Duh, winning!

There are times that the poker gods have decreed, "You will lose tonight," and there is nothing you can do to stop it. You play patiently, read opponents with laser precision, get your money in with the best of it every time--and lose, lose, lose.

There are other times that the poker gods have decreed, "You will win tonight," and there is nothing you can do to stop it. You play loose, from out of position, make every mistake in the book, get your money in bad every time--and win, win, win.

I didn't exactly play that badly tonight, but it was unmistakable that some unseen deity had declared it to be my night.

A year ago, almost to the day, I met reader Matt from Atlanta. As I reported then, he generously staked me in a tournament at the Venetian, just to have an excuse to meet and chat with me for a while. We've kept in occasional contact via Twitter since then. Several days ago he let me know he'd be in town again for a convention. He said he'd be staying at Hooters, and planned to hit their poker room Monday night. I had no other plans, and hadn't been to Hooters in a couple of months, so quickly agreed to meet him there.

I got there early and was one of the four to get the game started. Within the first ten minutes, I had called a raise with 6-6, flopped a set, turned quads, and picked up a $100 high-hand bonus in addition to the pot:

It has been several months since I last hit a jackpot--a statistically anomalous dry spell. It was high time it ended.

After that, the good times just kept rolling. I just Could. Not. Lose. I literally won every pot of over $50 that I contested the entire session, save one; I lost a race with J-J versus A-K all-in pre-flop for $45 each. Other than that, pretty much everything rolled my way. Raise with a good ace, and the flop would have an ace or my kicker as the high card. Call somebody else's raise with suited connectors, and I'd make the flush, straight, trips, or two pair. This streak was completely, utterly, off-the-charts, must-be-rigged ridiculous, and it had the full attention of every other player and all of the poker room employees.

I played for just over 2 1/2 hours, starting with the max buy-in of $200, and cashed out with $980, for a win rate of $297/hour. That is insane!

Matt and I had agreed in advance to a $5 bet over who could win a pot with and show the Mighty Deuce-Four first. Well, before he even arrived, I had scored a double-felting with it. I raised from the button to $15. The small blind moved all in for $27. The UTG player called, leaving himself only $10 behind. I called, too. The flop was K-4-x. UTG tossed in his last $10. I called, of course. Both he and the small blind had K-Q. So what came on the turn? A deuce ex machina. Two pair, thankyouverymuch. Pot to me.

(I explained to the table that not only was it my favorite hand, but it was the most powerful hand in poker. Some actually scoffed at this idea. Another player claimed that deuce-five is much stronger than deuce-four. Now it was my turn to scoff. The silly ideas that some poker players get in their heads!)

Matt was kind enough to pay me off when he arrived and heard about the Deuce-Four double-felting, even though he hadn't witnessed it. I didn't think it should count (even though other players were vouching for it having occurred) since I had an unfair head start. But I think he just wanted to give me this chip anyway:

He had been in Panama on his honeymoon, and brought it back as a souvenir for me, knowing that I collect $5 chips. I think it's lovely, and it's one that I am extremely unlikely ever to have picked up on my own. Thanks, Matt. You're a classy guy.

So how did I repay his kindness? The story gets ugly here. Gory, even. If you have small children in the room, you might want to have them leave before you read on. You don't want them having nightmares.

I had 7s-9s and limped from early position, Matt (on my left) also limped, along with a couple of others. Mr. Deuce-Five raised to $17 from the big blind. He raised a lot, but usually with good position, so this smelled of a real hand. I called, as did Matt. Three to the flop, which was J-7-7 rainbow. Ding! Mr. D-F bet $25. I smooth-called, assuming he'd bet nearly any turn, and it would either be an all-in bet or he'd be pot-committed to me shoving on him.

That's not how it worked out. Matt blindsided me with his own shove, for about $120. Mr. D-F shoved, too, for slightly more than that--almost surely with an overpair to the board. I was pretty confident Matt didn't have J-J, both because he hadn't raised pre-flop and because I think if he were that strong he would milk it more, trying to keep both me and Mr. D-F in. No way was he bluffing, and no way was he foolish enough to think that it would be a good spot to commit his stack with something like A-J, after my suspicious flat-call on a drawless flop. He had to have a 7, no two ways about it. But what kicker? I feared an ace. But Mr. D-F might well have two of the aces, and I also thought that after an ace his most likely kickers were a 6 or 8, for suited connectors. If so, I was ahead by a nose. It seemed to me at least twice as likely that his second card was a 6 or 8 as that it was an ace, so with more than 2:1 pot odds, I called, holding my breath.

I showed my 7-9, and Matt rolled over.... wait for it.... suited 7-10. D'oh!

I just barely had time to process this bad news when, Boom! Nine-ball, corner pocket. Full house. Blank on the river. A roughly $530 pot came my way. When the poker gods have made you their golden boy for the night, hitting a three-outer is child's play.

Fortunately, Matt's lovely young wife was taking the slot machines to school, making up for his sick losses. Also fortunately (for me), he laughed it off like the good sport he is. He left to go do something else, though we may meet up again tomorrow night. I've got to give the guy a sporting chance to return the suckout! Maybe my luck will have run out by then.

But I wouldn't count on it.

Freerolls

Cardgrrl and I have been on a mildly amusing food freeroll for the past few days.

I play at Binion's with fair regularity, and build up food comps faster than I can use them. This is especially true since they closed the coffee shop a few months ago. I wrote about that at the time, and a reader suggested taking Cardgrrl to the steakhouse. I had considered that, but initially rejected the idea because she is a vegetarian. However, the next time I was at Binion's, I checked the menu, and they had a couple of nice seafood dishes listed, which are on the Cardgrrl-approved list. That settled how I would splurge my freebies.

So Friday night we hit the famous Binion's Ranch Steakhouse, racking up a $98 tab. Maybe some of you eat in places where that doesn't seem like much, but I'm a cheapskate, and it's more than double what I usually pay for dinner for two, so it felt like a feast of kings to me. Had an excellent 16 oz. New York strip steak (well, half of it anyway); Cardgrrl had broiled salmon.

The photos above show the view of the city from our table at the steakhouse, which is on the 24th floor of Binion's.

Stepping off of the elevator on our way out, a guy asked whether we had just eaten at the steakhouse. Yes. "Was it good?" Yes again. With that, he and his family got on the elevator and headed up. Obviously, my culinary opinion carries great weight.

It was only after the moment had passed that Cardgrrl and I started thinking of the better responses: "It was worth what we paid for it." Or, "It's great, considering that all the food is free."

The next day, we met up with Shamus and his wife Vera Valmore for brunch at Hash House a Go Go out on Sahara Avenue (skipping, for various unimportant reasons, the newer incarnation of the same establishment at Imperial Palace). Though we weren't expecting this, the two of them were generous enough to treat us to the meal, and the freeroll was well underway.

