40/80 at Bellagio during WSOP the last three years running.  Actually I’m just guessing at that last name, but here’s a guy that, well, I don’t know, it just makes me smile inside when somebody sucks out on him and he gets all steamed up and acts like a baby.


Then there was TWA (Tall White Asshole) in the 40 game at Commerce last July, a curly hair guy we’ve seen several times, Vegas and LA, along with his hot (?) GF with the inked neck.  He was teasing and torturing the dealer by mucking as far away from her as possible, making her reach, then next time more or less throwing the cards at her, and  asking “How’s that?  Any better?”  So did he get on my Atlanta Braves list, and become someone I will like to see lose?  Sure.


But then it turns out that, sometimes, I’m the other guy’s Atlanta Braves!  Lenny, for example, doesn’t speak to me, pretty much ignores me.  But he sure will smirk when he sees me take a beat.  

And here’s something a little hard to admit, kind of puzzling, but looking at it objectively, well, it's true:  Here at Diamond Lil’s, if you polled all the regular 20/40 players, most of them wouldn’t name anyone in particular as being their Atlanta Braves.  

But it used to be, for those who did, I think the name given most often would have been:  Sarge.  I know, right?  I couldn’t believe it either!  I never dissed anyone, don’t get ugly or arrogant, don't gloat when I win, and sure as hell don’t deride bad play when they suck out on me!

But there was this small clique in the DL 20 game, all guys from [redacted],  who pretty much didn't speak to me, and would openly discuss how much they wanted me to get beat, even to the point of occasionally “cooperating” with each other by whipsaw raising a little when I’m caught between them.  Those moves tended to backfire on them more often than not, so I didn’t really mind too much.  :-) But for sure, I was their Atlanta Braves.


The good news is that there's been a big thaw in all that. Seems like NOT taking the bait, and NOT getting into arguments, ever, and being excruciatingly polite if there's a dispute and I'm involved, and remembering to STFU if I'm NOT involved . . . all that paid off. I just treated them all with courtesy, and a little respect, even when it was a one-way street. Eventually, then, it becomes, grudgingly perhaps, a two-way street. Well, in most cases. Sadly, not all. But I'm working on those too. I still wonder what I did to get on these guys’ shit list.  Misbehave?  Hardly.  Insult, disparage, or otherwise disrespect anyone?  Never happen.  

The Theory of Relativity

Imagine if the best college baseball team in the state went up against a typical little league team from your town.  College boys gonna kick ass, right?  

Now imagine that same college team versus the N.Y. Yankees.  Whose ass gets kicked now?


So when you ask if a particular guy is a “good, winning poker player," it’s kind of like asking if those college boys are a good team.  The answer has to be:  “Compared to who?” It's relative.

On a good day in the DL 20/40, I feel like a college team, up against mostly little leaguers. On a bad day, in Vegas or LA, I feel like I ran into MLB. And for my Bellagio WSOP side action trips in 2010 & 2011, I had lots of bad days.

The problem? Both times, my performance was exceptionally poor for that single most important component of a winning poker strategy: Game Selection. Ego, over-confidence, and the adrenaline rush of "Hey, this is Vegas!" combined to help me find the courage to sit into games five times bigger than I play at home, and to completely blow off, and ignore, how they were also way tougher. Sure, there were a couple ding-dongs here and there, now and then, but mostly VERY tough guys in those games.

So I was outclassed, and I knew it, and yet I played anyway, and both times blew in a couple weeks the BR I had built up over a year at home. Doing that once is bad enough, but that I did it twice, two consecutive years, is, well, I don't know the word. Pathetic?

So last year, for our WSOP 2012 Vegas trip, I played only the 40/80 side action, 23 straight days, then went on to Commerce for another 10 days of 40/80, and this time didn't blow the year's BR, although neither did I grow it much. Then we came on home, and finished the year playing at DL.

Seems reasonable to me, and you've probably heard this too, that a good pro, in a game like the DL 20/40, should win something like 1 big bet per hour, that a VERY good pro might win 1.5 BBPH, and that a long term win of 2 BBPH in pretty much any limit hold game would be, well, exceptional.

Now that I'm turning pro, I need to know which of those categories I fit into, right? So I was planning to go back to keeping detailed session records, starting May 1. And since then I did play at DL every single day, but I got lazy, and didn't keep track after all. And that's a real shame, too, because if I had, then I could know just exactly how many dollars per hour I've lost so far this month.

Situational Awareness

Sometimes the situation, or the "Personality of the Game," makes you want to play a hand differently than you normally might. An extreme example that comes to mind for me was about a year ago, when I cold called a preflop raise, in the cutoff, with Queen Jack offsuit. Never did that before or since, but in that particular exceptional situation, the most *dysfunctional family pot you ever did see, I just had to do it.  

( * like a Wheel of Fortune "Before and After")

Last night another exceptional situation came up, but I spaced and didn't recognize it quite quickly enough. UTG open-raises, and I'm right behind him with pocket fours. Just as I'm releasing my hand, I can see at least two guys behind me gonna just call the raise. And the Personality of THIS Game, with these particular guys, was multi-way, 5, 6, 7 guys seeing every flop, most often for just one raise. I remembered all that a split second too late, and thought to myself, "Damn, coulda, woulda, shoulda made an exceptional call this time!"

Then, when the flop came J 4 4, I was sure of it. :-(

- - -

More posts in draft, coming soon, now that I have time. Can I get some comments? I live for comments. Thanks.

