"I Put The Over/Under at 2-1/2....."

The Nightmare Before—And After—Christmas

Chapter 11

Warning:  This post will have some actual poker content!  That's right, even though this post is the next chapter in my car troubles saga, I have decided to include my New Year's Eve festivities—in an actual casino, playing poker—as part of it.  Up until now, I've skipped over the parts where I got to a poker room to play, planning on catching up with those stories later.  But for this night only, I will discuss my long poker session that took place immediately after the lost radiator cap incident.  It makes sense, because I was only in Vegas to play on this night because of the car problems.  And besides, I know you folks are all hungry for some poker content by now, right?  Oh, and I just might have a few words to say about the scantily clad young ladies dressed to the nines for NY's Eve as well.

As a reminder, the previous chapter can be found here.  And you can find all the posts in this epic saga using the label "Stranded in Vegas."

I left you hanging on NY's Eve, around 5:45pm, with my radiator cap secured, hoping I could make it to the MGM before they closed all the streets for the big New Year's celebration.

I decided to see if Google Maps had a suggested route that was still open.  I could see from the map they knew a lot of the roads were closed. But they suggested an interesting route, which they said was "fastest route due to road closures."  It was actually the simplest route—straight down Flamingo, turn right on the Strip, turn left at Tropicana.  Now, I spend my entire time in Vegas steadfastly avoiding driving on the Strip, it's a traffic nightmare.  So I would not normally go that way.  But the thing is, my best non-Strip routes were already closed to traffic.

I hurried to see if I could make it before they closed the Strip, which they were about to do any second.  Sure enough, the traffic going down Flamingo was incredibly light.  People were already avoiding it.  I turned on the Strip and couldn't believe it.  I practically had the street to myself.  Seriously, I had never seen the Strip that empty. It was a pleasure driving on it.  Tropicana was also light traffic, and I had no trouble turning into the MGM parking structure.  I probably made it to the garage with just minutes to spare before they closed Flamingo, Tropicana and the Strip!  Thank you, TC!

Parking was a little more difficult.  I wanted to go up to the 6th floor (instead of my usual floor, either 4 or 5) but signs said the 6th & 7th levels were closed.  Great night to close some of the parking levels, only their busiest night of the year.  Well I found a spot on the fifth floor, just not as close to the elevators as I would have liked. I knew I was pretty much stuck at MGM for the next 8-9 hours or so.

I figured I should get dinner out of the way before starting to play.  There was really only one decent option for me.  I didn't have enough comps to eat at the sports bar and it is way too overpriced for me to pay for a meal there.  The deli that replaced the Stage Deli is an abomination, terrible food at unreasonable prices.  Fortunately a year or two ago they put in a Subway just before you enter (or exit) the parking garage.  It would have to do.

The good thing about the Subway is that they had a bunch of wrapped, plastic straws over where you got your soda (no free refills, not at a Subway in a casino, no sir). I took a few extra because I knew that it was still MGM policy not to provide straws for drinks in the casino. Finally figured out a way to beat the system.

I was at the poker room around 7 and was seated right away.  And I got lucky. I was not only sent to a table right up against the rail separating the room from the walkway, but my seat was facing all the foot traffic.  In other words, I had a prime seat for enjoying the New Year's Eve Slut Parade which was about to commence.  And damn it, after all I'd been through with the car the past 10 days, I felt entitled to a free show. 

And there was plenty to see.  Hakkasan always attracts a huge NY's Eve crowd and they were arriving early.  Now at first, a lot of the ladies were wearing pants.  Some nerve!  Actually I couldn't blame them, it was just so cold in Vegas.  But pretty much all the females I could see walking by the poker room were at risk of getting severe chest colds.  Every conceivable way to display the female breast while still keeping the outfit legal was featured this night. There was a high percentage of really attractive women, to be sure.

Before you ask (for the umpteenth time), no, I didn't get any pics.  Sorry. I always thought it was impossible, but every now and then I have tried.  I've even tried to take some video.  But it never comes out well.  And worse, trying to record it totally ruins it for me, I end up missing the action trying to document it.  It's just not something I can do.

Anyway, the guys at my table (and at this point, it was all guys), were definitely noticing the girls.  One guy said, "Don't they wear bras in Vegas?"  I saw girls obviously wearing bras, but I did see a few who definitely needed them but had apparently forgotten to put one on before leaving the house. One guy, a serious player who was only playing at this game because he was waiting for a seat at the 2-5 game, actually moved so he would have his back to the walkway so he would be less distracted.  I suppose that made sense, but if you can't have a little harmless fun while you're in Vegas on NY's Eve, what's the point?

