You might be a donkey if....

Monday evening at the Venetian I had the table donkey on my right. His oddness began with the fact that he was wearing sleeves too long for his arms, with holes cut in them for his thumbs to stick out, leaving the elastic cuff to go across his palms--because, y'know, one's palms get so cold playing poker.

I first noticed his donkitude in how little attention he was paying to the game. He was just completely zoned out. Every time it was his turn, the dealer would have to try to get his attention, then recap the action for him to that point. That gets old REAL fast.

But there were four specific points in the evening at which he might as well have bared his teeth, kicked his rear hooves, and brayed.


1.

He limped in from early position, then called a ridiculously large pre-flop raise to $25 from one of the more solid players at the table, with K-2. But, of course, it was sooted! The flop gave him a gutshot to a wheel, so of course he check-called a pot-sized bet, and hit his draw on the turn.


2.

In another hand, he limped in, and was one of four callers for a raise to $12 from the table's tightest player on the button. Pot was about $60. On the flop it was checked around to the raiser, who bet $50. It folded around to Donkey. He said, over and over again, "Wow. Great bet. Really great bet." He finally folded, but continued the admiring speech. "That was just a fantastic bet." No, there was no irony or sarcasm in it.

I took a dinner break, and as I was sitting down upon my return, caught the end of Donkey yet again bringing up that hand, and telling the opponent from nearly an hour before, "You put in a really great bet there, dude."

Yeah. The pre-flop raiser putting in a continuation bet of a little less than the size of the pot, from the button, when his opponents check it to him--that's positively ingenious. Never seen anything like that before! It's well worth continuing to marvel at FOR AN HOUR!

3.

About a minute before I stepped away for my break, he said, to nobody in particular, "Do you think the table has noticed that I'm playing, like, every hand?"

No, sir! None of us were paying any attention to such obscure, hard-to-obtain information! You should have kept it to yourself, and nobody would ever have known.

(Later, after about the seventh Jagermeister, he changed his tactic to raising every hand. I was salivating in the hopes of picking up something good. But I went card-dead about then, and by the time I hit some good stuff the booze had pushed him to nearly falling asleep at the table, and complete passivity in play. I still took nearly $100 from him on my last hand of the night when my K-K was apparently good enough.)

4.

I had A-A under the gun. I raised. Button reraised. Donkey folded. (Dang!) I put in the third raise, and the button called. Flop A-K-10 rainbow. Bet and call. Turn a 6. Big bet, reluctant fold.

I show the aces as a bit of false advertising. Donkey says, "Nice hand, but you must have hated that flop." I'm kind of stunned--I flopped the second nuts, and just wasn't too worried that my opponent had called the third raise (from a tight player in first position) with J-Q. Actually, I was about to pee my pants with the hope that he had either A-K or K-K, and I would stack him. And Donkey is saying I must have hated the flop??? All I can croak out is a stammering, "It was OK." Donkey says, "That's sure not the kind of flop you want when you've got aces."

He is not kidding.

I'm flabbergasted into silence. The thought running through my mind is, "Just shut up. Keep it to yourself. No teaching at the table. Let him think whatever he wants to think."


To the young man in Seat 9 Monday night: In case anybody tries to pin a tail on you in the near future, there's a damn good reason.