The Night of the Grump

The title of this post has a double meaning.  On the one hand, it refers to the most powerful hand in poker, the mighty deuce-four, as immortalized by semi-retired blogger Poker Grump. In his honor, deuce-four is referred to as “The Grump,” just as Ace-King is called “Big Slick.” The Grump is featured in a couple of noteworthy hands from this evening.  But the title also refers to a general grumpiness exhibited by several players during the evening, most notably my pal Abe.  It is Abe who suggested the title of this post, for which I’m grateful.  But I’m even more grateful to him for another reason, as you’ll see when I get to “the hand of the night.” 

Another possible title for this post could have been, “Protect your hand—Read the Damn Board edition.”  Previous posts in the “protect your hand” series can be found here, here and here.

Before Abe had shown up, I was already stuck $100 and reloaded the $100. While waiting to get called to a game, Abe explained that he was feeling especially “salty” this night.  Normally the nicest guy in the poker room, on this night he was extremely out of character. He was having a bad day and I can't reveal why. But I know the reason and I can assure you he was justified in being “extra salty” this time.

I had lost the $100 without any memorable hands, just the usual drip drip. Actually, at one point I was close to being stuck $200, and then I made back a few bucks at one point calling a guy’s bluff with a lonely pair of 3’s. 

Before Abe got a seat, I was under the gun plus 1, and looked at deuce-4 offsuit.  At the risk of getting thrown out of the Grump club, I confess I don’t usually raise in that position.  But I was having a bad night and felt like this was a good spot to try to mix things up.  So I raised to $10 after UTG limped in.  Five players called.

The flop was Ace-9-5, rainbow.  I really couldn’t see myself c-betting in that situation, with so many in the hand, even with the gut-shot.  But the guy to my immediate right, first to act, bet $12.

Now, this kid was an absolutely terrible player.  He limped into most every pot, called down with almost any piece of the board, middle pair, bottom pair, almost regardless of the board texture.  I was frustrated that I hadn’t gotten any of his money yet.  The donk bet of $12 into a $60 pot was more evidence of what a bad player he was.

OK, I decided to call.  That was cheap enough to see another card, and I figured there was at least a decent chance there wouldn’t be a raise behind me.  There wasn’t.  Only one other player called.

The turn was a beautiful 3, completing my gutter.  The kid bet out again, this time $15 into a $90+ pot.  I supposed I could have just called there, but I don’t really like slow playing straights.  I made it $60 (arguably too small a bet for the size of the pot).  The other guy folded and the kid who led out thought for a bit, said, “Oh, I guess you have it,” and folded. 

I texted Abe the news that I had raised with the Grump and turned my gutshot. Soon, he took a seat at the game I was at and proceeded to prove his saltiness by texting me nasty messages about various dealers and various players in the game.  Then, he refused to chop the blinds with his neighbor, saying, “I’m feeling salty so I’m not chopping tonight.”  He has always chopped before.

Then the kid next to me—the really bad player—pissed him off. The kid had won a few drawing tickets and kept saying he was trying to hang on to enough of his chips to still be playing when the 10:00 PM drawing would take place.  At one point he bet half his stack and said, “Please don’t put me all in, I need to be playing at 10.”  Yikes.  Luckily for him, no one called that bet.

Anyway, Abe had raised preflop and the kid of course called.  I don’t recall the action but by the river the board was Jack high and had a pair of 8’s.  I don’t remember if Abe checked first or not, but the kid went all in for his last $12.  The pot was like $70-$80 I guess.  In other words, there was no way Abe could fold there.

Except he apparently didn’t have much, if anything.  He even said, “I can’t fold this, but it’s too embarrassing to call.”  He tanked for a bit and even though he was sure he was beat, he just couldn’t justify a fold for only twelve bucks.  Finally, he threw the $12 into the pot and said, “OK, show me your Jack.”

The kid hesitated for a few seconds.  Then he said, finally, “Only one?”  And then paused a bit more and finally showed his cards—two Jacks.  He not only won the pot with his full house, but got a drawing ticket too.  As it happened, this was actually the last hand eligible for the drawing, so he had to hurriedly fill out his final ticket while the floor person waited for him.

