"Come On, You Know You Have to Call"

I’m back from my most recent excursion to Vegas, my annual birthday trip, so hopefully I can make some headway in the backlog of blog posts I have floating around in my head, not only from that trip, but from the March Madness trip as well.  And from earlier trips, for that matter. 

As usual, I will not be posting my stories in any particular order, and to prove it, I will be starting out with the story from my very last night in Vegas, just last week.

And since it’s me, I will present this tale in three parts.  Because Mike would fall asleep if I posted it all at once (as noted here).

I’m starting with this night because it was so odd.  I lost my cool.  I mean, I really, really lost my cool.  Twice, in fact.  And that’s pretty unusual.

This was actually a “bonus day” in Vegas.  Originally I planned to drive back home on this particular Monday.  Due to circumstances I may eventually describe in a future post (or not), I ended up staying one more night.  Although it wasn’t the reason, the extra day gave me a shot at winning some cash they were giving away at my favorite poker room.  You see those cash drawings I’ve described in the past are now only offered Mondays through Thursdays, twice on each of those days, at 10AM and 10PM.  No cash drawings on the weekend.  Tickets are earned for flushes or better starting four hours before the drawings.

They replenish the cash envelopes at the beginning of the month, and there were just a few days left in April.  So when I got to the poker room there were only five envelopes remaining, three of them worth $400 and two worth $1,000.  So, if you got picked, you would win at least $400, and had a 40% chance of claiming a grand.  Pretty good odds.

Of course, you had to win the drawing first.  And for that, you had to win tickets—which meant your hand had to be live at the showdown with a flush or better.  Piece of cake, right?

I got there earlier than usual—6:30 PM—in order to give myself a chance to win as many tickets as possible. Of course my main goal was to have a good overall session, but I was hoping to finesse it a bit and win some tickets while still playing good poker.  I had been having a pretty successful trip until the previous two days when I had a reversal of fortune, so I was really hoping to end the trip on a high note.

A few minutes after I arrived at the table, Isabel (see here) came to deal.  And a few minutes later, a guy I’m calling Bigmouth joined us.  He immediately started telling Isabel about his day, and it wasn’t clear to me whether he knew her or not.  He didn’t look at all familiar to me, so I doubt he was a regular.  He might have just been one of those guys who can’t help flapping his lips.  He was sitting next to Isabel but then moved his seat and a new player took his spot next to her.  The new player made a comment, “Oh, I get to sit next to the pretty lady dealer.”  To which Bigmouth replied, “Oh did you forget to put in your contact lenses today?”

Now that seemed like a rather nasty comment, but if he and Isabel were pals, I suppose it was ok.  And I also couldn’t tell if Bigmouth knew the new player who took his old seat, or if he was just going to talk the ear off anyone and everyone he could.

For awhile, this was the tightest NL table I could ever recall. There was almost no raise you could make that would get called.  There was one hand—a limped pot—where an older gentleman called a $6 flop bet and then folded when someone made it $20 (he had last action so he knew it would only cost him $14 more to see the next card).  He folded face up and said $6 was ok, but $20 was too much to call with his open-ended straight draw.  He also had a pair as well.  Nobody could believe he folded that hand.  I whispered to Isabel, “Is the nit convention in town?”

The very next hand, I flopped a pair of 9’s and no one bet.  When a second 9 hit the turn, this same nit bet out $10.  I was planning to make it $30 but then thought better of it.  I only made it $20 and he folded anyway.  I said to Isabel, “I bet you he had a boat.”  She laughed.

A few hands later, I had 6-7 offsuit in the big blind.  Of course there was no raise so I saw the flop for free.  The flop was 5-6-6.  I bet $5, which was slightly less than the pot.  Bigmouth raised to $15.  Another player called and I called as well.  I had to wonder if Bigmouth had a 6 with a bigger kicker.

The turn was an Ace and I checked.  Bigmouth put out a big bet—$76.  Huh?  We had started the hand with around $200 each, more-or-less.  He may have had a little more than me.

The other guy took a long time to decide, and then folded.  Now the action was on me.  His bet was bigger than the pot, which was about $50-$55, and I had to figure out what that likely meant.  I hadn’t played with Bigmouth long enough to learn anything about his game, just about his big mouth (although, actually, I did learn what his profession was and what his workout routine was….not that I wanted to).  I had no read on him as a player.