When a female dealer pushed in, some of our comments on the girls stopped, but everyone was still enjoying the sights.  The dealer noticed and said something like, "Yeah, all these girls walking by, with just one tiny little piece of fabric covering them."

The male dealer who replaced her was certainly enjoying the view.  The dealer's seat was the perfect spot to notice the ladies.  Almost immediately after sitting down, he said, "What's the over/under on how many naked girls we're gonna see from this spot tonite?"  One of the players asked, "Naked naked?"  The dealer said, "Well not naked naked. But partially naked.  Titties falling out.  I'm gonna put it at 2-1/2 titties."  The player asked for a clarification of what he meant.  So he pantomimed where the dress might be cut down to and said they would fall out.

By that standard, I saw no titties that night.

Much later, after we had entered 2019, there was a different male dealer at the table and by now a couple of ladies had joined our table. This guy was apparently making a double-entendre having to do with something that had happened while he was shuffling or dealing the cards.  He said, to the entire table, "When I double fist…."  but he never finished his thought.  However, the woman across from me said, "Tell us more."  But he must have realized what he was saying was totally inappropriate and didn't continue the conversation.

As for the poker, it was pretty good.  It was mostly non-regs. There was one really good player from the east coast—the guy who moved so he wouldn't see the girls walking by.  The rest were pretty average or worse.  I won a few small pots but nothing major, and was about even when the big hand happened.

There was one fairly aggro at the table who built up a good stack but eventually busted out.  The other player in this hand was a newbie.  Well, he was new to brick-and-mortar.  He said he is used to playing with just his friends.  He kept making the kind of mistakes a player without much card room experience would make, like making string bets.

On this hand I called $12 from the aggro with pocket 8's.  A number of others called—it was 5 or 6 way—including the newbie.  The flop was King-10-8 rainbow.  The preflop raiser (the aggro) bet $26.  With a number of players behind me and no flush draw out there, I decided I could slow play it and just called.  It folded to the newbie who shoved $112.  The aggro tanked for a bit, finally said, "OK, let's gamble," and called.  It was back on me.

I put the newbie on one of two hands.  He either had pocket 10's and I was screwed, or he had King-10 and I was in very good shape. There was no way he was doing that with a draw, or with just top pair.  He had at least two pair or a set.  I suppose King-8 or 10-8 were possible, but I couldn't see him calling the raise with those hands.  I figured a set of  Kings was unlikely, I think he would have three-bet pre with those.  I couldn't rule it out completely, but it a set of 10's seemed so much more likely.

Of course I wasn't folding my bottom set.  The next day, when I recorded my notes, I couldn't believe I didn't shove then.  But I just called.  I wish I could explain my thought process, but I can't.

The turn was a blank and after the aggro checked, I shoved.  But he folded.  I was now heads up against the newbie.  The river also blanked and the newbie showed, King-10, just as I thought.  He was stunned when he saw my set of 8's.  But he rebought.  Meanwhile, I now was sitting behind over $400. 

At some point in the evening, before midnight, two Indians joined our table, and then things got wild.  One them had blond hair.  I dunno, but it was a bit disconcerting to see a man from India with blond hair.  The blond Indian was an absolute maniac.  Fortunately he was sitting directly on my right.  His friend was next to him.  The non-blond was a rather timid player, most likely new, and not much of a threat.  He busted out fairly soon, borrowed some money from his buddy, re-entered the game and lost that too.  Then he mostly sat behind his blond buddy and watched.

At one point, the one still playing went up to use the restroom.  And his buddy, by now just a spectator, took his seat and intended to play his friend's stack.  For some reason the dealer was distracted and didn't notice.  I had to stop her from dealing him cards by pointing out that they had pulled the switch.  "You can't do that!" I said to the guy.  "I can't?  Oh, ok."  Once the dealer realized what had happened she slid his card to me.

The blond guy was usually betting big, big preflop raises, big bets on all the streets when he stayed in a hand (which was most of the time).  He bullied people into a lot of folds, but I swear, on those rare times when he had to show, he usually had a monster.  One time he had King-Jack and flopped a boat.  He had a high variance  game to say the least.  He was spreading chips all over the table, except to me.  I was totally card dead after the set of 8's hand.

Remember the tough player who was waiting for a seat in the 2-5 game?  Well, once that guy saw the Indian putting tons of chips in play, he decided to stay in this game.  His stack went up and down, as did the Indian's.  The tough player once shoved the turn with King-high and the Indian called—with just a draw.  Of course he hit his flush on the river and a big stack of chips changed hands.  I said to the tough player, "Easy come, easy go."  He just nodded.  He wasn't upset. He knew there was a good chance he'd get them back.  And he did.