Meanwhile, Abe was pissed about the slow roll.  And he said so in no uncertain terms.  “I can’t wait to take your money, boy.”  Or something like that.  A few players kind of went “whoa” when they heard that.  I was one of them.  I was really surprised that he said something so nasty, even knowing that he was feeling “salty.”  I said something like, “Wow, I’ve never heard you talk like that.”  He explained, “Well, I only do that when I’m being slow rolled.”              

The guy was oblivious to Abe’s comment, concentrating on filling out his ticket.  Just a few minutes later they had the drawing.  The first person picked wasn’t there.  But the second ticket pulled had the name of the kid who had just slow rolled Abe.  Yuck.

At this time, there were envelopes worth $100, $400 and $1,000.  We heard whooping and hollering….but he didn’t grab a $1K envelope.  He was satisfied with $400.  As he said when he came back, “I was actually hoping for $400, that was good enough.  I didn’t want to get greedy.”  Huh?

He didn’t play anymore, he really was just hanging around for the drawing.  So he sat at the table, taking up a seat for at least 15 minutes while waiting to get paid.  Later, when I passed by the shift manager, I said to him, “You know that guy who won the cash drawing?  Worst poker player I ever saw.  The only way he could win money here was by hitting that promo.”

After he left, the guy who had been sitting in seat 9 took over the kid’s seat, seat 5, to my immediate right.  This guy is crucial to the climax of our story, i.e., the hand of the night.

It was getting late and I was pretty much ready to call it a night.  Maybe an orbit or two more.  I had about $210 or so in front of me, meaning I was down almost $100 for the evening.  By this time, my buddy Jack was dealing.  He had been waiting to push in when Abe got slow rolled.  In the post here, I linked to a previous post and said a much better post involving Jack from this trip would be forthcoming.  This is that post.

And so, Jack dealt me a couple of red Aces in the small blind.  Three people had limped in, including the button, the guy who had recently moved to my immediate right.  I made it $14,

The big blind called.  And all the limpers called.  So it was a $70 pot (before the rake) on the flop.

Obviously I wasn’t thrilled about running my Aces against four other hands.  The flop was 5-3-2.  The deuce was red, the other two cards were both clubs.

First to act, I put out $60.  What else was I supposed to do?  I suppose I could have bet a little less? It went fold, fold, fold……shove.  Yeah, the guy on my immediate right, after thinking for a bit, went all in.  He had me covered.

I was immediately inclined to call just based on feeling pot-committed by my original bet.  I thought it through some more and was thinking his shove was more likely due to his being on a draw than having a made hand, like a set.  Though I suppose he could shove with a set to get a flush draw to fold.  Or to get someone who felt pot committed with a losing hand to call.

Well, I called, knowing that if I lost, I was done for the night.  Too late in the evening to think about a rebuy.

We didn’t show.  I figured last thing I wanted to see was any club.  The turn was a harmless looking red card.  The river was also a red card—a 4.  My first reaction was just relief that there was no third club.  I flipped over my hand and Jack called out, “pair of Aces.”

The other guy didn’t say anything, he just turned his cards over.  It was the Grump—deuce-four. Oh yeah, it was also suited.  The suit?  Clubs, of course. Now, because the betting action had ended after the flop, I kind of stopped thinking about anything except clubs.  Obviously I knew he could turn over pocket 5’s, 3’s or 2’s for a set, but I was thinking “no clubs.”  So there he was, showing his busted flush draw.  And all I was thinking was, “He shoved with a baby flush draw?”

Then I looked again and realized that he had a flush draw and a pair of deuces on the flop.  And before I could think any more, I heard Jack say, “He’s got two pair, deuces and 4’s.”

Shit.  I had just lost a big pot.  I had been rivered.  What a suckout.

