I think I'm going to throw up

Earlier this week I was playing at Sunset Station. Two middle-aged women, obviously friends, got some food delivered to the table and started sharing it. They were on the other end of the table, and the little cart with their meal on it was behind them, so I couldn't see exactly what they were eating, but it was some sort of finger food. They didn't wash their hands--just dug right in. They, when it was their turn to play, they'd LICK THEIR FINGERS OFF and resume play, as if nothing had happened.

It makes me nauseous just thinking about it.

How can people be so clueless? Poker chips and cards are filthy, disgusting things. Pick up any chip, and you can see globs of crud adhering to it. ("Table boogers," I once heard a dealer fittingly call them.) I know all too well that the majority of men leaving the public restrooms in casinos haven't washed their hands. Whatever is now on their hands, from their butts and genitals, gets spread all over the chips and cards.

And then you ladies want to handle those chips and cards for a few hours, then pick up and ingest food without first washing your hands, and then, to top it all off, LICK YOUR FINGERS??????????? What the hell is wrong with you? Are you just mentally ill?

Here's an interesting article from Bluff magazine about an experiment to determine the bacterial inhabitants of Vegas poker chips: http://www.bluffmagazine.com/magazine/2007/02/2007_02_54.asp. I only wish they had tested for viruses as well as bacteria.

And have you two ladies never, ever seen guys who openly pick their noses at the table? I have, many times, in a series of images that are seared into my retinas. Coincidentally, here's Daniel Negreanu's video blog from just yesterday, in which he discusses Mike Matusow doing the same thing--and the camera pans over to Mike, who freely admits he goes digging for gold openly, and doesn't care who sees it or knows about it: http://www.rawvegas.tv/watch.php?vID=6259beb58303c9d0ed2626fbab1eb6. Trust me: Mike is not alone in his lack of discretion about this activity.

So these ladies handle the chips and cards that have players' snot dribbled about on them, and then LICK THEIR FINGERS! Perhaps they think, somehow, that the rest of us sharing those cards and chips really, really want these women's saliva added to the already disgusting blend of crud we have to touch.

I remember an episode of Bravo's "Celebrity Poker Showdown" featuring the famously germophobic Howie Mandel. It was seriously bothering him to be handling the cards and chips, so he passed out latex gloves for everybody to wear. It was funny, but it was also pretty clear that this wasn't just a joke for him--he really couldn't handle thinking about all the microbes that were getting passed around. I'm not a germophobe--really--I just have a decent understanding of and healthy suspicion of the microbial flora that will invariably contaminate objects that get handled by so many members of the general public, many (most?) of whom have highly questionable habits of personal hygiene.

I'm not advocating that poker rooms hand out or require the use of rubber gloves while playing. But common sense suggests that one take care not to touch anything the cleanliness of which you care about (like, say, your face, or your food) after handling such manifestly foul things as poker cards and chips, without first washing one's hands pretty thoroughly.

Lordy, lordy, lordy--there's just no understanding some people's lack of good sense.

Addendum, May 6, 2011

I see that the link to the Bluff magazine piece no longer works. Here's the new link to get to the article: http://www.bluffmagazine.com/magazine/Dirty-Vegas--Bluff-Staff-750.htm

Reacting to community cards

It happened again today. I was in a tournament at the Hilton. I wasn't in the hand, but the flop came down 2-5-2, and immediately another player who had folded before the flop smacked his hand down on the table, groaned, and shook his head. It was obvious to everybody that he had folded a deuce. (He later claimed to have folded 5-2, in fact, which is perfectly plausible.)

I hate this sort of thing. There's absolutely no reason for it. It's highly unethical, for exactly the same reason that you can't say out loud, in that situation, "I folded a deuce." That provides potentially crucial information to the players still making decisions--information to which they are not entitled. Suppose you're trying to represent having hit trips on that flop, and a player announces that he folded a deuce. Your bluff just became a whole lot harder to sell. Or suppose that you do, in fact, have a deuce with a weak kicker, and your dilemma is figuring out whether your opponent has the last deuce in the deck with a better kicker. Hearing that the last deuce was folded would be a big help to you, and, conversely, would hurt your opponent (because he will be less likely to believe that you have a deuce now, and because you'll be able to play the hand much more strongly than you would if you were worried about being up against a better set of trips). Such situations are exactly why it's explicitly against the rules to say such a thing. Well, an overt negative reaction to the flop essentially announces the same thing.

Unfortunately, it's highly problematic to try to write or enforce a rule against non-verbal actions such as this, because they can be as dramatic as this guy today was, or as subtle as rolling one's eyes silently, which one would have to be very observant to notice. But whether or not it's technically forbidden and subject to penalty in the same way that a verbal announcement would be, it's just wrong.