Now before the set of 8's hand, I had won a smallish pot with a set of deuces that boated up on the turn (no call on my turn bet).  I had also flopped trip deuces with 3-2 from the big blind.  Again, no call on my turn bet.  But that was earlier.  Now I was getting nothing to play.

Meanwhile, after distributing stacks around the table and rebuying a few times, the Indian's game had settled down.  Although he was still making big bets on later streets, and even shoving into very small pots, he had mostly taken to limping instead of raising preflop.  So I limped behind him with pocket 9's and it was four way.  The flop was 9-high, my third set of the night.  I bet $10 and everyone called.  The turn was a 10 and put a second diamond on the board.  I decided to bet big so I made it $75.  It folded back to the Indian and he called without a thought.

The river was the Ace of diamonds.  So now there was a flush possible.  When he checked, I decided to play it safe and checked behind.  I hadn't seen this guy do a lot of check-raising but I didn't want to be put in a difficult spot if decided to try it now.  I showed my set and he turned over Queen-7off suit.  Which meant he had nothing, absolutely nothing.  There was no Jack or 8 on the board that he could have made a straight with.  It looked like he had a pair draw.  Why the hell he called my bet on the turn with that, I have no idea.  But I'm pretty sure he wouldn't have called anything I could have bet on the river, because he had to know his Queen high wasn't good.

Last hand I'll mention, I had pocket Jacks.  The Indian opened to $20.  By this time, he was mostly limping so it was a bit of a surprise.  I think if I had gotten Jacks when he first sat down and was raising big every time, I would have three-bet.  But now I had to assume he had a pretty good hand.  There were a few callers and the flop was Ace-10-x.  He bet big and I just folded.  There was one caller and then on the turn he bet big again and took it down.  He showed his hand though he didn't have to.  Pocket 10's. So I was ahead of him pre but he would have called my three-bet and then taken the pot with his set.

Although many games broke as midnight approached and folks left to go outside to watch the fireworks in the freezing cold, our table never stopped.  It was almost always full even as the casino was mostly empty. Our dealer wondered if it was going to get busy again after the fireworks.  She was new to the room and this was her first NY's Eve. She was hoping it wouldn't so she could take an early out and leave before her scheduled time of 3am.  But I told her it was going to get real busy by 12:30.  "They are going to be opening tables left and right, watch."  Well I was right but I guess I should have told this to the folks running the room, all of whom were fairly new to the room and apparently didn't know what to expect on NY's eve.  They actually sent a bunch of dealers home during the lull and then suddenly the dealers who stayed were all working seven straight tables without a break.

After midnight this real character got into the game.  A friendly guy from Arkansas.  They must have different rules where he normally plays.  He liked to talk about his cards.  All the time.  When he was facing a bet, he'd say, "Well I got King-Queen so…"  He kept talking about what he was holding.  Was he telling the truth?  Sometimes he was.  But one time he said what he had, then actually flashed his cards.  The other player didn't see it but the dealer did and said his cards were not what he said they were.

Well all of that is strictly forbidden at MGM.  You can't talk about your cards, and you surely can't reveal them as long as there is still action pending.  The dealer warned him about this time and time again.  He didn't care. He was there to have a good time and for him that mean chatting about his cards.

He would say, "But it's heads up. I've got Ace-3."  He was told he couldn't say that even if it was heads up.  "Well, I don't believe that. I'm talking about my cards."  The floor was called and warned him sternly.  He didn't say anything and then when the floor left he went right back to saying what his cards were.

The more he was warned, the more pissed off he got. He started swearing.  "I don't care what the f*** they say, I'm talking about my cards."

The other players didn't mind of course.  In addition to all this information he was giving us, he also was dropping numerous buy-ins and reloading.  I'm pretty sure he had quite a few alcoholic beverages before joining us to celebrate the new year.

But eventually they did kick him out.  He didn't go quietly, shouting, "They're mother-f***ers."  One of the women at the table said, "Hey, you can call me a mother-f***er if you're giving me your money."

I grew tired of being so card dead and more importantly, I was just plain tired.  So I cashed out up $225. 

It was still too early for the roads to have reopened, so I wandered around, enjoying the view.  There were provocatively dressed young ladies everywhere, most of them quite attractive. I saw one young lady sitting down in her very short dress, and for a brief second I thought I noticed that she wasn't wearing any underwear.  Being a gentleman, I looked away immediately so as not to see something that should be only be seen by her future husband (or, her gynecologist).  So I really can't be sure if perhaps she was just wearing flesh-colored undies.