Retired & Triple Dippin'

I retired from the Army late in 1986, and started with Boeing early the next year.  For the first 5 years I was a consultant/contractor, and wore a grey badge. 

Back then I used to wear my hair
 on the top of my head.
Since then I've had to move it
down to my chin.

Then in '92 I hired on direct, and got a white badge.  Last Tuesday, April 30, was my last day on that payroll, and I had to surrender that badge.  Then May 1, between Boeing and SSI, began my second and third retirements.  All these years, I expected that SSI would be the smallest of the three, but it turns out to be the biggest.  Go figure.

Another retirement surprise was an epiphany that hit me out of nowhere, last Friday.  Did not see this coming; never anticipated this paradigm-shift, this new way of looking at things, a whole new attitude.  At my point in life you spend some time thinking about resource allocation — income versus living expenses, and longevity expectation compared to adequate savings.

All those years working for a paycheck, I always thought I should try to hold back some of that income, for eventual retirement, and for rainy-day emergencies.  If those paychecks were to stop coming in, for whatever reason, I still had a family to provide for.

Unfortunately, in the early years, I didn't make much, so could hardly save anything, even when I knew I should.  When our first kid was born, I was a Sergeant E5, base pay $383.70 per month.

Fortunately, in the middle and later years, we did a little better, and were able to save a little.

Thing is, the other day I suddenly realized that my long time "gotta save some" mentality doesn't make sense any more!  Save for retirement?  This it it!  We're there.  Rainy-day fund?  For what?  I'm not going to get laid off from my pensions, and don't have to show up at the office, or make any effort, or even get out of bed.  Even (especially) if I were disabled, the entitlements would continue.

So I had to smile when it dawned on me that, when retiring on a set income like this, you might as well just go ahead and spend it all, and live the best lifestyle that income will support.  I mean, why not?  Seriously, if you can give a reason why not, please comment.

Also, all those years working for a nice paycheck, playing poker on the side, and having fun with it, I was always thinking that, once I retired, and the paychecks stopped, I'd kind of being playing poker on "scared money."  I think we all know that's never good.   But, you know, I wouldn't have the job any more to back me up if I lose my ass in the game.   That worried me some, and I used to joke that, once I retired, I'd have to play better.

And here again, now I realize that's not a problem either.  Worst Case:  I'll be that pathetic guy you see at Diamond Lil's around midnight on the last day of the month, sitting at Table 11, the dead-spread near the cash machines, watching the clock, and trying the machine every little while to see if my monthly entitlements hit the bank yet, so I can get a buy-in.

OK, so then my only remaining problem was kind of a feeling of emptiness, maybe a lack of purpose,  when I gave up the badge, left the campus, and drove home on that last day.  Sure, I'm excited about starting this new chapter of life.  Freedom to do whatever, whenever.  But that's just it—  do what, exactly?   People at work and at DL kept asking me, like, "What are you going to do now?" and I could only mumble some lame and meaningless answers, because, well, I didn't really know.

Ah, but then when I got home, and we took a walk around the neighborhood, inspiration struck.  We have 3 grandkids, and the oldest starts college this Fall.  How cool will it be, I wondered, if he can casually tell his classmates, like, "Yeah, my Grandpa plays poker to pay my tuition."  I mean, just the thought of how incredibly impressed (if not jealous) that should make them just gives me goosebumps, because, well, like Fast Eddie Felson (Paul Newman) says, in The Color of Money:  

      "Money won is twice as sweet as money earned."

So that's my new game plan:  Play lots of poker, and win enough to put 3 grandkids thru college, one at a time.

So after that very short last day at work — was outta there by 9:45 AM — I got to DL mid afternoon, for my first session as a "Professional Poker Player."   OK, that may be a bit of a stretch, but if you loosely define it as someone who does not have a J-O-B, then I just might qualify. :-)

Right away, first hand, I got stupid, got lucky, and took a big pot when I had no business being there.  Pocket Sevens in the big blind and I get trapped for 3 more bets, but seven way action, so nothing wrong with that.  Yet.  Flop it or drop it, right?  Well, no. 

Flop comes J96 rainbow, the original preflop UTG open-raiser on my left bets it, and when it gets back around to me it's two bets, with 38 bets in the pot, and a few more to go in when the players behind me call.  So I call two cold.  Considering future bets if it does hit, just about good enough odds to chase spiking a 7 on the turn, right?  

No, wrong.  Faulty, bogus thinking; a rationalization.  There is no reason at all to think the guys behind me will just call.  Probably way more likely they gonna put in another raise or two.  And of course they do; it comes back around to me capped again, and I put in two more to see the turn.  Bad play!

The good news is how my 23-to-1 against longshot came in, a seven did hit the turn, I check-raised and got in several more bets there, and a couple more on the river, and stacked lots of chips.

The bad news is how, bottom line, in the play of this hand, I put in way too many chips when the Cost, Chance and Payback (with that escalating Cost!) spelled Negative Expectation.  Sure, I got lucky and won the pot, and from a results-oriented loser's viewpoint, that's good.  But didn't we just say a minute ago that I need to play better now?   This wasn't it.  

Making calls like that all the time will lose money, period.  Fortunately, that kind of trap situation doesn't come up too often, and I hope I usually play them better than I did this time.

Diamond Lil's $20/40 Hold Em is still solid, two games most every day, 'cept three games most Friday nights.  And the seven-way action capped preflop that I describe above is not at all unusual.  Action games, chasers galore, straddles, suckouts and slowrolls, bizarre play aplenty, dealers cursed, cards thrown, short stack, all-in, re-buy, short buy, NEW SETUP!  