When I've pointed this out to offending players in the past, I sometimes get the protest along the lines of "I can't help it--it's involuntary." Bullshit. It's completely under your control. If you were still in the hand, would you yield to your impulse to stand up and cheer for having flopped a full house? No, of course not. You'd suppress it to the very best of your ability. You can do exactly the same kind of suppression of your natural reaction when that reaction is negative, if you choose to do so. If you react overtly, it's because you are making a deliberate decision to conduct yourself in that manner. No excuses.

Moreover, the not-s0-subtle psychological reason for people wanting to act out like this is that they want sympathy from other players about what a great opportunity they missed. But the fact is, nobody cares what a great hand you might have made. (On this subject, see my very first blog post: http://pokergrump.blogspot.com/2006/10/what-you-threw-away.html.) You're not going to get any sympathy (or, at best, you'll get some phony imitation of sympathy, though it's beyond me why anybody would reward your actions with even this). The same thing happens to everybody from time to time, and it's just part of the game. It's unavoidable, unless you literally play every hand you're dealt.

Deal with it. Grow up. Get over yourself. Stop acting like a baby, and stop throwing your little tantrums. They're immature, annoying, pointless, repulsively self-centered, unethical, and they disrupt the game.

Addendum, October 12, 2007

Last night I was re-watching one of the first-season installments of GSN's "High Stakes Poker." In one hand, Doyle Brunson folds pocket 8s to a bet on the flop when he doesn't hit a set. Two others are still in the hand. What would have been his third 8 comes on the turn--and it would have been the winning hand. Doyle immediately grimaces, shakes his head, and turns to look at somebody standing near him. It wasn't as flagrant as the instance I wrote about above, but it would have been perfectly obvious to anybody at the table that was looking his way at the moment. Of all the people that should know better than to act that way--Doyle Brunson?! So if you do this yourself, you're in good company, in a sense--but it's still wrong.

Favoritism? No, it's just the rule, moron

So today I'm at my favorite hangout, the Hilton, playing $3-6 limit while waiting for a no-limit seat to open up. One of the other players is Myron, a sweet octogenarian (I think I heard him tell somebody he's 83) who is a regular there. Rachel, perhaps my favorite dealer anywhere (smart, funny, interesting, unflappable, accurate, consistent about rule enforcement, attentive to detail--what more can you ask a dealer to be?), is in the box. Myron is on the button, but after the flop he mistakenly thinks he's first to act, and puts out a $3 bet. It is pointed out to him that it's not his turn, so he takes it back. The player who is rightly first to act bets $3, and is called by a young guy who just sat down on my right. (I'm not in the hand.) When the action gets back to Myron, he raises to $6. Guy on my right protests, saying that he can't do that; since he bet $3 out of turn, all he can do in turn is the same $3, which would now be a call.

Rachel politely corrects this young man's impression, and says that Myron can, indeed, raise in these circumstances. The young man gets unusually upset at this point, and insists that the rules only allow the $3 call here. Rachel correctly calls the floor over (Irving) and explains the situation. Irving confirms that Myron can raise. (It would be clear to any observer that Myron is a regular and known by name by all the staff--a detail that is about to become important.) Rather than accept this ruling, the guy on my right says, "Oh, you all know each other, that's great."

At the end of her down, Rachel went above and beyond the call of duty by stopping at this guy's seat and quietly offering to explain the rule in more detail, explicitly saying that she didn't want him to be left with the impression that it was favoritism operating. He declined and brushed her off. So he didn't learn anything.

I realize that there's not a snowball's chance in hell that that guy will ever read these words. But I'll feel better for putting it out into the ether anyway. (And, besides, maybe somebody else reading doesn't understand the rule, and can learn a little something.) So here it is: Action out of turn is binding if, and only if, there has been no intervening change in the action between when the out of turn player erroneously acted and when it actually becomes his turn. In this instance, if everybody had checked around to Myron, then he indeed would have been committed to his previous and untimely $3 bet. But the early-position player's bet changed the action. Myron was now free to fold, call, or raise.

Consider the lunacy of the young man's logic under other conditions. Suppose that before the action got to Myron, there was a bet, a raise, and a reraise. By this guy's logic, Myron could still only put in $3, which wouldn't be enough to call. It's absurd.

The purpose of the rule is to prevent angle-shooters from deliberately pretending to put in a bet or raise in order to inhibit action. That is, particularly in a no-limit game, somebody might want to try to scare opponents who are to act before him into not betting by "accidentally" firing a big bet out of turn, then, when everybody checks to him, he checks, too, thus getting himself a free card that he might otherwise have had to call a bet to see. The rule obligates him to the action that he took out of turn. But once somebody acting in turn shows by betting that they're not afraid of the possibility of a call or raise behind, there would be no purpose in forcing the out-of-turn actor to repeat his action in turn.