I guess it was around 3am when I saw that all the roads had been reopened and I could get back to the Gold Coast easily.  And fortunately, the car was still behaving fine and I made it back there without incident.

And that's it for this chapter. I'm not sure, but I think I will be able to wrap up this saga in one or two more chapters.  But since I haven't listened to my recordings yet, and it has been awhile at this point, don't hold me to it.  We'll just have to see.  Back soon.  (Edited to add:  Yes!  Our long national nightmare is over.  I was able to wrap it up with one last chapter, and you can find that chapter here.)

"We All Look Alike"

I guess the PC Police might get upset with this post.  But honestly, isn't it considered ok if people make ethnic jokes at the expense of their own ethnic group?

That's ok right?

And if a blogger of a different ethnic group happens to hear such ethnic jokes and reports them on his blog, quoting the member of the ethnic group who made the jokes, that's gotta be ok too, right?

Right?

On Saturday I was back at PC Ventura playing some 1/2 NL  After a down from a rather quiet Asian dealer (male), another Asian male dealer pushed in to replace him.  This dealer was quite a bit more talkative than the previous one.

Early in his down, a player—a reg—finally noticed that there had been a dealer change.  And so he said to the new dealer, "Oh you're here now?  I didn't notice when you came in."  I should mention that the reg was white, I mean he was really white.  Even his hair was white.  So the new Asian dealer said, "We all look alike."

Sometime later a chip runner came by, another Asian, although she was female.  The reg asked if she was Chinese.  I think she answered no, but I didn't hear her say what her nationality was.  They got to talking about some of the unusual things they eat where she is originally from.  She said something to the effect, "They eat anything over there…dogs….cats….whatever."

The reg eventually told the dealer that he plays tennis with a Chinese person.  "She's really a lovely person," the reg reported. The dealer said, "Yes, we're lovely people.  We eat an occasional dog but we're lovely people."

I thought this was highly amusing.  So did everyone else at the table.  I was sitting directly on the dealer's right and when he saw me laugh, he nudged me on the left arm as if to say, "pretty good, huh?"

As for the poker, I started out down when a couple of draws I was chasing didn't come through.  The middle part of the session was good before I reverted to the medical condition known as "deadness of the cards."

I was down almost $40 ($100 buy-in, the max) when I limped in with 5-4 of diamonds and then called a "pot building raise" to $4.  A bunch of us saw a flop that had two diamonds and a 4 on it.  I called a smallish bet, then called another smallish bet when the turn blanked.  By the time the river—the Ace of diamonds—hit, there were three of us.  I checked and this time no one bet.  My baby flush held up and I took my first pot of the day.

I had pocket 9's UTG + 1.  The UTG player limped, I bumped it to $5 and it was 5 way. The flop was 10-2-2.  I decided to see what would happen\ if I c-bet so I put out $12.  One caller.  I hit a Yahtzee on the turn—a 9.  I put out $20 and got a call.  I bet $30 on a blank and he called and showed Jack-10.  Now I was in the black.

I got pocket 9's again and opened the pot to $5.  A few callers saw the flop of Queen-10-9.  The big blind bet $6.  He was such a nit I was concerned that he had flopped a straight.  So I just called and another guy came along.  The turn was a harmless card and this time the big blind checked.  So I decided to bet $20.  They both folded.

With pocket Jacks, I opened to $7.  Two callers and the flop was all low.  I c-bet $15 and took it down.

I limped in with Jack-8 of spades and six of us saw a flop of Ace-Jack-x.  It checked around.  The turn was a brick and this time a guy bet $9.  I had a hunch my Jack was good so I called.  We were now heads up. Another brick hit the river and this time he bet $15.  I snap called and he said, "you're good," and just mucked without forcing me to show my hand.  OK.

I called a $5 all-in with pocket 8's and it was six-way.  I flopped middle set and bet 14.  One player called.  I bet $20 on a blank and the guy folded.  The all-in guy never showed.

From the small blind I completed with Jack-5 suited and flopped two pair.  I made a small flop bet and won a small pot.

That was about it.  I booked a small win and headed home.

"What's Important is That We Had This Quality Time Together"

As I discussed in the post here, I played in a bunch of tournaments In Vegas this last time.  And that post explains why I played the tournaments I did.