The flop had contained two hearts and the turn wasn’t a flush card.  Was he betting to get a flush draw to fold?  Was he betting his flush draw?  Was he bluffing?  Semi-bluffing?

My thought was, if he had a monster—if he had a boat—he wouldn’t bet so big.  He’d make a bet smaller than the pot, not bigger. Right?

Well, it had only been a few seconds after the other guy folded, and I was running through all this in my mind, when Bigmouth starting yapping.  And yapping.  And yapping.

“Come on, you’ve got a 6, you know you have to call.”

“I’m just betting my draw, you’ve got to call.”

“How big is your kicker?  Jack?  King?  How can you lay it down?”

And…

“Yeah go ahead and lay it down, I’ve got you, you’re out kicked,”

Shit.

Now, I’m going to admit something that won’t make me look very good, but I’ve got to tell the story.

I hate this shit.  I really, really hate it.  I hate it when someone tries to play mind games with me during a hand.  I suppose it can work to the person’s advantage, throw the other player off his game, get him to make the wrong play.  And all’s fair in love and poker.

But god, do I hate it.  I know, I know, I should be able to handle it.  And here I am, giving all of the information you need to put me on tilt if you ever happen to play at the same table as me sometime.  But so be it.  I hate this particular tactic.

When I make a bet, and someone is thinking about the action in the response, I do my best to put on the perfect poker face.  I don’t say anything, I try to freeze.  I stare emotionless at the pot, or at the TV screen, or something else.  I think that’s the right (and classy) thing to do.

Of course, I know that Bigmouth is trying to induce the action he wants me to take.  He has a monster, so he’s goading me into calling with my lowly trips.

Unless he knows I’ll think that.  And what he really wants is for me to think he’s goading me into calling him with his monster when he really doesn’t have shit.  Reverse psychology.  He wants me to think he wants a call so I’ll think one level above him and fold.  And then he’ll flip over 2-3 and laugh at his successful bluff.

And the more you think, the more you can take it one more level and call, or two more levels and fold.

Meanwhile, he was smiling and laughing and joking and making his comments.  And it was driving me nuts.  It was distracting, to say the least.  Which of course was what he wanted.

And it worked in the sense that it got me off my game.  Suddenly, I’m thinking more about not being being embarrassed than I am about making the right play.  And you shouldn’t be playing with the goal of not being embarrassed.  You should be playing with the goal of making the best play.

Calling the $76 didn’t make sense, as I would be committed.  It was either fold or shove.

The guy kept talking, saying the same things over and over again—at least I guess that was what he was doing, as I was tuning him out, or trying to.  But the thing is, by all this talking, this was now a very important hand, no matter what.  Because he’s the kind of guy, if he wins this hand (and maybe if he losses it), he’s gonna be talking about it the rest of the night.  I could tell, this hand wouldn’t end when the pot was pushed one way or the other.

So before I decided on my action, I decided something else.  No matter what I did, no matter the result, I was going to request a table change as soon as the hand was over.  I suddenly really, really, really didn’t like this clown, and I wasn’t going to spend one more second with him this evening than I had to.

Then, as I was trying to figure out the right play, I also was thinking about the best way to punish this guy, if I could.  I wasn’t looking at him, and I was pretty motionless, and so I thought I’d just wait and wait and wait like forever until he or someone else called the clock on me.

But no, I couldn’t do that.  I’d really be punishing the dealer, not the Bigmouth.  So I didn’t do that.

Finally, I decided. He seemed to want me to call, so I would fold. Take him at face value. This seemed like the best play.  I’d be only out $17, no big deal. Of course, if it was a bad laydown, I would be giving away a huge pot.  But if I called (or shoved) and he was ahead, I’d not only lose a big pot, but it would especially galling—no, more like revolting—to lose all that money to this asshole I now truly hated.

So now I’ve just given all my readers the roadmap to get me to laydown the better hand.  I know.  But I’ve already established that I should never play poker with someone who reads my blog (see here).

Except that, folding turned out to be the right move.  I folded, disappointing Bigmouth who then exposed his hand.  “How could you lay down your trips?” he said as he showed his pocket 5’s. He had flopped a boat.  

