Playing with readers

Tuesday evening I went out to dinner with a reader who wanted to meet me, and had a great time with it. We were at the Burger Bar at Mandalay Bay, so it was natural for me to proceed from there to the M.B. poker room. (My new friend is still something of a beginner at poker, and not feeling ready for no-limit cash games on a regular basis.)

As soon as I sat down, a guy at the other end of the table spotted me, identified himself as a reader, and started telling everybody about me and my blog--including the forewarning about any boards on which 2-4 would be a strong holding! It was all very amusing and flattering.

He joined other previous readers I've played with in expressing the worry that he'd do something stupid and have to see himself described in a scathing post here. The fear was groundless. First, he didn't do anything deserving of scorn. (I did take something like $100 from him in one pot where he had top pair with a good kicker and I had flopped bottom two pair, but that would have been hard to get away from.) Second, it's really not very often that I write posts about opponents playing badly; it's bad behavior that gets me riled up enough to vent here much more often than bad play. Third, I have a natural soft spot for my readers, and would be less likely to blow the whistle on something dumb one of them did in my presence than if the same thing were done by a random stranger.

But here's something I may not have mentioned before: When I know there's a reader at the table, I'm faced with the other side of the same coin. I never want to make stupid plays, but the dread of doing so is compounded by the possibility of being caught in the act by somebody who likes my writing. I feel the pressure to play my A-game as much as those of you on the receiving end of this-here blog, when we're sharing a table.

Fortunately, the cards mostly rolled my way that session, and I didn't do much of anything for which I need to fear being called out. I chalked up a $343 profit in 80 minutes, an hourly rate I'll be happy with anytime. My first hand in the big blind was A-K, two callers, flop K-Q-Q, $25 continuation bet found that nobody had a queen, and I took it down. Nice way to start. I also got A-A three times and K-K once in that short time there. Poker is all skill, you know.

I made one hero call. A very large pot had developed between me and the guy on my immediate left. It was one of the times I had aces in the hole. The flop had been Q-x-x. By his demeanor and the way he called my large bets on the flop and turn, I was confident I was ahead. But another queen hit the river, which I hated, because it was perfectly plausible that he had A-Q all along, and was suddenly ahead. I checked. He almost instantly declared himself all in, for his last $124. Ugh. The only tell I spotted was the rapidity with which he made that move. I thought that if he really had A-Q, he would have to take at least a few seconds to decide whether to push or go for a smaller value bet, as well as consider the possiblity that I had flopped a set and had just filled up. But I was not at all confident of that, because the pot was big enough that a smaller bet really wasn't much of an option. In the end, it just came down to pot odds. I calculated that I would only need to be right one in about three times for the call to be profitable, and the chance of him either bluffing with a busted flush draw or pocket jacks, or perhaps wrongly thinking he was ahead with pocket kings, was at least that high. So I called. He gave off a little wry smirk and looked at his cards again, reluctant to show them, at which point I knew I had it. He said, "Good call," and showed me A-K. Whew! Not only do I get the big pot, but I look smarter than I really am for the call, and avoid being thought of as somebody who is unable to tell when his aces are beaten.

But then again, I still might get that reputation from my last hand of the session, after I already had my chips in the rack. I got A-A for the third time. Never mind the details of the hand, but by the turn there were two kings on the board as well as a possible flush. I was playing to keep the pot relatively small, because it's so awful to lose a big one just as I'm preparing to leave--and besides, my opponent was a pretty tight, smart player, and I was out of position, so it was intrinsically a dangerous situation. Anyway, the turn went check-check. I checked again on the the river, which looked like a brick, and he bet $45. I convinced myself that he didn't have a king or the flush, mainly because he had checked the turn behind me, and surely he would have bet either of those hands there. But my focus was entirely on ruling out those two possibilities, and once I reached my conclusion, I stopped the analysis and called. Oops--I didn't even notice the straight possibility. I had given him the free river card that got him there. Rats. Oh well. These things happen, and, once again, the chance that he sensed weakness in my turn and river checks and was therefore either bluffing or value-betting a single pair lower than mine was, I think, high enough that the call would have been justifiable even if I had considered the possible straight.

I think my reader was away from the table for my biggest loss of the night. I gave away nearly $200 in a huge three-way pot with a new player who had replaced the one on my left (the one that I had caught in the big bluff) and the one who would later crack my last-hand aces. I had suited 8-9 on the button, so came along for the raise. The details have escaped me now, but I flopped an open-ended straight draw with no flush draws possible, and I was extremely confident that if I hit it would be good. At each step I rough-counted the pot, calculated the odds, looked at what my opponents had left, estimated what more I could take from them if I made my hand, etc., and decided that I had to stay in. It didn't work out, but even after watching the huge pot slide to the seat next to me instead of to me (he had K-K, and the other guy had J-J, so I was right about the outcome of hitting), I concluded I had played it within reason.

So, all things considered, I think I acquitted myself well enough to not worry too much about my reputation with one reader.

I packed up and left, intending to make a run at The Great MGM/Mirage Challenge, but got cold-decked at the Luxor, so gave it up and went home while I still had a net profit for the night.


As my new friend from dinner and I were parting before my night of poker started, he said that one of these days he'd be at the tables with me, and he'd be gunning for me. Well, to the extent that one specifically targets another player for personal reasons, it's always a mistake. But I don't think that's what he meant, exactly. I understood it to mean, "I won't show you any special mercy." That is as it should be, and as I would ask and want it to be. The reader sharing the table with me, in the middle of the one largish pot we contested, jokingly asked, when I raised him, "No mercy for a fan, eh?" No, sir. That's not how the game is played.

I've written before about the strange mixture of feelings that comes from playing a big hand against one of my readers--whether I win or lose--and nothing has changed since then. I think soft-playing is unethical (not to mention unprofitable), and I won't be doing it. But obviously I also won't be specially aiming to take down a reader. The poker gods present us with situations without regard for any sort of outside knowledge or relationship two players may have, and hands must be played similarly without such regard. So I say again: play your best against me, and I will be doing the same. However it turns out I'll be OK with, and hope you will be, too.

And if either of us does something monumentally stupid, let's agree in advance to just keep it between ourselves, OK?