Jack was just about to turn over my Aces when Abe spoke up.  I was still looking at the hands and reconstructing everything.  It was about this time I noticed that, with his suited Grump, the guy had flopped a monster draw.  An open-ended straight flush draw, along with the pair.  He had a zillion outs, no wonder why he hit one of them.

But wait, what was Abe saying? Just this: “Wait.  There’s a straight.”

Huh.  Oh yeah, indeed there was.  The four of course, gave me the wheel.  Last time I checked my cheat sheet, a straight beats two pair, even if it’s two pair with the mighty deuce-four.  I vaguely recalled thinking on the flop that I had a gut-shot, but that was so unlikely to hit I promptly forgot about it in all the excitement of the guy shoving and me calling.

Suddenly, Jack was now turning over the other guy’s hand and I was still trying to process everything.  I repeated aloud what I was thinking to myself.  “So he had on open ended straight flush draw, with the pair.  And the 4 that gave him two pair completed my gut-shot.”  Duh.

In response to my comment, Abe, still being incredibly salty this night, got real sarcastic and a bit nasty and said, “Yeah, very good.  Way for a poker writer to read the board. Very good.”

Then he turned his attention to Jack, who is also his pal.  “And a professional dealer.  He couldn’t read the board either.”

Jack had already apologized to both the other player, for teasing him with a big pot he didn’t actually win, and to me for almost giving my pot to the wrong guy.  He kind of giggled at Abe’s nasty comments and apologized again.

Now of course, I should have been grateful to Abe for saving my ass there, and pointing out Jack’s huge error that I hadn’t caught.  And I was.  But his tone was so uncharacteristically sharp, I had to give him a hard time about it.  I said, “OK, just for your nasty tone, your nasty comments, I’m not going to tip Jack.  You can tip him.  You give Jack a buck.”  I seem to recall also saying I wouldn’t tip Jack because he had made such a huge error, though I’m not sure about that.

Abe would have been justified in telling me to go f myself, but no, he said, nastily, “Alright” and threw Jack a buck.  Meanwhile, in the commotion, I had totally forgotten to put my stack out in front of me so that Jack could count it and collect the right amount from the deuce-four guy who was muttering about how he could miss when he had so many outs.

Abe noticed this too and so, still in his nasty mood, said, “Are you gonna push your chips out there and double up, or are you gonna just stare at the board a while longer?”

Oops.  No, a double up was just fine.  I put my chips out and Jack counted it and by the time I had stacked all my chips after the win, I had just a bit less than $500 in front of me.

Of course, I did indeed tip Jack generously for the pot.  Oh, and yes, the next night, I gave Abe his buck back, the one I made him give Jack.  And yes, although I didn’t do it this night—just because he was so salty—I thanked him the next day, both by text and in person, for catching Jack’s error that I should have noticed myself, of course.  An important lesson in protecting your hand, as I said at the outset.

Now, I think I probably would have realized I had the straight a few seconds later if Abe hadn’t caught it first. My mind was headed there. But the question then becomes, even if I had, would I have caught it time to save the pot?  Most likely not.  And then instead of this post, I’d be doing a post about how I had a brain fart at the table and cost myself $500.

I stayed a few more orbits, and very late in my session, some old guy had the dreaded pocket Kings. And believe it or not, he lost his stack with them to somebody’s two pair.  He was not amused as he rebought, and was muttering to himself.  He was acting like you’re supposed to win with that awful hand.

He was a bad sport, showing hostility to the other player and even the dealer as he sold him some more chips.  Now really, sir.  Littered throughout this blog are lessons in the proper way to lose with pocket Kings.  With grace and dignity.  You laugh it off, you smile.  You say, “Oh well, that’s poker.”* But this guy actually had the poor dealer asking if he had done something wrong.  Well yes, he had. He had given the guy pocket Kings.

So he was the final “grump” in the Night of the Grump.  For all the grumpiness, for all the saltiness, for all the near-disasters, it turned out to be a good night after all.

*-the other option is to silently seethe and then write a 25,000-word blog post kvetching about it.

Third Time's The Charm

(This is third and final part of the post I started here and continued here.  It picks up right where the second part left off.)