But a funny thing is how little real acrimony we see in these games.  Certainly less than at, say, Commerce, or even Bellagio.  Most of the DL players are regulars, and know one another all too well.  Sometimes the loser might actually get mad, but more often they will laugh, and taunt, and fist-bump the other guy when they beat each other.  In other words, most of the time, it stays light, with players cracking jokes, and lots of (friendly) trash talk.

An exception the last few days, though, was Misanthrope Marty.  Here's a smart and experienced guy, but a World Class Whiner, goes on and on and on about how the guy who just beat him is the worst player on Earth, and how could the dealer bring that river card, and how could she call me on that flop, and can't believe I lost that hand, and did I mention that this goes on and on and on?  After a while nobody is really listening any more, but the whine continues anyway.  God Bless my noise-cancelling headphones.

- - - 

I don't always drink beer, but when I do, I prefer Dos Equis

Have you seen those commercials, featuring The "Most Interesting Man in The World?"  The voiceover one liners are killer.  There's a new one out, with:

  -  In a previous life, he was himself.

  -  If opportunity knocks, and he's not home, opportunity waits.

  -  He gave his father "The Talk."

Several collections of the older ones are out there on the web, and a good one is here.

Yet Another Nightmare Laydown

Yes, nightmare story to follow, but first, for balance, a tale of victory and triumph.  Late night full 20/40 limit hold em game at Diamond Lil’s.  Eight Pacific Rim ESL guys, and me.

Seats 1, 2 & 3 are Mikey, Smilin’ John, then me, followed by six misc. chasers, whiners, and suck-out artists.   Mikey folds UTG, John open raises, and I 3-bet with pocket Fives.

Inside the Poker Mind, by Dr. John Feeney, a 2+2 book from 2000, has a section on "Bad Plays Good Players Make,” and the first one he discusses is:  “Overuse of the small pair isolation play.”

He talks about pocket sixes and below, cautions about re-raising very selectively, only when the situation is just right, and says that “...it is crucial that you have a very high probability of isolating the raiser.”

And I agree with all that, too, and in this case did NOT have that high probability to isolate.  But damn, against these guys?  Not sure how or why it happens, but at Diamond Lil’s it turns out that I have a table image, and reputation, appreciably better than I actually deserve.  I know, right?  Hard to believe!  Especially if you know me, and what a dingaling I really am.
 

But it’s true.  Where Rodney Dangerfield got no respect, Sgt. Rock gets too much respect.  Not sure why, but I’m not complaining.  No, I just try to exploit it, maybe a little, now and then.  Like this time:  it just felt right.  Button, Small Blind and John call.

Flop comes AK9, all Diamonds.  Blind checks, John bets, and I don’t even know — or much care — if I have a Diamond or not.  I Raise.

I’m thinking that there’s already a little dead money from the Big Blind in this already getting-big pot, and if I can get lucky, and can fold one — or hopefully both — of the players behind me, and get John heads up, well, won’t that be way better?  Yeah.

I rarely need to check back after the flop.  I usually check back one time before the flop, verify what we got down there, and I’m good.  But this time, small pair, I didn’t think suit was gonna matter. Bzzzzzt, wrong answer.  Now I’m just hoping the two guys behind me have overcards, no big diamond, and I can get them out right now and NOT let them still be there to catch anything on the turn.

And, dang, this time I get lucky, and that’s just what happened.  They both fold.  More dead money.  Equity advantage.

Turns out John has AK!  He flopped two pair, but is afraid of the diamonds.  So rather than protect his hand, he just calls. Thank You!  I’m checking back and see that I DO have a diamond, just as the turn hits.  It’s a blank.  I bet again, and John, top two, could easily have raised me out right there, but he just calls.  I wonder if I’m gonna need another diamond, or a miracle 5, to suck out here.
 

Jack of Diamonds on the river, check, check, then John and Mikey both go half nuts with disbelief when I turn over my 55 baby flush to beat his Aces and Kings.  It really bothers them to know that I was behind, but betting and raising, while he was ahead, and just calling.  And it should, too.  :-)

It’s fun to write about that hand, where I got lucky and took the chips.  It’s not so much fun to write about hands like this next one.  But I don't want to forget the hand, or the situation.  And so, painful as it is, I want to make a record of it.  Next time this comes up, I want to not be so stupid.

SS; DD.  This was a few weeks ago; before Thanksgiving. It's like 2 a.m., I'm in seat 8, big blind, with Ms. T on my right in the small blind.  Steve open-raises from seat 2, Ms. T 3 bets him, and I call with 67 spades.

OK, maybe that’s Stupid #1 right there.  But these two been making those kinds of raises and re-raises with pretty much any damn thing,  and if I do make something, I can expect to get paid off more than I should.  At least that’s my thinking, or rationalization.

If I do make something.  Heh.  Flop comes 8, 9, 10, two diamonds, and we go three bets again.

Turn is a blank black deuce. Ms. T check-raises me, then caps it.  Steve is in there calling everything, too.  WTF?  By now I’m worried T may actually have me beat, with Queen Jack, and maybe calling her cap on the turn was Stupid #2?

Anyway, I'm watching her, not the board, when the river hits.  Long pause.  She doesn't like it. Finally, she checks, and I look.  9 of diamonds makes the flush, and pairs the board too.  Shit.  I check too.  Steve bets.