Back in February, when Cardgrrl was last here, she shared a starting table at the http://www.allvegaspoker.com/ tournament with Adam Altweis, the poker room manager at Aria. (See interviews with him about this new job and the Aria poker room here and here.) He kindly handed out to his tablemates comp tickets good for dinner and drinks for four at any of several Aria food establishments. Cardgrrl invited F-Train, Jen, and me to share in her gift. Saturday night we met at Lemongrass, a Thai restaurant, and, well, basically ate everything in sight. They had some Teamsters come and roll us back out to our cars about three hours later. Thank you, Adam!

Yesterday we ate at the Victorian Room at Bill's. It's not exactly haute cuisine there, but Bill's is another place where I have somehow accumulated over $100 of food comps, so it seemed fitting to let the free stuff keep on rollin'.

Today I extended it further by having for my lunch the other half of the steak I couldn't finish Friday night. Just as good the second time.

One of these days, I might have to start actually paying for food again, and that's gonna hurt, after this weekend.

I suppose one could say that my poker has been freerolling, too; I haven't played much in the last week or so, but I did join Cardgrrl in the Aria afternoon $175 tournament, which is about as nicely structured as you're likely to find in a daily event. Didn't do too well there (busted out by a reader, even, when my AK ran into his aces--hi, Tyler!), but Cardgrrl lasted a lot longer, and I made enough in a cash game while waiting for her to more than make up for the buy-in. A cash game at the Pavilion Room at Rio went well for both of us Saturday, too.

The freeroll picks up in a different way tomorrow. Through my membership in House Seats Las Vegas, I scored free tickets for Cardgrrl and me to see Cheap Trick doing their wildly popular "Sergeant Pepper" tribute show at the Paris hotel/casino Tuesday night. Shamus saw it with Vera (but not Chuck or Dave; a little Beatles humor there!) Saturday night; see his review here. I saw this show at the Hilton last September, and enjoyed it immensely. I will be delighted to share it now with my favorite visitor from the East Coast.

Speaking of whom, she is in a HORSE tournament right now at the Golden Nugget, part of their summer "The Grand" series. I have finished what I needed to do here at the ol' homestead, so it's time to amble down Fremont Street to where she is playing, and see just how badly she is crushing the game. Sadly, she will be leaving town on Wednesday, and soon thereafter things will return to what passes for a normal schedule in my life.

Night at the Rio

Just home from a session in which I not only made a little money, but I picked up a whole bunch of little stories to tell you. This pleases me.


Feeling famous

The first unusual thing that happened was that I sat down next to a reader, though neither of us knew it for a while. She was chatting with somebody else about blogs, and said she read a lot of them. I asked if she read any poker blogs, and when she said yes, I asked which ones. She said she browses lots of them, but specifically mentioned F-Train and Poker Dealer, both friends of mine. I have to admit it was a slight ego blow that the first words out of her mouth were not "Poker Grump," but when I asked about that blog, she said yes, it was on her list. She got a suspicious look on her face and asked if that was me. I fessed up. She proved that she really does read it by mentioning, first, that "That's the one with all the photos," and, second, that I had recently taken time off to go out of town to a wedding. Right on both counts.

Apparently she has a blogger friend who is an even bigger fan of mine. (I jotted down the friend's blog's name, but now find nothing of the sort, so I must have written it incorrectly. Sorry I can't give a little plug.) She texted her to say that she was sitting next to me. Her friend seemed quite excited back in Ohio, and demanded a photo for proof. I gave her a faux grumpy face. Hope it filled the bill. The whole thing made me feel very slightly (emphasis on those two words) rockstarish.

(I told her that this session probably wouldn't result in a post, because it didn't seem that anything of particular interest was happening. I was wrong. All the other story-worthy stuff happened after she left.)


Angry about--what???

The worst beat I took this session: I raised from the small blind with A-A. Guy who had limped under the gun shoved for about $60. I called. He had A-Q. I'm a 7:1 favorite. Usually that's enough. Not tonight. Flop: K-10-x. Turn K. River J.

"He beat me, straight up. Pay him. Pay that man his money." (OK, I didn't really say that. I believe one has to be highly selective in one's deployment of "Rounders" lines during poker games.)

Anyway, a little while later he did another shove re-raise--a rather ridiculously large overbet. When the original raiser (player to his right) folded, my nemesis flashed him his hole cards before passing them face-down to the dealer. Naturally, I was interested in what range of hands he might do this with, given that his first instance was A-Q. I asked the dealer to show them. She did: Q-Q.

The guy stood up, looked at me, and asked, "Did you see them." I said yes. He said, "So you got what you wanted?" There was unquestionable hostility in his voice. I was a little flummoxed--had I done something wrong?--so I hesitated in answering. I guess I didn't need to respond, because before I could think of how to reply, he picked up his chips and said, "Good. I'm glad you're happy. But bad decision for you." And he stormed off, cashed out, and left.

I'm at a loss to understand what the problem was. Surely he knew that when he showed one player his cards, that opened the door for anybody else to see them. Jeez, dude, if you want to keep it secret, just don't show anybody. It's real easy.

I've only once before seen somebody get that bent out of shape over the completely standard practice of exposing a hand that was shown to another player; I told that story here. I still don't get it.


Table jumper

We were short-handed after a few people left nearly at the same time. We had three empty seats. A new player sat down in one of them, but immediately left to go have a chat with a friend at another table. When she came back, she picked up her chips and announced that she was going to play at that other table instead. The dealer politely informed her that she would need to get the floor's permission first. The woman replied, "He said it was OK."

I watched where she went, and it was to a table that had only one open seat. It seemed very strange to me that the floor guy would approve that move, unless there was some special circumstance that wasn't apparent. So I asked the dealer to call the floor. Turns out that she had neither asked for nor been given permission to move. He fetched her and brought her back. She was not happy to have been caught.

She obviously knew exactly what she was doing and that it was against the rules. Lie, cheat--what does it matter, as long as you get what you want, right? Why should she have to be concerned about what effect her actions have on other people? People are so scummy.


Premature evacuation

In one dumb hand, I had 10-6 in the small blind--but it was SOOTED! So I threw in the extra $2. There were four of us in the hand. The final board was something like 3-5-7-8-J. I.e., it hit all around my cards, but didn't quite connect. It was checked all the way down. At showdown, one guy just pitched his cards into the muck without waiting to see anybody else's. I flipped over my lousy 10-6, with about zero expectation that it was the winner. The big blind then mucked, so apparently I had him beat. About the same time that I was showing, the woman on the button said, "Ace high," but she didn't expose her cards.

Hearing that, the dealer picked up my two cards, and dumped them face down on top of the muck, and started to push the pot toward the button. I protested: "Why are you killing my hand?" The dealer stopped and fished my cards from off of the pile. Only after all of this did the woman on the button finally show her hand. She did indeed have an ace, and took the pot. The dealer shot me a dirty look, as if I had wasted her time and annoyed her by insisting that we go through the formality of, y'know, having an actual showdown in the showdown portion of the hand.

I suppose if one were to ask this dealer, "At showdown, can a player just announce that he or she has the best hand and thereby claim the pot?" she would answer, "Of course not." But in actual practice, that's exactly what she appeared to be willing to do.