Finally, after I had been in the room for about two hours, I was called to the one of the other existing games.  I quickly racked my chips and took off.  I believe Douchebag wished me luck or said have a good night or something, but I was having none of it.  I said nothing.  Not on this night.

Even at this table there was, apparently, a maniac, but at least he wasn’t verbally harassing anyone.  This guy was actual a human ATM, putting out big bets with air and getting felted time and time again.

But damn, I got there too late to take advantage of it.  In fact, I later realized that I made a terrible laydown against him right after I arrived at the table.  I think I was the big blind with Jack-rag and caught top pair with the Jack.  I bet and he called.  An overcard hit the turn and we both checked.  The river made a flush possible and since I had no read on the guy and he had a pretty big stack I just checked—and he shoved.  I wasn’t about to risk much on such a weak hand with a flush out there so I folded.  But based on the next few hands I saw him play I realized he probably was making a stone cold bluff there and my Jacks were likely the better hand.  But I was too new at the table to have known that.

Just a few hands later, he shoved again, got called, tabled a stone-cold bluff, lost all his chips, and instead of rebuying, he took off and called it a night.  Everyone was disappointed he was leaving, he was apparently that proficient at giving away his chips.  The guy to my left even asked the dealer to reserve his seat for him even tho he had given no indication he was coming back! 

Soon after I got there, I felt my chair being kicked.  Since Mike is off Monday nights, it had to be Abe.  Sure enough, he had just arrived and was on the list for a game.  He pulled a chair up behind me and I started to explain to him what a frustrating night I’d had, and how I had excused myself from two tables already.

Just then, Jack came by on his way to his next table.  He leaned into Abe and said, “Whatever you do, don’t ask Robert where’s he from.”  I tried to explain that that wasn’t exactly the question that Douchebag had asked me, but he took off to push into his next game.  I gave Abe a brief explanation but I never got a chance to tell him the whole story.

I spent an hour or so at this table winning and losing small pots, nothing worth noting.  Then, with about 20 minutes left before the cash drawing and I had exactly zero tickets.  At least the last hour or so I had given myself a chance to earn one.

Then in the big blind I had 2-4 of diamonds.  Now usually with the most powerful hand in poker I might raise there, but I wanted to see the flop and try for a flush.  And indeed I flopped a flush draw. Nobody bet the flop and I caught my flush on the turn. I bet $20 and had one caller.  The river was a blank and I didn’t value-bet, hoping for a cheap showdown, not sure my 4-high flush was good.  The other player checked and I don’t even remember what he had, but my baby flush was good and I had my first drawing ticket, some three-plus hours after starting my session.

At around 9:56PM I looked down at Jack-10 spades and figured this would be the last hand to win a ticket to the drawing.  I limped in and a bunch of us saw the flop, which was pretty awesome.  A-Q-x, all spades. I had the second nut flush and a gut-shot Royal draw.  Have I ever mentioned I have never had a Royal Flush in a real poker game?  Never!

And when the poker room cut back the drawings from three times a day, seven days a week to just twice a day Monday through Thursday, they added high hand bonuses.  It starts at $50 but it’s not progressive; instead, you draw an envelope which could be anywhere between $50 and $1,000 (obviously $50 and $100 are the most likely).  If you have a straight flush (instead of quads, the minimum high hand), you get three times the envelope you draw and it’s five times the amount for a Royal.  So a Royal would be worth a minimum of $150 and a maximum of $3,000. Thus, I was thinking that this would be a nice way to reward me for having to put up with all that shit earlier in the evening….a Royal, pull the $1K envelope and collect a cool three grand.  Oh, and get a ticket for the cash drawing too, and have that hit!  Sounded pretty good to me.

So I didn’t bet the flush. I figured that this was a good enough hand to slowplay anyway and I wanted to see two more cards.  No one bet and the turn was a red card.  I checked and this time a guy bet $20, which I just called.  I wanted to see that King of spades!  But no, it was another red card, and didn’t pair the board.  This time I bet, $40, and the other player called.  He had a pair of Aces.  I took the pot, got the ticket, had to fill it out in a hurry as this was indeed the last hand to qualify for the drawing.