I can’t say for sure, because I can’t replay the hand in the alternate universe where he bet $76 and sat there stone-faced, but I think if he hadn’t said a word, I wouldn’t have folded.  I say this because of the size of his bet.  I wouldn’t have expected him to overbet the pot with such a big hand.  I think his bet was a bad play on his part.

But by attempting to goad me into the wrong play, he managed to actually goad me into the right play. He got me so angry, I didn’t want to reward his behavior with all my cash.  Better to risk giving up on a potential big pot than for losing a ton of money to him.

So his little mind games backfired.  Good for me.

But that didn’t change my mind one bit about moving to a new table.  I didn’t want to have to face this situation again. Because if it happened again, I’d be in the same situation, and then I’d be wondering if he was adjusting his strategy to be more deceitful—or not adjusting it, thinking I would be expecting that. 

No, no, I was through with Bigmouth.  Enjoy the $17 you won from me—with the best hand.  If you played it straight, you might very well have gotten all my chips.  Happy?

OK, so the reason the guy showed his hand was, he wanted a ticket to the drawing, and he could only get one by showing his full house.  Would he have shown if it wasn’t for a ticket?

My first thought was that he would have shown anyway, to kind of rub it in.  But now I’m not so sure.  I think he might have preferred continuing the mind game, by somehow implying that he didn’t have much and I had laid down the better hand.  Better to put me on tilt.  But I’ll never know.

Of course, having actually won the battle with him, perhaps I should have been happy that I made the right play and saved myself some money. And stayed there and kept playing against the guy, since I had essentially, somehow, won that round. But no, I was past the point of no return.  There was no way I was going to keep playing this clown.  I mean honestly, if I had shoved, he had called and I had caught my 7 (or the case 6) on the river and had a nice double up, I would have left the table (assuming he rebought).  Or if I had caught him in a bluff…same thing. I had no interest in continuing my relationship with Bigmouth one second longer.

I played my small blind and my button, and had to listen to the guy keep asking me how big my kicker was.  “King?  Jack?  I know you folded a 6.”  I said absolutely nothing to him.  Not one single word.

So I got up to check the other 1/2 games.  I saw one with an open seat and a lot of big stacks.  That was good enough for me.  I went to the floorperson and asked if I could change tables, and she said I could.  So long Bigmouth.

And that's the end of part 1.  Part 2 continues here.

Little Known Facts About Jack Bauer

This is off topic, but the show "24" returns to television tomorrow night after a four year absence.

24 is the greatest television show ever, and if you don't agree, well, we have nothing further to discuss.

To celebrate the event, here's a list of "facts" about Jack Bauer that was posted on some blog back in 2006, so some of it may be a bit outdated (like the Lost reference).  No doubt this list has been going around the internet forever.

Enjoy!

1) If you wake up in the morning, it's because Jack Bauer spared your life.

2) If Jack Bauer was in a room with Hitler, Stalin, and Nina Meyers, and he had a gun with 2 bullets, he'd shoot Nina twice.

3) Upon hearing that he was played by Kiefer Sutherland, Jack Bauer killed Sutherland. Jack Bauer gets played by no man.

4) Jack Bauer's favorite color is severe terror alert red. His second favorite color is violet, but just because it sounds like violent.

5) Jack Bauer once forgot where he put his keys. He then spent the next half-hour torturing himself until he gave up the location of the keys.

6) Jack Bauer got Hellen Keller to talk.

7) Jack Bauer killed 93 people in just 4 days time. Wait, that is a real fact.

8) Jack Bauer was never addicted to heroin. Heroin was addicted to Jack Bauer.

9) 1.6 billion Chinese are angry with Jack Bauer. Sounds like a fair fight.

10) Superman wears Jack Bauer pajamas.

11) Jack Bauer doesn't miss. If he didn't hit you it's because he was shooting at another terrorist twelve miles away.

12) Lets get one thing straight, the only reason you are conscious right now is because Jack Bauer does not feel like carrying you.

13) When you open a can of whoop-ass, Jack Bauer jumps out.

14) If Jack says "I just want to talk to him/her" and that him/her is you… well amigo, you're fucked.

15) Killing Jack Bauer doesn't make him dead. It just makes him angry.

16) When life gave Jack Bauer lemons, he used them to kill terrorists. Jack Bauer fucking hates lemonade.