The first one I entered was the Planet Hollywood 7PM, for $100, my first Monday in town.  I’d been in Vegas a few days but had stuck to cash games up until then.  The tournament was called the “Value Deepstack” and it had a $10K starting stack and 30-minute levels.

This was part of their big summer series, Goliath, and it was held on the hotel’s mezzanine.  It’s a pretty decent place to play, although the lighting could be a bit better and the proximity to the restrooms isn’t great. 

Soon after the tournament started, I was reminded of one the advantages of cash games over tournaments that you don’t usually think about—the ability to ask for a table change.  And I don’t mean because the players were too good or too nitty.  There were two players at my table sitting near me that I would have preferred be playing in a tournament in another casino,  Preferably in another city.

One was a distinguished looking older gentleman, nice enough fellow.  But he could not stop coughing.  He had a high collared shirt, and he was constantly pulling the front of it to cover his mouth to cough.  Aside from that being extremely annoying, I was concerned that I might catch whatever terrible disease he had.

But what I really feared was that I might catch the disease the other player had.  This guy was a young fellow who sounded like he was from England.  And there was something odd about his eyes, or at least one of them.  It was quite red, and it looked to me like he had pinkeye. Great.  He was sitting one seat away from me, and with him touching the cards and the chips…well you get the idea. 

That said, I’m relieved to report I didn’t come down with either a respiratory condition or conjunctivitis after the tournament.

As it turned out, I didn’t play with those two guys all that long.  In the middle of the third level, I was about to be the big blind when someone came by and moved me to another table.  It turned out I was moved to a new table they were starting.  It was a mix of a few other players who moved from existing tables and some players who had just bought in (or were alternates).  The problem was that it took quite a few minutes for enough players to show up for the dealer to begin dealing.  I’d say I went nearly 10-minutes of this level without being dealt a hand.  It was a bit frustrating, since time is so important in a tournament.  I guess it can’t be helped, and it was just luck of the draw, but still annoying.

And speaking of annoying, I should mention the issue with the chips we were using.  I’ve seen this before and I saw it again the very next night (different location), but two denominations of the chipset we were using were almost indistinguishable from each other. The $100 chips were black (or gray, or maybe black that had faded to gray), and the $500 chips were dark purple.  From any kind of distance, they pretty much looked the same.  Even right in front of me, I noticed I had stacked them wrong a few times, mistaking one for the other.  It wasn’t that big a deal I suppose, you just had to be real careful to check what the bet was.  I know I asked every single time whenever one (or, shudder, both) were bet.

And while still on the subject of annoying, the last player to join our newly assembled table made me wish I was back at my original table with The Hacker and Pinkeye (hmm, that sounds like a great name for a buddy cop movie).  Let’s call this player Roy.  Roy was a youngish Asian fellow.  I didn’t have to even look at him to know he was Asian.  He told us.  Repeatedly.

Seriously, Roy told us he was Asian about every 15 seconds.  No matter what the subject, he somehow found a way to mention his Asian heritage.  Or he’d just bring it up out of the blue, as in, “I’m definitely the cutest Asian at this table.”  Needless to say, he was the only Asian at the table.

He made a lot of jokes.  Or at least attempts at jokes.  By the next morning, I couldn’t remember most of them, which is lucky for you because otherwise I might be tempted to repeat them here.

When another player tried to top his jokes with better ones (which weren’t really better), Roy called the guy a “dickfore.”

The guy asked, “What’s a dick for….”  Ooops.

When he first arrived at the table, as the dealer was finally getting ready to deal us our first hand, he announced, “I want you to know….I hope you won’t hate me for this, but I hope you all lose and I win. I’m sorry. I hope you can deal with that.”

Then he added, “But what’s really important about tonight is that we all have this quality time to spend together.”

That was actually amusing and it got a bit of a laugh and he repeated that line quite a few times.  And other people started repeating it.

His other bit of schtick was to fold by sending one card at a time back to the dealer.  And then he’d say, “Oh look, a string fold.”

Roy came to the table with a bag full of Chinese take-out and proceeded to eat it while playing.  To be fair to Roy, he did offer to share.  It was annoying for me because I just didn’t like the smell of it, and it was right next to me.

There were two things that Roy did incessantly.  Talk and raise.  If he wasn’t talking, he was raising.  If he wasn’t raising, he was talking.  Oh yes, just for good measure, there were plenty of times when he talked and raised simultaneously.

If you want to know what Roy looks like, just look up “Crazian” in the Urban Dictionary.