For the genuinely accidental action, the rule also makes sense. If I erroneously think I'm first to act, I might want to bet. But if instead I see a bet and a bunch of calls and/or reraises, well, that changes everything, and the situation no longer looks like a good one for a bet, so the rule doesn't punish me for my inadvertant error, and I can fold (or raise, or call).

This rule is, as far as I know, universally recognized. Here, for example, is "Robert's Rules of Poker" (available many places, including http://www.lasvegasvegas.com/poker/rrpprinter.php), under "Betting and Raising," #11: "An action or verbal declaration out of turn is binding unless the action to that player is subsequently changed by a bet or raise." Cooke's "Rules of Real Poker," 10.08, on p. 67, says, "A player who makes action out of turn shall be held to that action when it is his turn, unless intervening action changes the action the out-of-turn player is facing." Lou Krieger's new "The Rules of Poker," p. 84, says, "A player acting out of turn will also be held to his or her verbal declaration unless intervening bets or raises change the action faced by the out-of-turn player."

In short, this young guy was, well, insane. Instead of considering the possibility that he might just be wrong about the rules, he leaped to the conclusion that the poker room staff was conspiring against him and in favor of a regular player. Then, rather than accept a kind offer (after he had cooled down a bit) for a more thorough explanation of the situation and the applicable rule, he blew it off, preferring to maintain his paranoid fantasy.

People are funny creatures, in how they are so confident about things they really know nothing about, and in how they will actively choose to remain ignorant, and in how they love to see conspiracy all around when, objectively it isn't there. (No doubt this guy was followed by a squadron of black helicopters on his way home.)

Clonie Gowen is a cheater

I was just watching "Poker After Dark" on NBC, a re-run of the "Ladies Night" special, featuring six female professional players, including Clonie Gowen, one of the best-known female players on the tournament circuit.

I was astonished to hear her relate a story of winning a pot even though she held the ace of spades, and, before the hand was complete, another player mucked his hand face-up, and in the process showed another ace of spades. Her clear obligation in this situation is to alert the dealer. The floor person will be called over, the hand is dead, everybody gets their money back, and the next hand goes on as if the one in question never occurred (with a new deck of cards, obviously). But instead of doing that, Gowen quietly took the pot, then told the dealer to replace the deck (apparently without specifying why that should be done).

This is cheating, pure and simple.

I just posted the following question in the "Ask the pros" section at Full Tilt Poker (where Gowen is one of the resident professionals) and on Gowen's own site, in the "Ask a question" feature. My guess is that it will be pointedly ignored in both places, and possible deleted. But it needs to be asked anyway.

******

On “Poker After Dark,” you told the story of winning a pot (in a tournament, I presume) even though you had become aware during the play of the hand that the deck was fouled (because there were two aces of spades present). The standard rules of poker clearly prohibit this. For example, Bob Ciaffone’s “Robert’s Rules of Poker” says, under “Irregularities”:
“4. If two cards of the same rank and suit are found, all action is void, and all chips in the pot are returned to the players who wagered them (subject to next rule).
“5. A player who knows the deck is defective has an obligation to point this out. If such a player instead tries to win a pot by taking aggressive action (trying for a freeroll), the player may lose the right to a refund, and the chips may be required to stay in the pot for the next deal.”
Roy Cooke’s “Rules of Real Poker,” p. 105, says:

“14.12. Fouled Deck…. When a fouled deck is discovered, all betting will cease and all money in the pot shall be returned to the players in the hand. If this information is available to only one player and that player attempts to win the pot by initiating action, that player shall forfeit all rights to the pot and all chips in the pot shall be divided among all active players at the time the fouled deck is discovered.”

Similarly, Paymar, Harris, and Malmuth, in “The Professional Poker Dealer’s Handbook” (2nd edition, p. 23) say that “a duplicate card…immediately fouls the deck, and all monies are returned to all players who received cards at the beginning of that hand…. If a player knowingly tries to win the pot with a fouled deck then he has a dead hand and forfeits all rights to the pot and all monies involved.”

In short, by every standard that I can find, you cheated. Worse, you openly advised people listening to your story to do the same--be sure they get the pot pushed to them before telling the dealer to replace the deck.

Were you to claim that you did not know such rules existed, I would find such an assertion implausible. At the very least, a player of your experience absolutely should have known to call over a floor person to make a decision on what to do, rather than keeping the information—and the pot—to yourself.

How can you justify cheating? Why do you advise others to cheat?

Shame on Caesars Palace

Yesterday I played in the Caesars Palace freeroll, for which one qualified by logging 60 hours of cash-game play during the month of May. But the tournament was not what was promised.