I remember when I was in poker dealer school, they drummed into us over and over again: "Don't kill an exposed hand until somebody shows a better one." It's a rather obvious procedural point.

The less obvious factor in effect here is that given my cards and the texture of the board, it's a situation in which another player could easily think--in error--that I had made a straight. The player on the button has to look at my cards and the board, figure out what my hand is, and decide whether hers beats it. If she is prone to mistakenly thinking that my hand is better and as a result decides to muck hers unseen, well, that's a little bonus pot for me, and I'm happy to take it. The dealer killing my hand when the button says "Ace" is a clear signal to the player that an ace is good enough, without the player having to reach that conclusion on her own. In effect, it violated the "one person to a hand rule" by providing unwarranted assistance.

Of course, the player on the button doesn't have to make that assessment; she can just flip her hand over and let the cards speak. But if she's going to decide whether to show based on whether she decides she has the winner, that is an evaluation she must undertake all by herself. It is also true that the dealer can (and probably should) announce my hand verbally and/or push up the board cards that go with my hole cards to make my best hand. That much assistance to the player on the button is perfectly appropriate. But what she did was beyond that.

I'm not sure I've ever before seen a dealer kill a live, exposed hand in favor of one that was announced but not shown. Strange stuff.


What he was waiting for

I was rather short-stacked (this hand actually marked the beginning of my comeback), and had moved all-in on the turn with top pair/top kicker (A-10 on 10-high board). I had thought my lone remaining opponent was on a draw on the flop, and the turn wouldn't have helped him, prompting my move.

He groaned, made some faces, and clearly had a difficult decision. He eventually showed me his cards: Nut flush draw plus a gutshot straight draw and an overcard (ace, which would be no good if it hit, but he didn't know that).

He was taking a long time to decide. He finally said, "Sorry to take so long. I'm waiting for the alcohol to kick in so I have the nerve to call you."

It's rare that somebody can break my stoicism while in the middle of a hand, but he made me laugh out loud.

He eventually folded, but I had to concede to him that he had delivered the line of the night.

Five live

I have played in five live poker tournaments over the past ten days or so, which is highly unusual for me.

1.

The first was last Monday at the Venetian. A reader generously offered to pay my buy-in for the nightly 7:00 tournament, to give him a chance to meet me and to say thanks for the blog. (He cleverly titled his introductory email, "Free money," which effectively got my attention.) This is a pretty well-structured tournament, except for one boneheaded part in which the blinds and antes increase way too much in one step.

My favorite hand was one fairly early in the game in which I called a preflop raise, along with about six others, with 7-9 of diamonds. The flop was 9h-8d-2d, giving me top pair and a flush draw. I checked. The original raiser bet, followed by a couple of callers, then I put in a big check-raise, which narrowed the field to just me and one older gentleman. The turn was the 6s. Now I had top pair, a flush draw, and an open-ended straight draw, with about half my stack in a very large pot. Well, duh! I don't need too many instructional videos to tell me how to play this. Shove. The other guy called. He had Ad-xd for just the nut flush draw. The river was the 5c, completing my straight, though just the pair was all it took to win. The gentleman shook my hand at the next break (he was left very short-stacked, but doubled up a couple of times to survive) and told me he realized what a dumb move he had made and that he should have known better.

But that hand was all I could do. There followed a long stretch without any forward progress. Before too long I was in fold-or-shove mode. I managed to steal the blinds about as often as I had to pay them, keeping myself afloat, but without making any headway. This happened ten times or so without ever getting called. Finally I did it from the small blind with 10-10, and was called by a doofus with 10-9 offsuit. The board came with a 7, 8, and J to give him a straight, despite me being an 85/15 favorite going in. And that was that.

The tournament also gave me the chance to meet one of my Twitter followers, youknoyoulov3me. She was at my table for the latter part of the tournament. I gather she is a dealer at Bellagio, and is self-evidently a fine player.

Thanks again to Matt for the freeroll!

2.

Cardgrrl was in town, of course. One of her reasons for coming was a get-together of folks she knows from Poker Academy, an online site where she did much of her early poker learning. The group had a private tournament Wednesday at noon at Harrah's. The Harrah's structure is thin and fast, with virtually no room to recover from an error or bad beat. It's an amateur-hour luckfest.

I chipped up some early on, but within an hour suffered a pretty horrible beat. I called a raise with A-K. Flop came king-high. Original raiser shoves with K-J. I call. Jack on the river for the 3-outer. That left me short-stacked. Then I was in the big blind with Q-6 (I think; not sure of the kicker now). Under-the-gun guy had limped, so it was just us seeing the flop. It was Q-8-9, so I shoved. He called, having flopped the nuts with J-10. That left me in "any two cards" mode. I don't even remember what hand I put it in with, nor what I was called with, but it didn't turn out well.

Still, it was a fun bunch of people to play with. I even got to steal a pot holding the mighty 2-4, and showed it. After all, this crew is from "Poker Academy"--they're there to learn, right? They need to know about invincible hands.

3.

Friday night at Treasure Island was the first of two tournaments sponsored by http://www.allvegaspoker.com/. It was a kind of strange mixed-game format, with Omaha-8, deuce-to-seven triple draw, stud-8, and razz. The fun of this was that--let's face it--none of us really knew what we were doing much of the time.

My favorite hand of the tourney was at the final table when I was dealt "number one," 2-3-4-5-7, in triple-draw. I expect it will be a long, long time before that happens again. I didn't play it optimally. After David Stucke raised, I three-bet it, when it clearly would have been better to flat-call and let a couple of others in. The chance that anybody would even tie me for the pot was negligible. But the tourney ran much longer than the organizers expected (we ran several past the number of levels they had planned out), so we had been playing for seven hours at that point. To make matters worse, I had eaten something that rather unpleasantly disagreed with me, and had been focusing mostly on not throwing up all over the poker table (which I believe constitutes grounds for a time-out). Combine that with having next to zero experience with triple-draw, and it explains why I didn't play it better. David put in a few more chips and was all in. I called, obviously. (I wasn't quite so impaired as to fold the stone-cold nuts.) I made another mistake at this point, though not too critical: I put my cards face-up on the table. I'm just so used to there being no more decisions to be made after all the chips are in that I forgot that there remained three decision points in this hand, even with no more betting to be done. It didn't really matter, though. Even if you know that you have to improve all the way to #1 in order to chop the pot, it's awfully difficult to do, and the cards didn't cooperate for David. He finished in 8th place.

Four spots were paying, but we negotiated a chop when there were six of us left. I was second in chips by that point, and was one of two people to take $300. (Entry fee was $65.) Two others took $275, and the remaining two (including Cardgrrl) took $250 each.

More details, comments from the players, and lots of photos of both AVP events are available here.

4.

The second part of the AVP bash was a no-limit hold'em tournament Saturday at the Mirage. Not much to report about it. I just never got anything going. On my last hand I got it all in pretty decently, with A-K versus 5-5 for my 10-BB stack, and couldn't improve for the double-up. Oh well.