17) In grade school, a little boy punched Kimberly Bauer, and Kimberly ran home to tell her dad. That little boy's name? Stephen Hawking.

18) Jack Bauer does not sleep. The only rest he needs is what he gets when he's knocked out or temporarily killed.

19) No man has ever used the phrase, "Jack Bauer is a pussy" in a sentence and lived to tell.

20) In kindergarten, Jack Bauer killed a terrorist for Show and Tell.

21) Jack Bauer literally died for his country, and lived to tell about it.

22) As a child, Jack Bauer's first words were "There's no time!"

23) Jack Bauer's family threw him a surprise birthday party when he was a child. Once.

24) If you are still conscious, it is because Jack Bauer doesn't want to carry you.

25) If you get 7 stars on your wanted level on Grand Theft Auto, Jack Bauer comes after you. You don't want to get 7 stars.

26) Guns dont kill people, Jack Bauer kills people.

27) Everytime Jack Bauer yells "NOW!" at the end of a sentence, a terrorist dies.

28) Jesus died and rose from the dead in 3 days. It took Jack Bauer less than an hour. And he's done it twice.

29) If you send someone to kill Jack Bauer, the only thing you accomplish is supplying him a fresh set of weapons to kill you with.

30) Jack Bauer could get off the Lost island in 24 hours.

 

The Hooker Wore Flats

I kind of feel morally obligated to score at least one hooker story every Vegas trip.  This is the one such story from my March Madness trip.

It was a Thursday night, i.e., a Slut Parade night.  After leaving the poker room for the evening I did some people watching, or perhaps you might call it “scenery watching.”  I found myself over by the area where I’ve spotted working girls in the past.  But this being a club night, I was watching the scenery coming and going to the parking area.

A few nights earlier I had seen a couple of black ladies in the area who almost got my spidey-sense tingling.  They were walking slowly, spending a lot of time on their cell phones, and just kind of milling about.  Definite indications of possible hooker-status.  But I never saw them approach anyone (myself included).  Also, they were rather modestly dressed, and I somehow noticed they were both wearing flats, not heels.  So I thought it was unlikely they were available for rent.

So on this Thursday night, I was tired and took a seat in front of a slot machine and was checking my cell phone as people—mostly girls dressed for the club—walked by.  A few feet away there was an unattended slot machine and I noticed a guy approach the empty stool and take a seat.  He had a glass in his hand, I suspect it was an adult beverage. He appeared to be my age, perhaps a bit younger, but not much.

He didn’t appear interested in playing the slot machine, he was facing out towards the aisle, giving him a good view of the passersby. 

Suddenly I heard a voice and looked over.  An attractive black woman was standing right in front of the guy.  I heard her say, “What are doing sitting there, all bored like that?”

Wow.  That certainly sounded like a hooker’s introductory line to me.  They apparently exchanged names and the girl extended her hand to the guy and they shook hands.  Just a hunch, but I doubt either one of them used their real names.

This was almost awkwardly close to where I was sitting.  As much as I wanted to see if I could hear the conversation (solely for the blog post, you understand), I felt like was intruding.  I got up and went across the aisle and tried to subtlety observe them from afar.

As I walked away, I could see that the girl was dressed rather modestly.  She was wearing pants that were tight, but I’ve seen tighter.  Really didn’t get a good look at her top but I don’t think she was wearing anything low cut.

And then there were her shoes.  They were flats, not heels.  I began to think that this was one of the girls I’d seen a few nights earlier. 

Hmm….the hooker wore flats.

They didn’t talk very long.  In just a few minutes I saw the guy get up from the stool and the two of them headed off together, straight for the elevators.

Apparently her suggestion for how to treat his “boredom” met with his approval.

As they walked away, I couldn’t help wondering….What’s wrong with me?

I mean, the two of us were sitting near each other.  She could have just as easily approached me first. 

Maybe her “creep detector” was working.  Last time I talked about a modestly dressed hooker (see here), I received a comment from an ex-reader (I assume he’s now an ex-reader) saying that hookers develop radar for “creeps” like me.  It’s the first comment on that post, if you want to check it out.

Perhaps it was because the guy had a drink in his hand made her think his inhibitions would be lowered.

Or it could just be that the guy looked more in desperate need of some nookie than I did.