T shows and throws her Queen Jack, off the table and onto the floor, and if you know her, well, that’s not unusual.  Nobody says anything, even though house rules require that the deck now be replaced.  

Meanwhile, I have to stop and think.  Could Steve have been calling all those raises with just a 9?  I mean, at this point, trip 9s is about the only hand he could bet, and that my low end straight could beat, right?  42 bets or so in this pot, and I really hate to, but I fold.  

So Steve doesn’t have to show, but he does anyway:  Ten Eight.  Flopped two pair, rivered a slightly better two pair, and dumbass Sarge just GIVES him the pot, without thinking nearly hard enough about what Steve could have had all along, that he’d bet now, and that I could still beat, and, for those odds, should pay off.  Didn’t even consider that 10-8, or maybe Jack-9.  Sure, T had me beat, but she threw away, and my brain went into vapor lock and let me down.  Damn.

Felt pretty bad about that hand for ten days or so, but Thanksgiving weekend changed my mood a bunch.  Came in after the turkey dinner, played an all-nighter,  and it was my best score this year.  Then back two nights later, another good score, plus a table share when KKKK beat TTTT and they hit the jackpot at 5am.  Overall, a *real good* weekend.

$938.57 per inch

I’m opening a male enhancement clinic, and that’s what I’ll be charging.  Flat rate.  

No, wait, just kidding; that’s not what this is about.  It’s about our beloved smartphones, and how they’ve taken over our lives.  My first really smart one was the HTC EVO, a couple years ago.  Loved her, too, until we took a surprise swim together, at the Commerce, on Friday, July 13.  I dried out OK, but she was never the same.

I wanted to replace her with the Samsung Galaxy Note.  I’m with Sprint, for the unlimited data, and the 25% off the service plan, that they give my company.  But they didn’t have the Note in August, so I settled for the Galaxy S3.  Android Jelly Bean on a dual core.  HD Super Amoled under Gorilla Glass.  32GB memory.  Heaven.

Then a few weeks ago I see this Sprint commercial on the bigscreen at DL, for the Galaxy Note TWO!   Damn, I must have that phone.  Called them the next day.  Sure, available right now, but you just got hundreds off the S3, new contract, so eligible for nothing, no break, no discount.  Full price:  $650.  

Gulp.  Must have.  Big bucks.  (Former) World Class Cheapskate.  Tech Junkie.  What to do?  Ah, WTF, it’s only money, and I go for it, and upgrade from the 4.8 inch S3 to the 5.5 inch Note II.  And that 0.7 inch screen growth comes out to $938.57 per inch.

But it’s not just size that matters.  :-)  Back in 2008 I got all excited to be able to go to Fry’s and buy the CPU, motherboard, disks, memory, case, etc., and build myself a couple Quad Core desktop PCs.  Now I have a Quad Core freakin’ phone that thinks it’s a tablet.  I just love my awesome Note II Phablet.

And like I said, these electronic leashes have indeed taken over our lives.  Well, certainly mine, and looks like half the guys and girls I play poker with, too.  They all got their face buried into some game with moving dots, or letters, or cards, or are posting to Facebook, or texting some booty-call bimbo, or if not just surfing the web, then they’re watching Netflix, Hulu, or YouTube.  

One woman I know relentlessly searched YouTube and the web, and found, and watched, every mob performance of, possible variant of, or takeoff on, PSY’s GangNam Style.  And there are thousands.  How you gonna pay attention to the game with all that distraction?

Now I’m not denying how incredibly convenient it is that, upon rising, our first two most compelling activities can now be performed simultaneously.  Of course I refer to sitting on the john, and checking Facebook.  And doesn’t everyone? 

And now I hold more computing power in my hand than my desktop PCs had just a few years ago.  It’s remarkable, and I love it.  I'm even looking at putting my Note II into the Samsung cradle that supports USB and HDMI cable to a big screen, plus Bluetooth keyboard and mouse, and see how much everyday desktop PC functionality that will give me.

But I'm also thinking about all this technology, and the rapid cultural and societal changes it brings. How will all that play out over time? I think we already know that internet privacy is a joke. When I visit tvguide.com to view tonight's listings, it shows me adverts for the products I shopped yesterday, at Amazon, and elsewhere. And I had to laugh when my Google account on my phone evaluated my movements, and started showing me this all the time:

The Graveyard Shift

20/40 Limit Hold Em at 3:00am, and it’s capped 6 ways before the flop, then checked around on the flop!   It’s a mini-epidemic of FPS (Fancy Play Syndrome), and I'm the sole ethnic minority in the game, again.  Only at Diamond Lil’s.

The main attraction right now is Madeline, a remarkably cute young woman who deals pit games in some other casino.  She played fairly tight and conservative all evening.  Like a girl.  Doh.  

But then she chugged couple drinks with her friends right at last call, and went completely nutso.  Now she’s playing every hand, straddling, betting, raising and folding out of turn, and often “in the dark,” and, in general, just burning chips like they were soaked in gasoline.

Madeline takes a break, an Asian kid I’ll call Nelson open raises from early position, and I three bet from the middle with 99.  Button calls, and blinds fold.

So we see the flop 3 way:  K 8 7 Rainbow.  Checked to me, I bet, button calls, and Nelson check-raises.  Oops.  OK, if he has a King I’m screwed, but the situation, pot size, and the guy behind me combine to say that maybe I shouldn’t hike my skirt up just yet.  So I 3-bet, trying to buy the button.  