Cardgrrl did extremely well again, finishing in fourth place (six spots paid). She was the only one to cash in both AVP events, which tells you something of her ability. She is a threat to win in essentially any tournament she enters. I was, as always, very proud of her.

5.

Tuesday evening, after Cardgrrl had left, I was at Harrah's planning to play cash. But it was 7:30, and their nightly tournament was starting. It's the same rinky-dink structure as was used for the private Poker Academy tournament. But there were only five people playing, and looking at them I recognized all the classic symptoms of complete newbies--looking nervous as all get-out, not sure what to do with their chips, asking basic questions about rules, unclear as to seat numbers, etc. I watched them play one hand, and it confirmed my impression that not a single one of them had any idea what was going on. So I called an audible on myself, took my name off the waiting list for the cash game, and entered the tournament.

We finally ended up with eight players after a couple more late entries. I chipped up some, then made one bad call when I should have folded. As I said, this structure is completely unforgiving. That one mistake left me short. I lasted long enough to see three others eliminated. Once again, when I was down to exactly 10 big blinds, I got it all in good, with A-10, called by the big stack with A-6. I was in good shape, until a 6 on the turn did me in--killed by yet another 3-outer. Sigh.


So that's one cash in five tournaments--and, ironically, the one in which I made a little money was probably the only one in which I had essentially zero edge on the field. Total buy-ins: $390 (not counting the Venetian one). Total payouts: $300 (minus $15 for dealer tip). See why I don't usually play tournaments?

Seen at Binion's

I hadn't played at Binion's in nearly three months, so when it was time to set out for a game this evening and I didn't really feel like driving anywhere, it was the obvious target. (It's a ten-minute walk from my apartment.) Glad I did--it turned into a very profitable session.

I discovered that Binion's has continued its recent trend of issuing commemorative poker chips, as seen above. Labor Day and Halloween are obvious targets. I'm not sure what the third one is commemorating, other than T&A.

At the table I ran into a reader, name of Eric--from Cleveland, where I changed planes on my trip home Monday. (Lovely city--from the air, anyway.) He recognized me because I was wearing the hoodie sweatshirt that Cardgrrl gave me last month. He and I were involved in a hand that proved interesting. He raised from early position. I called on the button with Kh-Qh. Both blinds called, too. Flop was A-K-Q with two diamonds. Small blind bet $10, big blind called, Eric called. I raised to $40. I knew there was a fair chance I was already beat by a higher two pair, a set, or a straight, but I wanted to find out where things stood.

I found out fast. Small blind pushed all in. Big blind folded. Eric moved all in. I decided one of them had a set and the other J-10 for the straight. I folded. I was right on both counts. Unfortunately, Eric's A-A for the flopped top set was in bad shape, he didn't improve to a full house, and left empty-handed. That's the way it goes sometimes. I felt lucky to have escaped losing only $50 or so. It's weird to flop two pair and be in third place, but as it turned out I was drawing dead to running kings or queens for quads, or J-10 for a straight on the board and a three-way chop.

(Eric, I sympathize. If you haven't read this old post of mine, it's probably worth a few minutes of your time. You'll find a very familiar-sounding story there. It was just about the worst 20 minutes of poker I've ever experienced.)

There were other strange and/or interesting things to be seen at Binion's tonight, which I don't think need further commentary, just photos:

A night at Bill's

Last night at Bill's Gamblin' Hall and Saloon turned out to be one of my few unprofitable sessions there. *sigh* It happens.

But there were some noteworthy things, which I collect below.


1.

Not long ago I reported that Bill's had changed its no-limit hold'em game from a single $1 blind to a more standard $1-$2 structure. That experiment did not last long. A little birdie tells me that the people who want to buy in for the minimum $20 (and there are a lot of them) were going broke too fast, and they couldn't keep the game going as consistently. So they have revised it yet again, and now run it as $0.50-$1. That seems reasonable to me. It means two people have money in the pot before the cards are dealt (unlike the original structure), and there's a little more there. It also means a lot more handling of 50-cent pieces, which is mildly annoying, but oh well.


2.

Bill's has joined other Harrah's properties in now allowing a button straddle. As elsewhere, this means that the blinds have to act first, which totally sucks. There should be, like, a constitutional amendment to end this abomination.


3.

Every time I think I've seen everything that can get screwed up in the conduct of a poker hand, somebody finds a new way.

Two players got it all in before the flop. The dealer put out the flop (Jh-8s-Jc), turn (Jd), and river (7h). The players involved showed A-Q (I didn't note the suits, but it didn't matter) and 9h-9d. It looked like a straightforward win for the pocket nines with a full house.

But when the dealer pushed up the two jacks on the flop, he uncovered an extra card. As you can see from the photo below, there had been an unseen fourth card on the flop: the 10d was hiding under the Jh.




I have many times seen dealers accidentally put out four cards on the flop. It is usually pretty straightforward how to handle this. The dealer and floor reconstruct how the cards were taken off of the deck, and thereby determine which card doesn't belong. It becomes the burn card for the turn, as it was supposed to have been. If they cannot confidently reconstruct how the cards came off of the deck, the procedure would be to reshuffle the deck and start the flop over again, though I don't think I've ever seen this resorted to.

Two things made this situation different. First, the players were both all-in before the flop, so there were no further decisions to make. Second, the error was not discovered until after the hand was apparently completed. I have never seen either of these conditions present when there has been an accidental four-card flop, let alone having both of them together.

Significantly, it made no difference which of the four cards on the flop were the "right" ones; any combination still yielded a win for the 9-9 over the A-Q.

Because of that fact, had I been the floor person, I think I would have ruled that the nines win the pot. Had the error been discovered immediately and the proper flop reconstructed before putting out the turn and river, that would have been the result. It doesn't make sense to me to change that just because of the delay in discovering the problem, as long as the outcome couldn't possibly change. However, if different combinations of the flop cards yield different winners of the hands, and the correct flop cannot be reconstructed with virtually 100% confidence, I would split the pot between the two players. Alternately, I suppose one could argue for reshuffling the deck as it was before the flop (i.e., including the board cards and burn cards, but not including the discards from players who folded), then dealing out an entirely new board.

Here, the floor called it a "fouled flop" (a term I have not heard before; a Google search finds it only on one web page, here) and chopped the pot. For the reasons stated above, I don't think this was the best decision for these specific circumstances, but this being a situation I've never encountered or even contemplated before, perhaps it's the correct one by the book.

As always, comments by experienced dealers and floor staff are welcome.

Caveat: There is a possibility that the turn card was actually the Kd rather than the Jd, in which case the content of the flop does matter, because the 10 would then give the A-Q a Broadway straight. I distinctly recall that my first impression was that of a full house, but my memory might be adversely influenced by the subsequent rush of trying to figure out what the right thing to do in this situation was. I also commented to the guy next to me that the outcome wouldn't change no matter what the flop was, and he concurred. Finally, when I blow my photo up and fiddle with the brightness and contrast a bit, there seems to be a "J" in the corner of the turn card.