After we had been playing together for awhile, Roy turned to me and said, “I know you.  I’ve played with you before.  A lot. Like 40 times.”  There was a pause, I tried to rack my brain, but came up empty.  Then he added, “Do you play a MGM?  I used to live here, used to play at MGM like four nights a week.”  I acknowledged that if he recognized me that was likely where he saw me. 

I still didn’t recognize him.  So I said to him, “Funny….you’d think I’d remember a guy as quiet as you.”  He replied that he isn’t usually this talkative.  I found that hard to believe.

Roy was impressed with one of the cocktail waitresses.  I should explain how they were doing cocktail service.  They had two waitresses working as a team, using a pretty large cart to serve the drinks.  I guess there was no bar on the mezzanine so after taking orders from everyone in the room, they’d go downstairs to the bar, fill that large cart with the drinks and take the elevator upstairs. 

I believe the two girls handled the entire room.  There were at least four tournaments going on at once—an 11AM event, a 4PM event, and at least one or two that had started on previous days.  So they had a lot of ground to cover. Service was a bit slow but considering the territory they had it was actually pretty good.

Unlike some rooms that bring in servers who don’t wear the casino’s traditional outfits, the girls were wearing standard PH cocktail waitress attire: Partially open blouse (that usually shows off a bit of bra in addition to the cleavage) and tight short-shorts.  It’s pretty sexy.

One of the two girls was reasonably cute as you would expect.  But the other girl…well, she was a bit unusual.  Now, as my readers know, I pretty much never notice a woman’s breasts.  But in this case, I just couldn’t help noticing this gal’s mammary glands.  Hell, Stevie Wonder would have noticed them (note: is that joke too politically incorrect for the age we live in?  If so, I apologize.) Her breasts were beyond huge.  They were beyond gigantic.  Each one deserved its own separate zip-code. I mean, they had to send her to the mezzanine to work because I’m pretty sure her breasts would not fit in the regular poker room.

Well, I had noticed those gazongas her first time through the room.  By now the two gals were on their second pass, and Roy and a couple of the other guys at the table had actually been able to notice something else about the overly-endowed waitress.  Her shorts were really extra tight and extra short.  She was actually revealing a whole lotta butt-cheek.  And in fact, it was a damn nice view at that.  Truth be told, because her breasts were actually way too big for their own good, the view from behind was a lot more enjoyable.  It was pretty clear that Roy had totally fallen in love with her derriere. 

Anyway, when she came around to take orders, Roy added something to his order.  “I’ll have a water, a Jack & Coke….and a hug.”  Everyone laughed, including the waitress. But a couple of the other guys also added “and a hug” to the end of their order. 

I was pretty sure she wasn’t going to give anyone a hug.  But when she came back and gave Roy his drink, he stood up, said something like, “and a hug, right?”  And indeed he hugged the busty waitress.  One or two of the other guys got hugs from her too.  I hope they tipped well for the extra service. 

There are only a few hands worth discussing.  When I moved to the new table, I had pretty much my starting stack.  Sitting on Roy’s left made it hard to do much unless I actually had a decent hand since he raised so damn often. 

I did open the pot once with the dreaded pocket Kings and didn’t get a call.

Then, after Roy made a standard opening raise, I three-bet him with Ace-King.  It was my first three-bet of the night and the second time I’d raised at this table.  Nevertheless, Roy complained, “You always do that to me.”  I pointed out that he was full of crap (politely, of course).  Then he gave me a little speech.  “Oh man, my hand is so bad, you’re gonna be real mad if I hit it.”  And he called.  We were heads up.  I totally whiffed on the flop, but I c-bet and Roy folded.

By level 5, with the blinds at 25/150/300 I had about $13K.  And so once again, I looked down at pocket Kings.  As he did almost always, Roy raised.  Of course I three-bet.  Sorry, I didn’t note the amounts, but Roy put out a normal raise and I bet more-or-less three times his bet.

It folded back to Roy who went into full Hollywood mode.  He stared at my stack, he stared at his stack.  (I had him covered by about $6K).  He bitched and moaned.  He made it sound like he was in total agony, not knowing what to do.  “Oh man I don’t know….I don’t know….should I gamble?  Should I gamble?”  He tanked for a long, long time and then finally said, “Well, I’m gonna gamble.  All-in.”

No matter how much I might have read his Hollywooding as him trying to entice me into calling, there’s just no way I’m folding my Kings there.  Not against him.  Not against the all-time Crazian.  I certainly thought he could do that with AK, or QQ, or JJ.  He might realize my three-betting range against him is wider than usual, and maybe he gets me to fold a pretty big hand.  Re-entry was still open and he might very well have been willing to bust and re-buy. 