Wrong answer; the button calls.  Then Nelson caps it.  Well, shit, my game plan for this hand sure went to hell in a hurry.  I was trying to dominate, thought I might be best, but it looks like I’m toast.  Only a miracle 9 on the turn, or maybe turn some kind of draw, can save me now.  Should I chase it?

I smile, and remind myself that this is exactly why I count bets going into the pot, and I call.  The button is “telling” me that he’s just calling.  Once he does, there will be 22 bets in there, and I’m 22-to-1 against spiking a 9, with plenty of additional (implied) bets to be made if I do hit it.

And probably I wouldn’t be telling about this hand, except, yes, all that practice finally paid off, and a lovely two-outer nine did hit the turn.  Turned out Nelson had AK, and the button flopped 2 pair with his 87 suited, so plenty of action.  Then the button “gets lucky” and fills up on the river, but of course I have the bigger boat, so lots more action there too.  Then I stack a big pot and also get to hear some ranting about how far behind I was on the flop, and how lucky I got.  So this hand made me look like an Action Player, and that’s good too.

---

It was Charles, last December, who got me hooked on the Graveyard Shift.  After the kitchen and bar are closed, the bigscreen subscription music thing in the bar that plays mostly 80’s hits all night gets turned up so loud that you can hear it at Table 1.  Charles knew every lyric for every song they played, and would sing along, and damn he was good.   If you don’t know Charles, just imagine Mr. Clean of cleanser commercial fame, in chocolate-- same physique, same smooth dome, same infectious smile.   And a really entertaining one-man karaoke show most nights, up until year end.  Then nothing.  Hasn’t been in at all this year.  MIA.

Charles, if you’re out there reading this, please know that we miss you!  A couple other guys tried to take your place a few times, and do the sing-along, but THEY SUCKED!  Please come back.  Nobody sings it like you.

So I’m keeping a vigil, waiting Charles’ return.  I work my real job Monday thru Thursday.  Then I’ve been coming in during swingshift — early evening — on Thursday, Friday and Saturday, staying through last call, and then until the kitchen opens back up at 7:00am.  Then I either have or skip the free breakfast, go home and sleep until late afternoon, then get up, shower, go back, and do it again, three consecutive looong sessions per week.

Sometimes it’s is a rammin and jammin thing, capped five ways before the flop, hand after hand.  Other times it’s surprisingly passive — a limpfest.  In any case, it’s pretty much a sure thing that DL’s small cadre of winning players have all gone home by the time Graveyard Shift officially arrives, and we’re left with the boozers and the losers.  One recent Friday night there were FOUR 20/40 games at midnight, then three, then two, then around 2:30am it got down to just one, at Table 1, full, until breakfast.  And there I was, parked in Seat 8, my home away from home.  After breakfast we’re down to eight:  Brad, Mr. Lee, Saejin, Kelly, Ms. T, Steve, Me, and Cal.  One seat open, no board, and this was the last hand I played before I packed and went home:

Three limpers, including the button, small blind folds, and I get a free play in the big blind, with ten seven offsuit.  Flop comes 874 rainbow, and I check, expecting to fold if there’s much action.

But there’s not much action.  Limpers check to the button, who bets, but this guy would bet pretty much anything in this spot.  So I raise, although with a pot this small, that may have been a flakey move.  Anyway, limpers fold, and he calls.  

Turn is a 9, making me an open-ender along with my pair.  Heads up; I bet, and he calls again.

Jack on the river makes my straight, I bet, and he raises me.  Wait, what?  Now I’m as confused as a hungry baby in a topless bar.  If he has a ten too, I can call and we’ll split it.  If he has exactly Queen Ten, I’m screwed.  

Thing is, with this particular guy, there is often no rhyme nor reason for his actions.  You have to be able to put them on a rational thought before you can put them on a hand.  In this case, I can do neither.  

So I just call, and he shows 9 7.  He made two pair on the turn, but “slowplay” is this guy’s middle name, so he waits for the river to raise.  If I were a better player, maybe I could have better understood where I was at here, and realized how likely it was that he was raising with some lesser hand.  Then I could have raised back and won a couple more bets.  Maybe.  As it was, the surprise raise made me fear Queen Ten perhaps more than I needed to.


The Short List

In a post last January I thinly disguised his name as “Will Kagen,” and wrote unkind things about a venerable player named Bill.   I was still piqued about how skillfully he knocked me off pocket Aces, but that’s no excuse.  

I regret those remarks now.  Well, not too much; I was mostly just kidding around.  For instance, I wrote that he talks a lot, without actually saying anything.  You know, just noise.  

Well, that’s not right.  Actually, his table talk is pretty entertaining, and lately I better appreciate how it keeps things light, keeps keeps the players laughing, and doesn’t that make the game better?

Also, when you see The Other Guy play his hands quite differently than you would, it’s way too easy to condemn his play as “bad.”  What’s not so easy, is to admit to yourself that maybe, just maybe, The Other Guy is smarter than you, and knows and understands things you don’t, and the play just seems bad to you,  because it’s a level or three over your head.

Then, one night last week, over a shared monster Burrito Supreme at Baja, Mrs. Rock and I were talking, and we made a list.  We tried to see how many DL 20/40 players we could name, who never, ever, show any anger at all when they take a beat.  Several got honorable mention for keeping their cool most of the time, but almost everyone seems to get mad, and show it, at least once in a while.

But not Bill.  He made that list, and let me tell you, it was a mighty short list.  How short?  Well, in the end, we were able to count if off on one hand, with some fingers left over.