But two things give me pause. First, you can see that the dealer pushed up the two jacks in the flop, but not the turn card; if he were seeing a full house, I would expect him to push forward all three jacks. If the turn card was a king, it would be easier for him to overlook pushing that forward, even though he technically should.

The second thing is that right after snapping the picture, I whipped out my pen and paper to record notes about the hand, and I wrote: "(10) J 8 J 7 K." I was doing that immediately after the cards had been swept away following the floor decision, so it was from short-term memory rather than copying what I was seeing. I think now that I just mistakenly wrote a "K" there. I also clearly inverted the order of the turn and river, which adds to the likelihood that my "K" was a mistake of memory. But now I can't be 100% sure. I did not watch the hand play out, because I had stepped away from the table to snap the next two photos you'll see. I only came back as the dealer was declaring the winner and the error was uncovered, so the whole thing caught me kind of off-guard.


4.

New toy at Bill's:





I did not inquire as to how one plays, what stakes it can be set up for, or exactly how one goes about winning entry to the WSOP using it (as the signage implies one can do). Call Bill's and ask them, if you're interested. See here for more about the machines.


5.

One of the annoyances of playing at Bill's is the frequent overhead announcement of names from the restaurant's waiting list.

Last night, though, I (and probably only I) got a kick out of one of them, when the loudspeaker called for, "Nietzsche, party of four. Nietzsche, party of four."

I would have been amused no end to see a guy in a Superman costume stand up and say, "Hey, I think that's for me!"

(A little philosophy humor there. If you don't get it, see here. It won't make you laugh, but at least you'll understand.)

Ah, well. An identical announcement has probably been made an infinite number of times before.

(Yes, that's yet more lame philosophy humor. See here.)


6.

Here's an observation I've had in mind to blog about for a long time now, but never previously got around to it.

What is the most useless casino employee? The restroom attendant. I don't need somebody to turn on the water faucet for me and hand me a paper towel. It does not make my life any easier or more pleasant. In fact, I find it instrusive and obnoxious. No tip EVAR!

One of the best skits in the whole history of "Saturday Night Live" had Kevin Nealon as "The Bathroom Attendant," paying just a little bit too much attention to customer Harvey Keitel. Nealon, in fact, says here that that was his favorite SNL role. (For the curious, the show aired January 16, 1993; Episode 18-11 (#337).) Sadly, the clip does not appear to be posted anywhere on the web, despite there being many people saying that they wish they could watch it again. There are any number of YouTube videos that mimic the same idea, but I doubt that any of them skewer the point as perfectly as Nealon and Keitel.

Anyway, these attendants seem to be cropping up in ever more casinos. I think Hard Rock was the first place I saw them. I was surprised when I later found one at Bally's. But last night, for the first time, there was one at Bill's. Bill's! This is not exactly top-dollar territory we're talking about.

Spare me.


7.

Interesting observation from an unknown player at our table:

"You cannot be the drunkest, most effed-up person in Vegas. I know. I've tried."


Addendum

I forgot one more story. Reader Minton was there with me for part of the session. At one point I had 2h-4h and flopped a flush. When I won at the showdown, Minton said, "That made me all tingly."

Genomeboy makes a funny

I played for a while at the Venetian last night with a reader, Genomeboy. (Obsessive readers with Rain Man-like memories may recall that he got mentioned herein once previously, in this post. N.B.: He is not the same person as the one that runs the http://genomeboy.com/ web site.) Great guy, smart and funny.

The game was largely fueled by one spewtard, who had a roughly $800 stack when I joined the table at 7:45 p.m., and was broke by about midnight. He played virtually every hand, most often for a raise to either $6 or $8. I took one big chunk from him when, after being terminally card-dead for an hour or so, I took a flyer and raised with 8-6 offsuit, got several callers, and saw a beautiful flop of 8-8-2 (with a 6 on the turn for good measure). It was checked to me, and I made the same continuation bet that I would have if I held two big overcards or an overpair. The spewtard check-raised me all in with just a deuce. When I called (duh!), he sheepishly explained that he thought I had A-K or A-Q and had missed the flop completely, just as I had hoped my opponents would think. Much later, I took the last of his dwindling stack when he missed the flop but shoved a big overbet anyway, and I fortunately read the situation right and called him with top pair. (It wasn't too difficult--he had long before proven that he made smallish value bets when he was strong, and much larger bets when he had little or nothing. Typical spewtard pattern.)

Anyway, somewhere in between those two hands, I raised with A-Q, got a couple of callers. Flop was queen-high. I bet when it was checked to me. Two callers--a completely straightforward, conservative, untricky guy in one of the blinds, and the spewtard. I think we checked around on the turn. River was a king. Spewtard made a small bet here, and both I and the other player called. He had A-Q, too. Spewtard had K-6 offsuit. He had sufficient self-awareness to be a little embarrassed for having called my pre-flop raise from out of position with such trash, and having called with nothing on the flop, too.

Even though nobody criticized him for his play, he apparently felt a tad defensive about it. He said, "Hey, I had other cards that would win it for me, too."

Withoug missing a beat, Genomeboy quipped, "Where--in your pocket?"

It was the funniest moment of the night, I thought. (If it doesn't come across that funny in writing, well, maybe you had to be there.) Didn't quite make up for losing $50 or so the way I did on that hand, but I still ended up net positive from the spewtard, so it was OK.

Another IMOP report

Last year I got a kick out of the allvegaspoker.com "Iron Man of Poker" trip report of a bunch of degenerates from Iowa. I had met them briefly during a tournament at TI. This year they were back, and there is now another wacky trip report posted here and here (including not-to-be-missed photographs). Again worth reading for the sheer entertainment value.

Example:

Grange also got in one last sarcastic comment before heading out. He gets
it all-in with a middle-aged lady who turns over her cards, sees she is behind,
and blurts out, “Help me Jesus!” The river is harmless and Grange, while raking
the pot, says, “Jesus must have been busy at the pot limit Omaha game.” The
Church Lady makes a very un-Christian face and storms out of the room.

I managed to get a little more face time in with the boys this year, including a session at Mandalay Bay with Grange (a faithful reader and commenter) the night before the rest of the crew arrived, another at Planet Hollywood the next day, and sharing a TI tournament table with Grange and Barbie (and, briefly, a cash game after bustout) the last night of the trip. Guess I didn't make enough of an impression to worm my way into the story, though. I'm not sure whether to be deeply offended or profoundly relieved.

The gang's approach to poker is well and truly insane, but there is no more fun to be had at the table than by sharing it with them. Go read.

Reader encounters: the other side of the story

Went to bed, couldn't sleep. Had an idea for the blog.

First, I should mention that I had another pleasant reader encounter today (well, yesterday now). I hadn't played at Binion's since December 27, according to my records. Arbitrarily chose it for today, and ran into a reader at the table. Even more remarkably, he told me that he had been hoping to see me during this trip, and it was his last couple of hours playing before leaving for home Wednesday. He had even somehow got to chatting about me with one of the Binion's dealers who knows my not-really-very-secret identity. She had told him that I used to play there fairly regularly, but she hadn't seen me in a while--which was true.