So the question is….do you ever fold pocket Kings preflop?  Do you ever do it against this kind of a maniac (Hollywooding or not)?

I would make that call in that situation 100 out of 100 times.

So I called and of course he flipped over two Aces.  Second time this trip I ran my dreaded hand into pocket rockets (see here for the first time).

I picked up a flush draw on the turn but missed. 

Although I guess I understand his little acting job, I was really pissed at him at the time.  It felt like a slow-roll to me.  And we were friends!  I mean, we’d played together at MGM at least 40 times, right?

Now short-stacked, under $6K, I was in bad shape.  Especially since before it got to me Roy would raise almost every time.  I had to wait for some kind of hand to make my one move.  I was never going to get the luxury of opening a pot when it folded to me.

I didn’t play a hand the rest of the level.  The next level the blinds were 50/200/400 and I needed some kind of hand to shove with.  Finally, in late position, Roy open limped.  I was shocked that he just limped.  I looked down at King-9 of hearts.  In my position, it was a monster.  So I shoved.  It folded back to Roy who tanked and asked for a count of my chips and made another speech.  He stared at me, and then said, “Well, since you’re my friend, I’ll give you action.” Gee thanks, “friend.”  When I flipped over my hand he said, “Oh, you got me crushed.”  He tabled King-4 of spades.

No, he didn’t beat me with a flush. The flop was Ace-5-3.  And he caught a 2 on the turn to complete a straight.  And I was out.

I’d played about three hours or so and by the time I was out, they were up to around 100 players.  And my poker evening was over.

You know….I ended up thinking that time we had together wasn’t really very important.

Sex is a Misdemeanor

Quick story (for me) from an otherwise totally nondescript session last week.

An attractive Asian woman came to the table and took the open seat to my right.  She was cute and had on a very tight tank-top, which had a message on it.  The first word of the message caught my eye.  It was “sex.”

OK, that got my attention.  I took another glance, quickly—because it would be rude to stare at a lady’s chest, even if she’s asking you to do just that by wearing a shirt with writing on it—and saw the first line of several, which was, “Sex is a Misdemeanor.”

Oh wow, what could that mean?  I knew I had to read the rest of the writing, so I had no choice but to force myself to keep glancing over at her chest until I absorbed the entire message.  I tell ya, the things I do for my readers.

Finally, I got the entire message.  “Sex is a Misdemeanor.  De more I mis—de meanor I get.”  I think that was the way it was spelled, but not 100% sure.  Note: This was a new joke for me, but I later researched it and found out that there is a song with the first line as the title and the joke as part of the lyrics.

So I had to give the lady who would wear a shirt like that out in public a better look.  I said she was cute, but she also had a certain, well, I guess I’ll use the word “toughness” about her.  Yeah, she looked “tough.”  She looked like someone who could really handle herself, someone you wouldn’t want to mess with.  Let me put it this way….if I ever got into a bar fight, I’d want her on my side.

Maybe it was the tattoos that she had on her arm.  They weren’t nice flowers or butterflies or anything that might be considered “feminine.”  I really couldn’t identify what the tats were, nothing I’d ever seen before.  But they looked a lot more “rough” than “pretty,” I’ll say that.

A few minutes later, I heard a weird computerized voice.  It said, “You have another f***ing text message.”  I did a double take, looked to see where it was coming from and realized it was coming from this lady’s cell phone.  I chuckled inwardly, and realized that this particular notification message for this particular woman was a perfect match.

A few seconds later, I heard the phone make the exact same sound.  This time, I caught the eye of the older, Asian gentleman who had been sitting two seats away from me for the past few hours.  In other words, the lady was sitting right between us.  We both smiled and nodded to each other.

I heard that message at least 10 more times, and after each time, the Asian gentleman and I shared a silent glance and laugh together.

Now, the “f-bomb” is still usually forbidden in most poker rooms I play in, and this was a particularly nice room, but at no time did the dealer ever say anything.  I was sitting right next to the dealer and I can assure you the dealer heard the notification sound as easily as I did (two different dealers, in fact).  Maybe it was ok because it was coming from the phone and not spoken by the lady herself?

Anyway, it soon became obvious that she was texting back and forth with a young fellow who had been at the other side of the table for at least an hour, a totally bland, totally innocuous looking white guy. I had no idea what they were texting about, and I couldn’t tell if they were just friends or if they had a romantic relationship.  But if they were a couple, they certainly were an “odd couple.”