I’ve written before, a couple times, about how “Everyone’s true character shows itself in the poker game, sooner or later,” and making The Short List says a lot about character.  So now I have this new-found respect for Bill, and needed to say so.  Couldn’t just leave that old post out there.  Thank you.  I feel better already.

Lady Luck Smiles on Me. Again.

Some days, everything you touch turns to shit, but some days it all turns to gold.  Yesterday was a Golden Day.  Played ‘til 5:00 am the night before, and it was past Noon before I could even drag my ass out of bed.  But then I got to Diamond Lil’s just before 2:00 pm, and took the last open seat in the 20/40 game.  A forecast of snow later kept lots of people home, and it was really slow for a Saturday afternoon, with just one game at each of the 4/8, 8/16, and 20/40 limits.  Eventually, things picked up.  Way up.

I bought in for $1,000, and cashed out $7,502 seventeen hours later.  I’ve won more than that at higher limits, but for 20/40, I think this was my best-ever session win.

I’d like to say I played really good, but the truth is that I flopped sets, made flushes and straights, and had Aces and Kings, and AK, and especially AQ, hold up WAY more than usual.  In other words, I got lucky.  REAL lucky.  Repeatedly.  And maybe I did play well in a couple spots, but for sure I also got stupid a few times, here and there.  Again.

One time the UTG player open-raised, and I, right behind her, mucked AQ.

One time the UTG player open-raised, and I, right behind him, 3-bet with KT.  Offsuit.  Showed to down to take the pot, too, then heard about it, repeatedly, for the next couple hours. :-)

---

Traffic Stop

I’ve played 20/40 with Steve nearly 20 years.  Right before New Years we were in the game, and he was table-talking to the other guys about his nightclub in a neighboring town, where hostesses entertain the male clientele.  He emphasized again (I had heard this from him before) that his “ladies are very clean.”  OK, fine.  Snap.  Got the picture.

He also mentioned that his hostesses were from overseas.  We’d recently watched some shows on MSNBC about such things, and this ugly buzzword was fresh in my head, and, well, sadly, my big mouth got away from me.  Again.  So I jumped in and asked:

   “Wait, there isn’t any Human Trafficking going on here, is there ??”

He didn’t seem to hear me, or to understand, not sure which.  But Dealer Doug did, gave me a WTF look, and said “Eeeeew, how can you even say that?”  Couple other guys groaned too, as if I had asked a Scoutmaster taking his troop into the woods if anyone was gonna be molested.  I felt about an inch tall, so I STFU, and tried to shrink down in my seat and be invisible.

Last week I even talked to Doug about it, and told him how bad I felt about that comment, and some other smartass remark I had made another time.  Guess I’m not friends enough with Steve to apologize to him, even if he had heard me.  But I respect Doug’s opinion, and feelings, and it seemed the remark put him off.  I felt like I had probably crossed the line, and wanted to make it right, so I apologized to him instead.  I think he forgave me.  At least he said he did.

Then, last Friday, I had to go back to Doug, and un-apologize!  Turns out last Thursday came the FEDERAL bust, and Friday the FEDERAL grand jury indictment, apparently charging club owner Steve, and seven others, with exactly what I said, plus a few other unsavory crimes that might tend to put one away for many many moons.  News from a couple days ago said “held without bail.”  Hey, maybe they’ll get real good lawyers, or plead way down, or at least make bail; who knows?  But my money says orange jumpsuits love you long time.

These remarkable events were, or course, the main topic of talk at the table, if not throughout the room, all the time I was stacking chips during that mega-rush yesterday.

= = = = =

If you're reading, will ya please leave a comment and let me know there's an audience out there?  Thanks.

The Perfect Storm

($20/40 Limit Hold Em at Diamond Lil's, Renton, Washington)

Late Saturday night, well, actually early Sunday, like 3 a.m. or so, and it's a wild game.  Seat belts are mandatory, and be sure to take some Dramamine, or whatever other anti-puke pharmaceutical seems appropriate.  Betting is often capped before the flop, even when players' holdings don't justify it.  Big Al, for example, just capped with ten seven offsuit, and now is busy smiling, and stacking an XXL pot.  The guy with AK flopped top two, but the river made Al's flopped pair of sevens into trip sevens.  And yes, he happily took LOTS of heat (called several raises) along the way.  Even put in a couple raises himself.

This is the kind of game we all say that we love to play in, and some come a long way, like from Portland, or B.C., Canada, and points in-between.  One guy even flies in from Boise now and then.  But before you come into these pots with, well, with pretty much anything, you gotta be willing to go four bets, cuz likely as not, that's what's gonna happen, and with, on average, 5.853 players seeing the flop. Give or take.

So it's scary.  And if, like me, you're trying to be Performance-Oriented, then it's often hard to know what the best Performance is, or what the best plays are.

And if you're Results-Oriented, then beware, because playing in this game could actually make you lose your mind.  That's not a problem for me, as I have mine backed-up on a 2GB USB thumb drive, with room to spare.  But if you come to play it, well, watch your ass.

On the next deal, I 3-bet with AK, but Saejin caps it right behind me.  Four of us see the flop: 222. Saejin raises my bet, and the other two fold.  I’m thinking he has a pocket pair, don’t quite know how big, and I may respectively have 0, 3, or 6 outs, if he has AA, KK, or some smaller pair.  Yes, I forgot that one other out, and was immediately notified of my oversight, like a slap in the face, when . . .