I was pleased that, once again, I both got lucky and didn't do anything too embarrassing. Strangely, though, my biggest profits came in the 30 minutes or so after he left the table, when on back-to-back hands I hit straights with suited connectors, and had opponents that couldn't get away from big overpairs. (As you may have noticed from recent posts, February is off to a rocking start, averaging $135/hour over the first three days. How long will that last???)

Anyway, I have gone back through the last year or so of posts and tagged the ones in which I met or played (live or online) with a reader, using a new label, "reader encounters." While I was at it, I added one for "reader submissions," for posts that discuss things readers send me via email.

While doing this, it occurred to me that it's kind of unfair to present only my side of those stories. Most readers don't have blogs of their own. So I propose to make a post out of whatever stories readers want to tell about me. If you have played with me, live or online, or met me in some other context, whether or not I knew you were a reader (some I learn about only after the fact), feel free to submit an email (address is in the "profile" section in the left margin). I'll give people a week or so, then put together whatever I receive into a post--the good, the bad, and the ugly.

Was I moronic? Brilliant? Polite? Obnoxious? Robotic? Inhuman? Inhumane? Fascinating? Boring? As advertised? Surprising in some way? Go ahead--tell it like it is (or was). Use your name or not, as you prefer. I'm really curious whether those who were there think I got the facts of my stories right, left out worthwhile points, etc. If you can, please include something about when and where the encounter occurred.

This might be fun. Or scary and embarrassing. I'm not sure which yet.

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?

A man's gotta do what a man's gotta do

My first two visits to the Tropicana poker room were horrible experiences, as I chronicled here and here. It was my intention never to return. However, when I talk to fellow grinders that I run into in the city's poker rooms, the Trop keeps coming up as a place they find profitable and easy to beat. It has been almost a year since my last trip there, so last night I decided to hold my nose and give it another try.

I was pleasantly surprised. The staff were all helpful and professional. The players were all friendly. I had a perfectly enjoyable (and profitable) evening there. I'm going to relent in my previous decision to keep it off of my list of places to hit--might even go there again tonight.

One hand is worth retelling. Player A limps in from early position. Player B puts in a standard raise. I'm on the button and call with 7-8 offsuit. Player A calls, too.

The flop is 3-6-9 rainbow, giving me an open-ended straight draw. Player A checks. Player B bets $10, fairly small. I think both of them missed this flop. I don't typically raise with draws, but this is a spot where it seems right, because I could easily take down the pot if both of them missed, as I suspect, and if one or both call, it builds a bigger pot that I could win either by hitting my hand or by betting bigger on the next street. I make it $35. Player A calls. Player B folds. Player A is a tight, solid player who hasn't been out of line all night, so his call gives me some reason for concern. With no draws other than mine sitting there, he's now smelling like a big made hand slow-playing.

But the turn is my gin card--a 5, giving me the nuts. To my surprise, Player A bets out pretty big, something like $60. He has roughly $100 left behind. This looks to me like he likes his hand enough that he'll be willing to get all the money in. I have him covered. I move all in. He immediately calls. This makes me think that we may have the same hand, and I even say that as I turn over my straight. But when he sees it, he grimaces. He has pocket nines, and had flopped the top set. He understandably must have thought he was ahead, as he couldn't expect me to have played 7-8 or 4-7 (the only two hands that would have him beat) for a pre-flop raise. (Of course, that's exactly why I will sometimes call a raise with such junk, because when it hits, it's marvelously disguised.) The board doesn't pair for him, and I win a pot of something like $400.

This hand wouldn't be especially remarkable or worth writing up here except for one unusual factor: Player A is a guy I've met before through an allvegaspoker.com meetup. He's also a reader here, and the person I mentioned in this post, less than two weeks ago, who was kind enough to pass on a very helpful and profitable suggestion of a table change at Mandalay Bay.

Although I don't know him well, those previous interactions made taking his whole stack quite a bit more uncomfortable than it would usually be. In terms of emotion and social interaction, it's a lot easier to feel nothing about taking the money of a complete stranger with whom I've had no past.

I don't feel badly about it, exactly, but there is a twinge of mixed feeling going on. Given the choice, I'd rather have taken the chips from somebody with whom I had not previously shared a fun dinner, and who had not so recently showed me a kindness. But poker doesn't let us choose who will be on the bad end of those rare occasions when two big hands clash.

If the situation had been reversed--me with the set, him with the straight--or if the board had paired on the river to give him a full house, I would have disliked it, but I wouldn't take it personally, as if he had done me a wrong somehow. I hope that that will be true for him as well. I think we have to acknowledge that we are all sitting there in order to try to take each other's money. Crass as that sounds, it's the bottom-line truth of the game. So when somebody succeeds, it's hard to consider him ill-mannered for it.

Earlier this year, after losing a painful razz hand to a reader, I wrote this post about the experience. I said there, "It happens fairly often these days that I encounter a reader in the casinos or across the virtual felt.... Should you find yourself in that situation, give me your best shot, because I will be doing the same, with a promise of no hard feelings however it comes out."

That remains true. I think that taking money from somebody who has identified himself to me as a reader, or somebody with whom I have some other history from outside of poker, will always provoke mixed feelings about the awkwardness of the situation. Still, this is what I do, how I keep the bills paid, and I can't apologize for it with any degree of sincerity. All I can do is acknowledge that it's uncomfortable on both sides, then shake hands, shrug it off, and go on.



The Tropicana is one of the most prolific purveyors of collectible casino chips, so my tentative willingness to start patronizing the place more frequently will provide the opportunity of a significant expansion of my chip collection. The chip shown above is one of several I pocketed last night. I'm not much interested in sports, but when I saw this chip sitting in the pot last night, I immediately asked the dealer to trade it to me, because of one remarkable feature that I spotted: It is #1 in the limited edition of 1000. I have never before seen any #1 in a numbered series of chips in circulation, so I considered it quite a find. I doubt that it's especially valuable monetarily, but I think it's pretty cool.

Buncha stories

Last night I did the MGM-Mirage trifecta: Played at Mandalay Bay, Luxor, and Excalibur (which I think are the only places in the city where you can hit three poker rooms without ever going outside in between), and scored a "W" at each one. Picked up a few stories along the way.


Hooray for sanitation

The first photo above shows a hand sanitizer dispenser at the cashier's desk at the Luxor. The second one shows a similar device in the poker room at the Excalibur. These have been there for a while, but it didn't occur to me until last night to make a point of them.

These things are an excellent idea and should, in my ever-humble opinion, be added to every poker room in the city. Hey, poker room managers--do you really want your place to be known as less interested in cleanliness than the Excalibur? If that isn't motivation enough, consider this: If you get your dealers to use them religiously, you will probably cut down on them calling in sick due to respiratory illnesses they pick up from customers.