I told the dealer I needed the King of spades (not that she couldn’t see that) and she was sad.  “Damn, why didn’t I put that King of spades out there?”  Why, indeed.

Anyway, to make a long story short (that should be good for at least a five minute laughter pause), I didn’t win the freaking cash drawing, even with my two tickets in the drum.  Jack pushed into this table and realized that he had likely been the dealer for the lucky ticket. It was a guy who had quad deuces and stacked two players who had boats.  Not a bad hand.  Then he pulled a $1,000 envelope for the cash drawing (he’d only gotten a $50 prize for the quads).  The shift manager came by to give Jack some red chips as a tip for the $1K drawing.

Oddly enough, with Jack dealing I had another Royal draw.  This wouldn’t have counted for the high hand bonus since I only had one of the two cards in my hand, and I missed it anyway.  But I won the pot with a Jack high flush. 

I believe I had close to my $200 starting stack, maybe a little less, when I had arrived at this table and now I was actually up a bit, but less than $100.  Then in the big blind I had 10-4 offsuit and no one raised.  The flop was 6-4-4, two hearts.  It was a limped pot so I just bet $5.  Only one caller, the guy immediately to my left.  Blank turn, I bet $15 and this time the guy made it $45.  Hmm.  I called.

The river was the Ace of Hearts.  Ordinarily I would check there and try to get a cheap showdown, but the third heart made me think a bit.  I decided to bet out, a blocking bet.  If he had a flush, he might be worried about a boat and just call, or maybe (unlikely) fold.  If he had a 4 with a better kicker, maybe he’d lay it down, thinking I caught my flush.  Although I probably needed to bet bigger for that to work.  But I was thinking that by betting small there, I was indicating that I wanted a call.  Maybe he’d fear a big hand and lay it down.

He tanked and then raised to $70.  Damn, that didn’t work.  And a min-raise is usually a sign of a monster.  Did he have a boat?  Or at least a flush?  I was leaning towards folding, but I flashed back to the latest Ed Miller book I read, his newest one.  I haven’t finished it but the main thesis is that players fold too much.  You should call more often than you currently do.  But perhaps more importantly, the amount of the pot (approx $210) dictated a call for only $35 more.  How could I lay that down?  The only reason to was that the min-raise indicated a big hand.  But that was the same logic I had used in sizing my original bet.  Who was outsmarting whom?

Whatever, I had to call.  And the guy flipped over 4-3! He had trips with a much weaker kicker than I did.  The 10 played and I took down a sweet pot.  Everyone at the table seemed to think I had made a great, daring, gutsy call, but really, as I’ve described, how could I have laid it down?

Then a girl who had recently joined the table with a short stack (actually, she had kind of a big stack, but for now I’m talking about her stack of chips) shoved in front of me for $22.  I think she had started with $100.  I had pocket Jacks so I called, and another guy called.  It was a low flop and I bet $50 and the other guy folded.  Didn’t matter.  Nothing hit and she turned over pocket Aces to take it down. Putting as much sarcasm in my voice as possible, I said, “You shoved with that?”

She took those winnings and doubled it or so.  By the time this next hand happened, she had at least $140-$150.  I was still up and had her covered.  She raised preflop to $20, a big raise at the table and for her.  I had pocket 10’s.  With her stack now healthy I didn’t assume, based on her play, that she was raising light.  So since I didn’t want to three-bet, she probably didn’t have enough behind to justify calling.  But I did anyway. I thought she might let A-K, A-Q go if she missed.

No one else called, and the flop was 10-8-3, rainbow.  She led out for $35.  I made it $80 and she shoved.  I snap-called (not exactly a tough call with top set).  Blanks the rest of the way and her pocket Jacks were no good.  I stacked her.  Ok, that sounds dirty, but would it be better if I said I felted her? Anyway, she didn’t rebuy.