Bang!  The case deuce hits the turn, and it becomes The Perfect Storm.  Seen other guys with this hand a few times, but don’t think it ever happened to me before, to hold that nut Ace, when the board makes quads.  I’ve counted 14 Royal Flushes over the years, but never that hand.  Randomness works in strange ways.

Then I blow it, and bet right out.  He expresses some disgust, but politely, and folds immediately.  Right away I was sorry I didn’t check, and give him an opportunity to put in some more chips.  I mean, why should I bet?  So I promised myself that next time I’m in that situation, I’ll just check.  And I hoped that I wouldn’t have to wait another nineteen years for the opportunity.  All this happened a couple weeks ago.

Then, last weekend, it actually came up again.  This time I held an Ace, and two 10s came on the flop, then two more, on the turn and river.  This time I was last to act, so I had to bet the River.

The other Perfect Storm that I’m still waiting for, is to be heads up with some guy, where you both make Broadway straights on the turn, and have a raising war at a place like Bellagio, where there’s no cap on heads-up betting.  And he puts in a whole bunch of raises without realizing that you are freerolling the nut flush draw along with your straight, and, well, you know the rest.  This almost kinda sorta happened to me once, but he ran out of chips, and my flush didn’t come in, so the pot was split after all.

---

Another Nightmare Laydown

I open-raise with Aces from middle position, and this rather Clueless Stranger calls right behind me.  Will Kagen calls from the small blind, and we see the flop three-way.

The board comes :  Q57,9,6

I bet the flop, Clueless Stranger raises, I re-raise, and he calls.  Kagen is in there calling everything, too.

I bet the turn, and they both call.  At this point, Clueless Stranger is all-in.  Then I really have to stop, and think about it, when Kagen bets out on the river.

Hit the pause button a minute, and let me tell you about this guy.  He’s a little older than me, and been playing way longer.  Smart, and long on experience, cunning, and card-sense, but short on class, couth, discipline, and self-restraint.  Doesn’t have much to say, but talks loud and incessantly anyway. Plays lots of hands, and so he takes big swings.  Most importantly, he almost certainly knows how to play way better than he does.  This is probably true for most of us, but for him the condition is particularly acute.

And when it comes to sex, this guy is something of a legend.  I mean, everyone knows he does it better, and way more, than anyone else his age.  All he needs now is a partner.

Anyway, he’s totally capable of any kind of bluff you might imagine, and even a couple you never thought of.  So just because that scare card hit the river and a straight looks likely, I still want to call him.  Sure, he might have 34, or an 8, for the straight, or two pair, or spiked a set; who knows?  But with Kagen it’s equally likely he’s betting just because it looks to him like a real good bluffing opportunity.

Except we got Clueless Stranger all-in right behind me, he can’t be bluffed out, and the side pot is tiny.  I think about that a moment, and am convinced that Kagen MUST have a hand.  I muck.

Kagen announces “Straight!” and turns over pocket fours, then expresses great surprise when it’s not a straight after all.  Claims he misread the board. Clueless Stranger has KQ for a pair of Queens, takes the main pot, and I sit there dumbfounded a minute.

Did he really misread his hand, or is he just saying that?  Did he deliberately bluff me out just to give the pot to the other guy?  That sounds crazy, but with him, all or any of those things are quite possible.

I posted before about a wacky call on the end with absolutely nothing, heads up, big pot, just for the odds that the bettor is bluffing, and will muck rather than show down.  I’ve considered that call a few times, and actually made it ONCE, with 54 suited, no pair, and took the pot, when the tilted bettor did indeed muck.

So now, on the end, do I also need to consider the possibility that the bettor is misreading his hand?  Probably not, happens too rarely, but damn, I never before imagined how that scenario could trick me into folding the best hand.  Being outplayed is bad enough, but when it’s an accident?  Ouch.

---

Funniest. Website. Ever.

And maybe also the crudest, rudest and lewdest X-rated textual site you ever saw, too.  So if you don’t want to see college kids’ uncensored and often quite nasty texts about sex, drugs, alcohol, booty calls & hookups, FBs & BJs, etc., then DO NOT visit  textsfromlastnight.com   and do not click on Best (or Worst), and pick All Time, or you will find 2300 archived pages under both those categories.

I’m sure it speaks badly of me, my character, and my worth as a human being, but damn, I just couldn’t stop reading this stuff!  Blew much of my ten day holiday break reading a couple hundred pages into both sections.  If you do go there, and after you read some, and see what it’s about, search on keyword   “rollover”   to see the funniest post of all.

Cheap Thrills, and Another Brilliant Business Model

Saturday night, and I'm listening to my favorite radio show, and playing 20/40 at DL.  Most NPR stations around the country play Classical music in between the news and views, but here in Seattle, NPR on KPLU at 88.5 FM, it's Jazz and Blues instead.  Saturday and Sunday nights is "All Blues" from 6:00pm to midnight.  I just love, and rarely miss, this show. It's streamed, and you can check it out at http://kplu.org

So I'm minding my own business when this younger smartass player, JT, points at me, and says "Is that a Walkman?  Damn, Sarge, you still use a Walkman?  Hey, look, he still uses a Walkman!"

Yes, had the headphones plugged in to a 10 year old Sony Walkman Cassette/AM/FM player.  Well, the radio is digital, not analog, so not THAT ancient, but still.  And it reminded me how some other smartass kid had made fun of me over the exact same thing at the Muckleshoots, about 4 years ago.  The implication then, and now, was that the old fart is laughably behind, still living in the yesteryears of technology, not even into the new millenium yet.  Well, this time I just wasn't gonna take it. Can't deny the old fart part, but . . .