It's good to be recognized sometimes

As I was heading to my seat at Mandalay Bay, I was greeted by a guy I had met at a get-together of denizens of allvegaspoker.com. Within a few minutes he was leaving, but came over to my table to pass on a hint: "Get yourself moved to table 7." He said there were some weak calling stations there and it was an easy spot to make money.

This was welcome news, because within the first three hands it had become apparent to me that I had drawn an unusually difficult table. One player had about $1000 in chips, one about $800, one about $600. The only way a table gets stacked like that in a $1-2 game is if they are gambling big-time, going all-in with low thresholds. And sure enough, there had already been big raises on every hand I had watched in my first couple of minutes. One can certainly make a lot of money in a game like that, but it's also high-risk, high-volatility, high-variance. I'm still in conservative mode, rebuilding the bankroll from the dreadful August, so if there are easier, lower-risk pickings to be had nearby, count me in.

I followed his advice and was glad I did. He was exactly right. Playing purely textbook, zero-imagination, value-betting poker, I made $240 in 90 minutes, with never a single difficult decision on my hands. Like taking candy from a baby, as the saying goes.


Which is worse--being stupid or being a liar?

Early in my time at that second Mandalay Bay table (they got me moved within just a few minutes), I watched this hand play out: Before the flop, Player A raises and B calls. Flop is 2-5-7. Player A bets $20. B raises to $70. A calls. Turn is a jack. A checks. B bets $100. A check-raises all-in for almost $300 more. B calls. A has K-K for an unimproved overpair with no redraw. B, predictably, had flopped a set with pocket deuces.

What made the story worth telling was that as soon as A saw B's cards, he said (repeating it three times for emphasis), "I knew that's what you had all the way."

I've heard this sort of thing many, many times, and I can never understand it. I mean, in one sense I get it--the guy is trying to save face by making a retrospective claim about what he knew. Apparently he thinks that this will cause others to think that he's a smarter player than he just showed himself to be. I don't know why people care so much what others think of them, but it seems to be an endemic characteristic of you humanoids.

But the actual effect--on me, anyway--is the opposite, because there are only two possibilities:(1) He really did know that the other guy had him crushed, and threw away $400 anyway, in which case he's a completely moron, or (2) he did not know it, and is lying to say that he did. In reality, it has to be (2), because it's always a lie to say that one "knew" what an opponent had, unless you have somehow seen his cards flash, or something along those lines. So all his little speech did was convince me that he's not only a bad player, but incapable of being honest with himself. That's a great combination to find in an opponent, not such a great one to find in oneself.


What's going on in that marriage?

At the Excalibur, I was surprised to see a massage therapist wandering around looking for customers. If they have been there before, I had never noticed. So now I can add Excalibur to the list of places that I know offer massages while you play poker.

One player at the table was from Boston, in town for some sort of convention. He was interested in getting himself a massage. But he did something I've never seen before: He first called his wife in Boston to ask permission.

That was strange enough. What was stranger was that she said no! He had to apologize to the massage therapist, who was standing by waiting for the go-ahead, and admit that his wife wouldn't let him get a massage.

This completely baffles me. In what kind of marriage does either partner feel obliged to seek permission from the other for a fully-clothed neck/shoulder massage from a licensed massage therapist, taking place in the middle of a public casino while sitting at a poker table? And in what kind of marriage, when that call is made, does the answer come back "no"? What is his wife thinking--that it's actually a secret cover for prostitution, and that "massage" is a euphemism for sexual favors? Or perhaps that he was actually at a strip club instead of a poker room, and what he had in mind was a lap dance? But if that were the case, would the guy be calling to ask permission?

Maybe it was him calling to ask that made her more suspicious than necessary--after all, why would he call and ask unless it were something to which she might reasonably object?

Whatever the explanation, there's something seriously peculiar going on in that relationship.

Annals of perfect timing

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.

Night of strangeness

Last night was another of those days when a bunch of little odd things happened, which I will collect into a single omnibus post.


The weirdness of variance

I started the evening at the Palms. It was one of those magical sessions where everything went right. I did not lose a single hand at showdown. If I had A-Q, I'd get a flop like Q-8-2, and get my bets called down on every street by a guy holding Q-J. Never had a bluff called, never called what I thought was a bluff without being right. I didn't do anything tricky, really--just ABC poker. I made $270 in a little less than two hours, way above my average earning rate, not because I played like a genius, but because there always seemed to be somebody with the second-best hand willing to pay me off, which makes all the difference in one's profit.

I'm playing very conservatively these days, in terms of bankroll management, because even after the second half of August turned around for me, I still finished the month about $1200 down, due to the devastating first half of the month. So until the bankroll fully recovers, I'm looking to hit-and-run more than usual--make $100 to $300 somewhere and leave to lock in that profit. Conventional wisdom is that if a game is good, you should stay as long as it remains good. That means risking what I've made so far, rather than packing up and leaving. In normal times, I'm entirely willing to do that, hoping to turn a small profit into a big profit. But for the time being, I need to get my wins in smaller, surer chunks, risking as little as possible.

That's why I left after less than two hours, even though the game still seemed beatable, and went in search of profit elsewhere. I moseyed down the road to Bill's, always a reliable money-maker. But it was a very different crowd at Bill's last night than usual. More of the seats were occupied by decent players. There were still two or three pure calling stations, but there were people with whom I could actually play poker, if you know what I mean.

But I took a big hit early, and spent the rest of the session s-l-o-w-l-y grinding my way back up. Finally I made it, and was actually up by a whole $4 after 3 1/2 hours of play! The climb back was hard enough that I did not feel like pressing things any further, so I clocked out.

So that's the weirdness of variance in this always-unpredictable game: At the Palms, where the game is usually juicy but with high variance because of a lot of bluffers and gamblers, my stack just rose rapidly and steadily upward, and I made $147/hour with never a really difficult decision to make. Then at Bill's, where I can usually take people's money without even breaking a sweat, it was a mighty up-and-down struggle just to make $1/hour.

Go figure.


What do you do with a marked card?

The last time I was at Bill's (August 27), I had noticed that the five of spades had a visibly worn spot on its back. I did my usual procedure--waited until I had seen it twice and confirmed both times that I could identify it, then waited again until there was a moment when it was folded by another player and I could "name that card" to the dealer, thus proving that the card was indeed identifiable by its back. They took that deck out of play and replaced it.

Naturally, I assumed that they would replace the defective card before putting the deck back into use. So I was quite surprised last night when, on one deal, I noticed a little worn spot on one of my hole cards before I looked at them, and then discovered that it was the five of spades! They had simply taken the deck with the bad card out of use for that night, then put it back into service the next day without replacing the card.

This is inexcusable. I've railed before about the Flamingo's reluctance to replace a defective card. Now I have to tar Bill's with the same brush.