I don’t say that because of the inter-racial nature of the two of them.  Not at all. This is 2016, after all. And a white guy and an Asian woman is about as common a couple as you can find in Vegas.  In fact, a recent survey indicated that 94.35% of all males between 21 and 64 living in Vegas have “Yellow Fever.”

It’s just that this guy was so clean cut.  He actually looked like he belonged in a different era.  Like the 50’s.  Think Richie Cunningham from Happy Days.  I mean, if they were remaking Animal House, he’d be perfect for one of the background frat boys for the good fraternity.  I’d bet $100 and lay three-to-one odds his favorite lunch was a mayonnaise sandwich on white bread and a glass of milk.  He looked like the kind of guy who, if he ever stubbed his toe really, really badly, would exclaim, “Oh, fiddlesticks!”

Anyway, the seat next to him came open, and the woman immediately asked to sit next to him.  The text messages stopped. In other words, she never got another f***ing text message while I was still there.  They whispered to each other a lot. 

I should say that the woman was perfectly nice, nothing about her personality was “tough.”  It was just her look, and I guess the unique notification tone she had for her text messages.

Just another night in Las Vegas.

The Unlikely Nit

This was another night of unsuccessful poker from my last Vegas trip. The session produced two interesting hands,

After about two hours, the only pot I had dragged in was a chopped one.  Somehow, I still had about $160 of my $200 buy-in.  Yeah, I was that card-dead.  The guy on my immediate left was an aggro German (redundant?).  More annoying than his aggression was the fact that he was coughing a lot.  At least we were separated by the dealer.  I was about to get up and ask for a table change when this hand happened.

I limped in with pocket 2’s. It was four-way, including the German.  The flop was 7-5-2, two clubs. I bet $8 and the German made it $20 and it folded back to me.  I decided to just call.  Based on his play, I had every reason to believe he would do the betting for me the rest of the way.  He might have been semi-bluffing with the flush draw, but I thought that was unlikely.  A blank hit the turn, I checked and he put out $31, which I called.  Maybe that was the time to get it all in?  I dunno, but it wouldn’t have mattered in this case.  The river was another 7, which I thought I liked. I checked, confident the German would bet.   I was right, he put out $58.  Of course I shoved my last $120 or so.  He snapped called and flipped over 7-5 off suit.  Ugh. I was ahead the whole way until he rivered a bigger boat than I did. 

I bought another $200, and was still thinking of asking for that table change when my German friend took a break.  I figured I hang around until the German and his cough came back.  Well, he was gone for a good 45-minutes and when he came back, he racked up his chips without playing a hand.  I wasn’t sorry to see him go, but seriously, I hope there is a special place in Hell for people who do that, tie up a seat for any length of time and then come back and leave without playing again.  Why the hell didn’t he just take his chips and leave the seat available in the first place?  That is just so damn rude.

Then suddenly there was brief period where I actually got some cards—and won nothing.  I had pocket 9’s, raised, and no one called.  Same thing happened a few hands later when I had pocket Queens.  Just a few hands later I got pocket Queens again.  I was in the small blind, it folded to me, so we chopped.  And then my “rush” was over.  That’s how I was running, folks.

Then came the strangest hand ever.  I had Jack-10 of clubs in the big blind.  There was no raise.  I repeat, there was no raise. There were four of us seeing the flop, including an Asian fellow on the button. He was fairly new to the table and hadn’t made an impression on me yet.  But to repeat, he was Asian and he limped in from the button.

The flop was 7-7-3, rainbow.  No one bet.  Again, that includes the Asian who limped in on the button.  A Jack hit the turn, so I led out for $6. It folded to the button, who was the Asian guy who had limped in from there, and he called. The river was a blank. I bet $10.  He called. I showed my hand.  He said, “No, you needed a 7.”  And flipped over his pocket Aces.

WTF?  An Asian who limped in with pocket Aces from the button?  And didn’t bet a flop like that? I won’t even get into his passive play on the turn and the river (since he let me get there so cheaply, he might have been worried that I caught something bigger than his overpair). I just couldn’t believe it.  He didn’t seem like he was a new player, he wasn’t that old, it just totally baffled me that he could play that so nitily.  Wow.  I think I almost fainted when I saw his Aces.  I would only expect play like that from a really old geezer playing in a locals room.

Did I mention he was an Asian?  Not that I’m stereotyping or anything.  I would never do that.

But yeah, he was Asian.

I did manage to win a few dinky pots after that.  One of them was when there were four limpers in front of me and I had Aces in late position.  I made it $16 and everyone folded.

It was just another bad session during a trip with an unusual number of them.

Did I mention the Asian guy who limped on the button with pocket Aces…….