See: http://www.lasvegasvegas.com/content/fitzgeralds-closes-poker-room-1326502328
I was at the Fitzgeralds Casino last night. (I just now noticed that the name is not to be in the possessive form. But the tag/label I made for it erroneously already has the apostrophe in it, and it's too much trouble to fix it, so too bad.) I was in the "Club Fitz" office because I had received in the mail a coupon for $25 of free slot play, and had to redeem the coupon in the office before I could use it. (Took about ten minutes to run through that much on a "Wheel of Fortune" machine. Got nothing out of it.) While there, I noticed the "Blarney Stone" shown above.
Now, Fitzgeralds, more than about any joint in town that I can think of, stresses, in every possible way and on every possible surface, the idea of getting lucky. As you can see above, when I asked the cocktail waitress for a bottle of water to drink while I played poker, the stuff is called "Lucky Liquid."
But I was struck by the audacity of the last sentence of the sign under the Blarney Stone: "In the best of tradition of Blarney, rubbing the stone will surely make your day luckier."
Being the uber-skeptic that I am, I have considerable doubt that rubbing the stone will affect one's future gambling results for better or worse, for that day or for any other period of time. I think it's a lie, pure and simple. Among other questions, how is it that the results last exactly one day? Do the leprechauns in charge of this stuff keep a tally of what time you rubbed the stone, and when that day ends they cancel the charm?
So I want to sue Fitzgeralds for false advertising. They will have to prove in court that rubbing their stone makes one's day luckier.
But here's the catch. It's not exactly clear what "luckier" means in this context. Does it mean that rubbing the stone will make one's day luckier than it had been up to that point? Luckier than one's neighbor's day? Luckier than yesterday was? I think the most natural reading is that rubbing the stone will make one's day luckier than it would have been absent that action.
And therein lies my legal problem. What evidence can possibly be adduced either for or against the proposition that one's day will, from the point of rubbing the stone, become luckier than it otherwise would have been? Lacking a time machine, we can't run the day once with stone rubbing and once without it, leaving all other factors unchanged. As a result, I won't be able to prove that one's luck was not improved by rubbing the stone, and they won't be able to prove that it was improved.
So my lawsuit won't be filed right away. I have to have a little time to figure out this thorny legal problem. In the meantime, I'll just say that Fitzgeralds is spouting some serious B.S. If they think I'm libeling them for saying so, then they can sue me, and prove the case that they're telling the truth.
In case you're wondering, no, I did not either rub or kiss the Blarney Stone, and I scored a win at poker anyway. Imagine that.
Of course, I suppose that the response from the Fitzgeralds legal team would be that my lack of winning anything on the slot machine was because I failed to avail myself of the free luck enhancement offered to me in the Club Fitz office, when all I had to do was reach out and touch it.
Hmmm.
I set out walking tonight, intending to play for a while at the Golden Nugget, but never got there. I stopped in at Fitzgeralds (which, until tonight, I erroneously thought was "Fitzgerald's"; but now I know that, like Caesars Palace, it's plural, not possessive) to see what was happening in their poker room upstairs. I've looked in there many times, hoping to see a NLHE game going, but never have, in two years. I've even played there three times in a limit game, hoping that a no-limit game would evolve. Never did.
But tonight they had three names on a no-limit interest list, and a tournament that was about 25 minutes along, implying that we'd soon see some bust-outs. So I sat down. I only had to wait about ten minutes. It was worth it. I left less than two hours later up by $211.
Fitzgeralds is not a particularly nice poker room. It's way too smoky for my taste. Dealers are below average. Minimal amenities. It's an ugly and not especially friendly place, with only six tables and, as I said, it's hard to find much action there.
There were a couple of moderately experienced players, but the table was mostly occupied by very weak opponents. Bad rooms tend to attract bad players, which is why I endure unpleasant places like the Sahara, Tuscany, Riviera, Imperial Palace, etc.
At one point, after about half an hour of being completely card-dead, I decided to try a gambit. I raised to $15 with 5-6 offsuit in the cutoff seat. I got four callers. The flop was 4-6-7 with two spades. (I had a club and a diamond, I think.) The first player bet $10 and two others called before it got to me. I raised to $50 as a semi-bluff, quite content to win the pot as it was, but I knew I had ways to win against just about any hand my opponents held in case I got called. Any observant player would conclude I had a big pocket pair and was defending against the obvious draws. The first two players folded quickly. The last one had a long think. He was talking to me, asking how big my pocket pair was, etc. He finally folded.
I rarely show bluffs, because I don't like to anger other players. But I was tempted to do so this time. Mike Caro advises showing or not showing bluffs depending on the type of opponents. Your goal is to heighten your opponents' tendencies. Those who tend to call too much are the ones to show bluffs to, because it will amplify their natural impulse to call you down when you have strong hands. Those who tend to play too tight and already fold more than they should are the ones to bluff without showing. Let them think they're making good laydowns, which will tend to make them continue doing the same.