"Look," I tell him, producing the Sprint HTC EVO from my innermost t-shirt pocket.  "Here's my 4G phone & mobile hotspot."  Then, from another shirt pocket, "And here's the corporate BlackBerry."

Then I hoist the clear plastic (security-friendly) small backpack with my Sony VAIO mini-laptop, and various accessories, from the floor at my feet:  "And you know I got half of Radio Shack in here.  So WTF you talkin' about?"  All this got a good laugh from the table, as well as a look and a gesture from JT, that said I had successfully redeemed myself.  Fine.

Just about then the dealer starts pitching cards for the next hand.  I'm UTG, and I don't have time to put the EVO back into the t-shirt pocket, so I set it on my chair, and kind of "tuck it in" to hold it there, until I can play this hand.

In other words, I'm half sitting on my phone, and look down at pocket Eights.  I limp.  The guy right behind me limps too, but then a raise from late position.  Both blinds call, and I call too.  But then the guy between me and the raiser 3 bets, then raiser caps, both blinds still calling.  Well, shit, let myself get trapped good this time!  I call.  20 bets in the pot.

Flop comes 446, two hearts, blinds check, I bet, and it's three bets when it gets back to me.  I cap it.  You might think that preflop action should scare me, make me think someone has a bigger pair, and I'm just just burning chips.  Yeah, maybe.  But with these guys, it's just as likely they're all betting and raising draws or overcards.  So what really scares me is the two more board cards yet to come.

Nobody folds, now pot is 40 bets, and the radio is playing Janis Joplin, Piece of My Heart, from the Cheap Thrills album.

Dealer brings the turn:   9d.   SB checks, BB goes all-in for $20, and Janis sings:  "I need you to come on, come on, come on, come on and   TAKE IT ! "

Before continuing, I should mention that my phone, which I have in the heat of battle forgotten that I am sitting on, is always on vibrate.  And did you know that it's actually the battery that does all the vibrating?  And the EVO is a notorious battery hog, so I got the double big, double capacity extended battery in mine.  Point is, just as I'm contemplating Janis' advice, and considering putting a move on this pot, my honey texts me, and it was one of those times that the carrier's text server, or maybe her phone, decided, for whatever reason, to break her message into two parts-- you know, (1/2) and (2/2).

So my phone vibrates twice for each part, four times in all, rapid succession, and I get a totally unexpected Cheap Thrill, while listening to Cheap Thrills.  Well, if that's not a sign, a signal, that yes, it's time to make my move, I don't know what is.  Plus, when those surprise jolts arrived, I kind of involuntarily twitched a little, maybe squirmed in my seat some too, enough that a couple opponents noticed, and looked at me questioningly.  Seems like I have, quite accidentally, given off a fake tell that says I *really* like that turn card.

So I ask the dealer, "How much can I make it?"   I know damn well I can make it $60, but I want the table to hear me ask!  I make it $60, and everyone but the BB folds!  42 bets in the pot after the dealer pushes my raise back to me (cuz nobody called it.)

So now heads-up, the dealer puts the Jack of  Spades on the river, and my all-in opponent just mucks!   Dealer pushes the pot to me.  Mikey and the crew are just dying to know what I have.  Should I show it?

Probably not.  Keeping it a mystery would be best.  But my opponent should have shown, and made me show, and yet he didn't.  So I was overcome somehow by the idea that, in all fairness, the table was entitled to see my hand.  Yeah, I know, this surprises me too.  Fairness?  In Poker?  Don't make me laugh.

But I did turn it over.  One guy groaned-- folded his Jack on the turn.  Results-oriented thinking.  Mikey says "You raised with just pocket eights?"

"I didn't play just pocket eights," I tell him, perhaps saying too much.  "I played THE SITUATION."

Cost, Chance, & Payback.  This time the $40 Cost of that turn raise was small, compared to that BIG $800 Payback, and the Chance seemed good enough.

Taking that pot down was nice, but even sweeter is the dynamite business idea inspired by this whole episode of  "surprising new application for a phone on vibrate."

Have you ever paid money, maybe put a charge on your credit card, for Phone Sex?  No, of course not.  Me neither.  Shoot, I don't really quite know what the hell Phone Sex even is, or why anyone would want any.  What's the deal?  You pay to talk on the phone with some supposedly hot young babe (but who probably is actually a 62 year old Grandma in hair curlers) and she says sensual things to get you excited?  I don't get it.  What good are words, without touch?  Where's the tactile sensation that real sex is all about?

So my new startup company, Vibraphonexxx.com, will coach clients to use a bluetooth headset for the voice part, then put their phone on vibrate, and SIT ON IT throughout the encounter.  This way, the operator can punctuate all the sexy things she says with brief but frequent texts, thus augmenting the erotic dialog with actual physical stimulation, at exactly the right moments.  Can you say "Leaves the competition behind, buried in the dust" ??

Yes, I know you are completely in awe of, and overwhelmed by, the sheer genius of this entire concept.  Thankyouverymuch.  Sometimes I do come up with ideas so clever, so brilliant, that I amaze even myself.  This was one of those times.  Patent Pending, and  © Copyright 2011 Sgt Rock/Ada-Z Systems.

But I also like to share, and so for you, my readers, I offer a special opportunity.  Would you like to ride this gravy train along with me, and make a bundle too, like I will?  If yes, if you want to get in on the ground floor, and invest in Vibraphonexxx.com, just give me a call.

Better yet, text me.  I'll be waiting.