A Set of "10's"

And that was the last hand I made note of.  It was getting late, especially since I had to drive back to L.A. the next day.  I racked up and left with a $300 profit.  It turned out to be a pretty good session after a horrific start.

"What's Your Nationality?"

(This is second part of the post I started last time and picks up right where the first part left off.  See here for part 1).

I took my seat at the new table.  You know that expression, “out of the frying pan, into the fire”?  Well, that’s what happened to me when I got to that new game.  It didn’t take me long to start wondering if I had gotten to a worse table than the one I had just left.

Almost as I was taking my seat, I noticed some hostility at the table.  I didn’t catch all of it.  But a guy in seat 8 was upset with Seat 5, a youngish guy wearing a baseball cap (the right way, to be fair).  As best as I could tell, Seat 8 was unhappy that Seat 5 was somehow improperly using a Military I.D.  Perhaps he was pretending to be ex-Military.  Not really sure.  Seat 5 insisted he wasn’t doing that, but Seat 8 was not believing him. Seat 8 was apparently ex-Military and didn’t like the fact that Seat 5 was (seemingly) faking his former military status. He eventually moved away from the topic, but there was some residual tension in the air.

Seat 5 plays an important role in this story, so I’m going to have to give him a phony name.  I don’t know his actual name.  So I don’t want to give him a name like “Frank” or “Dan” which could, by some remarkable coincidence, actually turn out to be his real name.  So I’ll just call him “Douchebag.”  Note:  Although this guy is indeed a “Douchebag,” I seriously doubt that’s his real name.  I mean, how could his parents have known as soon as he popped out of the womb that he would become such a total douchebag?  It seems unlikely.

The next thing I noticed at this table was that virtually every pot was raised preflop.  Maybe literally every one.  And not small, reasonable raises.  Big, ridiculous raises.  And almost all of the raises were being made by Douchebag.  He didn’t necessarily three-bet, but if it wasn’t raised by the time it got to him, you could count on him putting $15, $20, $25 in the pot.  On the button.  Under-the-Gun.  In the blinds.  Didn’t matter.  He apparently never met a hand he didn’t like, a lot.

So much for my idea of playing a lot of hands to try to win some of those drawing tickets.

Another thing I noticed was that Douchebag never shut up.  He made Bigmouth seem like a mime. I immediately tuned him out so I don’t know really know what he was babbling about, but it was pretty annoying.

Just a few minutes after the tension from the military I.D. discussion had eased up, the floor person came by.  She gave the table a warning!  “I want you to know that I’m getting reportst that there’s a lot of over-aggressiveness at this table.  I want you to all watch it.  We’re aware of if.  I know it’s poker, Calm it down. Keep a lid on it. We’re keeping an eye on you.”

Although she was sorta addressing the whole table, it was clear that she was concentrating on Douchebag.  No surprise. 

I didn’t really understand what she meant by “aggressiveness.”  She couldn’t really be talking about poker could she?  Warning him for betting too much, too often?  You can’t warn somebody for that, can you?  I thought it was more likely she meant overly antagonistic, not overly aggressive.  But I never asked, and now, I regret that.

Well all this didn’t help my mood.  I began to wonder if I should try to find a third table to play at (there were two other 1/2 games going that I hadn’t tried yet).  I didn’t like the tension, and wasn’t thrilled with the ridiculous amount of preflop raising.  Remember I wanted to play more hands than usual, not less.  OTOH, I knew that at a table like this, all I really had to do was hit one hand—and maybe not even that hard—and I would be sitting pretty.

So I was sitting there pondering this, getting annoyed and never being able to see a flop for a reasonable price, and I was still seething about Bigmouth over at the previous table.  And now I was even madder at him because he had chased me into a game that was even worse than the one he was at!  I was quite upset. 