This table had several calling stations, so I decided to show the semi-bluff. I got compliments all around: "Nice bet," "Nice play," etc. Even though two players plausibly claimed that they folded bigger pairs than my 6s, they smiled, rapped the table, and said, "Well done."
And boy oh boy did it turn out to be a good thing I advertised that move!
On the very next hand, I picked up A-K offsuit. I bet $15 again, and got five suspicious callers. This was going to be another big pot--now I just had to hit the flop, because I had no prayer of another big bluff working in this situation.
The flop was K-K-8, rainbow. Well, I guess that's hitting it, all right! Player A (one of the weakest ones) led out for $10. I called, as did the button. The turn card was a 10. Player A checked this time. I bet $35. Button folded and A went into the tank. I tried hard to behave exactly as I had on the previous hand while I had been waiting for my last opponent's decision.* There's just no doubt in my mind that the effects of that hand were working on Player A. I think he finally decided that he couldn't stand to be the victim of a second consecutive bluff. He said, "OK, if you've got me, you've got me. I'm all in." He pushed in his last $125 or so. I had him covered.
You might guess that I called. You'd be right. Though I didn't need it, the case king hit the river, giving me quads. That beat my opponent's Q-Q handily.
As I was stacking up the chips, the guy who had taken so long to fold on the previous hand said, "Showing that 6-5 worked out pretty well for you."
Funny--I had been thinking exactly the same thing.
(The photo above is one of the atomic clocks maintained by the National Institute of Standards and Technology. Get it? "Perfect timing"? OK, it's pretty lame, but I couldn't think of any better illustration.)
*One of the readers with whom I played at Bill's the other night was kind enough to email me the next day, and included this observation: "I really admired your play, you took your time on every move and you were very deliberate in your actions. Always did the same thing every time whether you had the nuts or were bluffing. Very hard to pick up a tell on you. Well played Grump, well played." It's nice to hear that at least sometimes I achieve the effect I aim for.
I was at Fitzgerald's casino downtown (a really pathetic place for poker, by the way), playing a little $3-6 limit hold'em at about 3:00 a.m. a few days back. It's four-handed, because this last game running is close to shutting down.
At the other end of the table is a mediocre player who thinks he's got it all figured out. Next to him is somebody who is clearly very, very new to the game (can't keep straight when the bet is $3 and when it's $6, etc.). So the first guy is just reveling in the joy of being able to instruct the newbie. In the process, though, he reveals how little he himself understands of the game.
At one point, our Professor has A-x of clubs. The flop is all clubs (with no straight flush possible), followed on the turn and river by the two red 7s. I'm out of the hand early, but the newbie calls him down all the way with basically nothing. Professor proudly slams down his hole cards, and says, "I've got the nuts!"
Usually I just roll my eyes and let this sort of thing go. But tonight was different. Maybe he got under my skin with his constant attempts to show the newbie how much he knew. (I'm not opposed to helping somebody new if they need and want the advice. But this was sort of like a third-grader helping a first-grader--not exactly world-class instruction.) Maybe it was because there was only one other player there, so not a lot of potential for a big, table-wide, multi-way argument to ensue. Maybe it was just way too late at night. But for whatever reason, I decided to speak up.
"How is that the nuts?" I asked.
He looked at the board again, apparently having not considered the implications of the paired turn and river cards.
"OK, well, it's the nuts unless somebody hit quads," he conceded.
I pressed on. "What about a full house?"
He shot back, "There's no full house possible there!"
I then proceded to rattle off the 6 different combinations of hole cards that would give somebody a full house, and concluded, "So there are 7 different hands that have you beat, and you think you have the nuts?"
He still defended himself: "Well, I had the nuts on the flop!"
Well, yes, you did. I'll grant you that. But you didn't have the nuts at the point that you declared yourself to have the nuts, you ignoramus.
If I were a better person, I wouldn't take pleasure in what happened next. But I'm me, so I did. On the very next hand, I had pocket 10s, and the other two 10s came on the turn and river. The new player called my bets all the way. Before I showed my hand, I asked the Professor, "So what would be the nuts here?" He quickly replied, "Quad 10s." I said, "I'm glad you're learning," and turned them over.
Folks, if you're not 100% sure what the best possible hand is, with a given set of cards on the board, don't declare yourself to have "the nuts." It's just a set-up for embarrassment. Personally, when I do have the nuts, I find it much more satisfying, generally, not to announce that fact. I just flip over the cards, and inevitably another player will say something like, "That's the nuts--nice hand." And I try to return that favor when I see that another player has it. It's uncommon enough to have the best possible hand that I think it's nice to give/receive compliments to/from other players than to pat onesself on the back. After all, it's not like you actually accomplished something difficult--you just got lucky.
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