Message to dealers and floor staff at Bill's (and everyplace else, for that matter): When a player points out an identifiable defect in a card back, especially when he does so in a manner that proves that he can tell what the card is without looking at its face, it is your duty and obligation to replace that card. Period. No exceptions, no excuses. Even if you think that only one player in a thousand is observant enough (or obsessive enough, or nitty enough, or however you'd like to describe it) to notice, and even if you're right about that guess, that is all it takes to taint the game. If you care anything at all about game integrity, you must replace a card that even one person can identify.

Last night I again waited for an appropriate moment. When the dealer had finished the scramble and was about to start the shuffle, I noticed that the marked card was on top of the deck, so I quickly pointed it out to her, saying, "If that's the five of spades, I think you should replace it." It was, of course. This time, I was disgusted enough with how they had handled the situation that I took the card from her and deliberately creased it myself--something I've never done in a casino before--so that they couldn't pull the same inadequate, cheap-ass trick of just taking the deck out of circulation for one night, then using it again without actually remedying the problem.

Shame on you, Bill's.


Close but no cigar

An off-duty Bill's/Imperial Palace dealer was one of the players at the table last night. He was a good player and a lot of fun to spend time with.

I wasn't paying much attention to the hand in which this occurred, because I wasn't involved. (Yeah, I know I should watch everything all the time. But attention does lapse sometimes.) On the last street, I became aware that he was acting really strange, taking way longer than he had before, staring at the pot, etc. I couldn't tell what was going on. There were two 7s and two queens on board, so I assumed he had a difficult decision to make--double-paired boards tend to be very tricky to play. But then he did the strangest thing: he made the absolute minimum bet of $1. That made no sense at all. Even stranger, his only remaining opponent folded. Heck, I'd call almost anything for a $1 bet.

When he folded, the dealer-player shouted "No!" and sunk his head down.

Here's why. He had flopped quad 7s. Bill's recently instituted high-hand jackpots. I think it's $50 for four of a kind and $100 for straight flushes, but don't quote me on that. But as with my recent incident at the Palms, the pot was $1 short of what it needed to be to qualify for the jackpot. So he was trying to communicate to his opponent what was going on and induce a mercy call, without violating the rules about discussing the hand in progress. (Uncalled bets do not count as part of the pot for purposes of the jackpot requirements.)

After it was over, people naturally asked him why he wasn't just more open about the situation, tell the other player that he'd reimburse him for the call if he called and lost, or other such trickery that people often resort to in this spot. He said, honorably and admirably, "I'm not going to cheat the casino I work for." (Of course, one shouldn't cheat any other casino either. I don't think he was implying that he would act unethically elsewhere--just that he felt an especially acute obligation to stay entirely clear of even any gray zones where his own facility was involved.)

No jackpot for you!


Readers, readers everywhere!

I've had a good number of readers spot me and say hello at in a poker room. But last night broke the record. It had never been more than one in a day before, and yesterday it was three! I had one sharing the table at the Palms, then two sharing the table at Bill's! That's pretty statistically amazing, when you consider the number of people playing poker in Las Vegas yesterday evening, and the percentage of the poker-playing public that are readers of this blog (still just a tiny, elite minority, I'm afraid).

Because of the ensuing conversation, two other players asked for the URL, and I wrote it down for them, so perhaps there are two new readers today as a result. If so, welcome to them.

Always a pleasure to meet you folks.

I may be a little too set in my ways

Just as I was leaving the Venetian last night, a guy who had been playing at my table stopped me. He asked if I was the Poker Grump. I confessed. I've posted my mug here a few times, so it's not too surprising that occasionally a reader recognizes me in a poker room.

This was different, though. He introduced himself and said that he had friends that were blog readers--former Hilton dealers who knew me. OK, that's cool. Nice to know they're checking in on me from time to time.

But then the oddness of this dawned on me. How did he recognize me, if he didn't read my blog himself and therefore hadn't seen my photo? He hemmed and hawed a bit, but then said that his dealer friends had described me pretty well.

Wow. Barring some really remarkable physical feature (a big scar across the face, maybe, or a Van Gogh-esque missing ear), could you describe a friend in such detail that a person who has never met him before could pick him out of a crowd, especially if that person has no advance warning of where or when he might run into the subject of your description? That's quite a task--or so I thought at first. I'd like to think that I'm pretty average and unremarkable, and that I basically vanish into the background. Norman Chad says of Allen Cunningham that you don't even notice he's at the table until your chips are suddenly being shipped over to him. That's exactly the effect I try to achieve. So I have an image--perhaps an illusion--of myself as not standing out in any way, sort of hidden or camouflaged at the table. It's a bit unnerving to hear that I could be spotted so easily from just a verbal description.

Then I got to thinking about it. Here's what the dealers could have said about me--and probably did: He's about 5'7", 145 pounds. Really short, thinning hair. Wire frame glasses. No hat. Always wears blue jeans and a dorky fanny pack. Almost always wears the same style of collarless, long-sleeve, crinkly cotton shirt. There will be a pen and a folded-up sheet of paper (for note-taking) in the breast pocket. Always carries a sweatshirt in case the poker room is overly air-conditioned (which they often are). Expect to see some stubble, because he's too lazy to shave more than once or twice a week, and doesn't care that everybody knows it. Sometimes uses an MP3 player with ear buds, though not consistently. Usually occupies either Seat 1 or Seat 10 next to the dealer, and will be the quietest guy at the table, playing a classic tight-aggressive game. There will be a silver dollar in use as a card cap.

But here's the part I didn't anticipate. The guy didn't give me any details (which is why I have had to surmise what they must have told him), just saying that his dealer friends' description of me was good enough that he thought he had me spotted, but the clincher was that they had told him I always keep my chips in meticulous stacks of $50 (i.e., ten chips high). Oh, man, that is me all over. I don't do any chip tricks, but I confess that I do tend to simultaneously assuage my boredom and satisfy my craving for order in the world by working on making those stacks as neat and precise as possible. Why stacks of 10 instead of the more common 20? Simple--I'm a klutz, and I tend to knock them over if they're any taller.

I guess I hadn't realized that it had become something of a trademark.

But put all of those obsevations together, and it no longer seems especially remarkable that somebody who has never seen my photograph could pick me out, even at one of the biggest, busiest poker rooms in the city. In fact, given that information, if he couldn't nail me within a few minutes, his observational skills would have to be so weak that he wouldn't make it as a poker player.

Sigh. I guess I'm not as camouflaged as I thought.

This is all tongue-in-cheek, by the way. It honestly doesn't bother me if people know who I am. In fact, it's quite flattering. If you're a reader and happen to notice me at the table, feel free to speak up about it if you want. I occasionally even mention this blog to people I'm playing with, if there is some reason to (such as I'm going to write about them, or some topic of conversation arises that I've written about and I want to point them to it), so it's not like I try to keep it a deep, dark secret.

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By the way, not that I really needed further evidence that my recent losing streak was over, after the straight-flush incident, but I got it last night anyway. In six hours of poker, I had aces four times, kings one time, queens one time, jacks one time.

Not.

Cracked.

Once.

All praise be to the poker gods, for surely they are good and wise (most of the time).

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The interesting bit of artwork above is from Ann Huey. See her web site here.