And then I was dealt 7/8 of clubs in the big blind.  To my astonishment, Douchebag only raised to $12, which I think was the smallest raise he’d made in the few minutes I’d been at the table.  I think I may have actually seen him fold or limp in once.  Once.  A couple of other players called, so I did as well.  Ordinarily, I wouldn’t want to play a hand like that out of position in a raised pot, but I knew at a table like this I was going to have to open up my range for calling raises out of position if I was to ever play a hand.  And besides, by the standards of this table, $12 was a bargain.

The flop was 5-4-3, two hearts, one diamond.  So I had a gutshot but I really wasn’t interested in investing any money in it.  The small blind checked, I checked and the action was no one Douchebag.  He was sitting one seat away from me on the left.  There was a seemingly nice, older woman sitting between us.

I believe Douchebag was distracted for a second by the cocktail waitress, or perhaps he was just involved in a conversation with someone at the table.  His mouth was always going.  Apparently, he didn’t realize the action was on him.  No problem, the dealer was my pal Jack, who of course advised Douchebag that it was his turn to act.  (For a post featuring Jack, see here, but I should tell you, there’s a much, much better story about Jack to be posted in the near future from this same trip).

“It’s on me?” Douchebag asked Jack, even tho Jack had just told him that.  “Yes, it’s on you,” Jack told Douchebag.  “Everybody checked?”  Yes, Jack assured him that everybody checked.

Pointing to me, Douchebag then said, “I didn’t see him check.  I don’t have a read on him.”  OK, it was probably the first flop I’d seen since I got to the table.  Because it was the first time I didn’t need a bank loan to call the preflop raise.

Then he turned to me, looked straight at me and said, “Did you check?”

WTF?  I think by now everyone in the friggin’ casino, and the one across the street, knew that I had checked.

I suppose there was a bit of aggravation—but only a bit—in my voice when I said, “Yeah, I checked.”  I was ready to fold to what I assumed was going to be a huge bet and move on to the next hand.

And then he said to me, “What’s your nationality?”

WTF?  No, seriously, WTF???

I suppose if I had been a better mood, I might have actually laughed at that question.  But between the Bigmouth at the table I had just left and the antics I’d already witnessed from Douchebag, I was in no mood.  I mean no mood at all.

Actually, I kind of went berserk.

In an instant, I said, with total rage in my voice, “What the f*** kind of question is that?” 

And then, remembering the lady sitting to my left, I said, in hushed tones, “Pardon my language.”  

I dunno who was more surprised, Douchebag or Jack.  In all the times he’s dealt to me, Jack surely had never seen a reaction like that.  Actually, I was pretty surprised myself. 

Douchebag looked at Jack and said, “Is that a bad question?”  Jack said something like, “you don’t ask a question like that.”

Not in the middle of a hand, at least, which was my point.  I said, again, quite agitated, “We’re in the middle of a hand. Play your hand.”  I can’t confirm it but there might have been steam coming out of my ears.

So he did.  He made a bet.  I have no idea how much.  I didn’t care.  The other player folded and then I did and I got out of my chair faster than if they had shouted “fire!”—or if they said Kate Upton was walking on the other side of the casino stark naked.  

I made a beeline to the floorperson who had just warned the table. She was at an empty table preparing it for a new game.  I described for her what had just happened, how he had asked repeatedly if I had checked when Jack kept telling him I had, and how he had asked me what my nationality was while the action was pending.

She said that she was swamped, the shift manager was at lunch and she would address it when he returned.  I said fine.  I really didn’t care if she did anything about the Douchebag—other than allow me to get the hell away from him.  I requested a table change.  I had only one requirement.  I didn’t want to go back to the table I had just left either.  I saw that Bigmouth was still there.  There were two other 1/2 games going, so she said she would put me in for a change to either one of those two games.

Unfortunately, I had no choice but to return to the Douchebag’s table and wait.  If I stopped playing altogether, I wouldn’t have first priority to go to one of the other two tables.  I know how the system works.  I had to wait it out. I suppose I could have just stayed away from the table and skipped blinds and such, but I didn’t think that was fair to the other players and besides, if I was stuck there, I might as well look at some cards even if my range was really narrow.

You see I had totally left the game, mentally.  I was paying no attention to how anyone played—not that anyone really was noticeable other than Douchebag with his giant preflop raises.  I just wanted to play pocket pairs and catch a set and drag a big pot that way.  Maybe I’d play Ace-King.  Nothing else.

I believe the guy tried to talk to me—he may have even tried to apologize in his own, feeble way—but I was totally tuning him out.  I was committed to not saying one word to him the rest of the night. He seemed unconcerned, as he talked everyone else’s ear off.

I sat at the table, playing no attention to the game except when it was my turn to act, waiting to hear my name for the table change, and otherwise, burying my face in my cell phone so I would have an excuse for not paying attention to Douchebag.

I was an autopilot, taking a quick glimpse at my cards and auto-folding when I suddenly looked down at my old friends, the dreaded pocket Kings. In my current state of mind, it was actually the one pocket pair I didn’t want to see, because of my history with them. 

But no, of course I knew I had to raise with them.  And damn, as I am writing this post, I realize that I made a huge mistake.  I just raised as a matter of course.  But since I was under-the-gun, with Douchebag behind me, that would have been absolutely the perfect time to limp in and spring the play that I totally hate (when anyone else does it), the limp/re-raise.  Because if ever I was in a game where I could be 99.999% sure someone would raise, it was right then.  Surely if I limped in, Douchebag would make his usual $20-$25 raise, maybe even there’d be a caller or two, and I could three-bet if not just shove.  Sadly, I was too upset to think that creatively.

However, I was alert enough to realize I could/should bet bigger than I usually do there.  Douchebag would call almost any bet less than a shove.  No point in putting my usual $8 that I would bet there, I made it $12.  I actually thought there was a good chance Douchebag would three-bet me light there, but he just called.  So did four others.  So it was a $72 pot at the flop.

And what a flop.  It was Ace-King-Queen, two diamonds (my Kings were both black).  So I caught my set on the scariest board possible.  Still, I felt I had no choice but to bet (anyone disagree?).  I put out $60.  Everyone insta-folded (including Douchebag) until it got to the guy to my immediate right, who was a new player at the table.  He took a long, long time to decide.  He even counted out $60 from his stack (which was about the same as mine before I had made the bet).  I thought he was going to at least call and maybe shove.  I would have snap-called of course.  My main thought there was, if I lost, it wouldn’t be so bad because I wouldn’t be losing my money to Douchebag.

But he eventually folded.  I tipped Jack a little more than I might have because I thought the “What’s your nationality” incident may have cost him a hand or two.

And then I went back to burying my face in the cell phone.  I got nothing else I wanted to play and I kept hearing names being called for the 1/2 game.  Huh?  Well, I had to assume they were all being sent to the first table I had been at, the one with Bigmouth.

And I was losing precious time to win those drawing tickets. And I was still rather annoyed and agitated about pretty much everything.  It was a terrible night thus far, despite actually winning a decent pot with the dreaded hand.

Finally, I couldn’t believe that it was taking so long for a seat to open up on one of the other two games.  I walked over to the front and was surprised to see that my name was not on the board for a table change.  What?  I went over and I saw the floorperson with her back to me deep behind the counter. 

I addressed her by name and asked what happened to my table change.  She was embarrassed and apologetic.  She had gotten so busy she had forgotten all about it.  So she immediately put me at the top of the list for a change, but I had no choice but to wait for someone to leave one of the two acceptable games—or for them to start a new game.  In the meantime, I had noticed that she had never gone back to the game to talk to Douchebag as she had promised.  But I didn’t care about that.  I wasn’t sure if he was still acting like or jerk or not because I had stopped paying attention.  I figured if he kept it up, he’d get spoken to again and it wouldn’t be on me, which was fine.  I just wanted to get away from him.  She did come over to me later while I was still there and apologize again and give me a litany of all the things that were going on that made her forget about my table change request.

I stayed there as the time clicked away and I lost precious opportunity to earn a drawing ticket.

(That's the end of part 2.  Part 3 is now posted and can be found here.  Good news:  Part 3 is the shortest chapter!)