Freeroll tournaments as a reward for patronage are often structured with blinds increasing so quickly that the luck:skill ratio is way too large. The Station and Coast ones are notorious in that regard.

Caesars was supposed to be different. One of the attrations, in addition to the handsome $100,000 prize pool, was a slow, reasonable structure that would give enough time for skill to predominate over luck. That's what Caesars promised. But it ain't what they delivered. When I checked in, I picked up a paper with the structure on it, and was shocked to find that they reneged on their promise. We were given 20-minute levels, with blinds doubling every level for the first five levels. Antes started with level 3--a mere forty minutes into the tournament.

Predictably, and inevitably, soon after the first break it turned into a pure luckfest, with the only reasonable move being all-in before the flop. This is just nuts. You might as well just hold a random drawing for the prize money.

Arnold Snyder has a useful metric for assessing the speed of a tournament structure in his book The Poker Tournament Formula. I won't bore you with the details, but the Caesars freeroll structure works out to what Snyder would call a "patience factor" of 3.06, which is just barely into his "skill level 2" (on a scale of 0 to 6). Snyder keeps a database of Vegas daily/weekly tournaments rated on this "skill level" scale: see http://www.pokertournamentformula.com/las_vegas_poker_tournaments.htm. There's a lot of variation, but typically skill-level-2 tournaments are cheapo daily things with buy-ins of $35-$60. They're for tourists who just want a little tournament fun, without the casino having to invest much in terms of tying up tables and dealers. They're donkfests, or, as the 2+2 forum people like to call them, "donkaments."

I suppose some readers will think this is just sour grapes because I got knocked out in level 5. But I promise I would be saying the same thing if I had won the whole thing. It's the principle: Caesars didn't deliver what it promised. They lied to us, or at least went back on their word.

If a casino can't be trusted to stick to what it promises its customers, it's a slippery slope with no end. Next time maybe they'll decide to make the tournament rolling dice instead of poker, or make the total prize pool $100 instead of $100,000, or just cancel the thing altogether after getting their month of increased business. Why not? It's all of a kind with radically altering the structure of the tournament that you promised. What they did was as much a bait-and-switch con job as if they had done any of the other possibilities I just mentioned. It's dishonest, and it's disgraceful.

The next time you see a promotion from Caesars, promising you something in return for playing there, just remember--they now have a demonstrated tendency to renege on their promises. They can't be trusted. And why should I or anybody else patronize a business that can't be trusted to give you what they say they will?

It's really that simple.

"I had to call you"

I haven't yet compiled a list of the Ten Stupidest Things That Poker Players Say All the Time, but a leading candidate for such a list would be "I had to call you."

It seems that this is said with about equal frequency by players who win pots with a call and those who lose pots with a call. It doesn't matter--it's just as stupid either way.

First of all, no, you never have to call any bet. There is no gun being held to your temple. There is no rule requiring it. You get to choose. Now, it may be that in a given situation it is mathematically correct (i.e., a positive expected value over the long haul of making that decision many times in a lifetime of playing) to call, but that is not the same thing as saying that you had to call.

Secondly, it isn't even true that the call in question was reasonable on an EV basis many of the times that somebody utters the dreaded words. If there are 4 parts of a royal flush on the board, and you call a river bet to somebody who, by all indications, does indeed have either the straight or the flush, and you say, "I had to call you--I had top pair," well, then, you're an idiot.

In fact, this is one of the basic problems with the phrase: it is often followed by a statement about what the player was holding, e.g., "I had to call you, I had 2 pair/trips/a straight" (or whatever). But this just reveals that the person is making his decisions based solely on the strength of his own hand, rather than the relative strength of his hand versus that of the opponent--a preposterous way to make poker decisions. You don't get the pot just because you flopped a set or caught a straight on the turn. This ain't video poker, where the reward depends only on the hand you make. Whether your call wins you the pot because you beat a bluff or an unexpectedly weaker hand, or loses you money because your opponent had a stronger hand, making the call based only on what you're holding misses the entire point of good poker decision-making.

Finally, nobody at the table--least of all the guy who you either just beat or just gave more money to--gives a shit why you made the decision you did. Let me repeat, a little bit louder: NOBODY CARES WHY YOU MADE THE CALL! (And it's usually obvious without your explanation anyway, if anyone bothers to analyze the situation.) If you won, you're certainly not going to take the sting of the loss away from the other guy by saying, "I had to call, I had two pairs." In fact, it's rude and unsportsmanlike to rub it in with a speech. If you lost, the guy raking in your money absolutely doesn't give a damn why you made your mistake; he's just wondering if he maybe should have bet more and sucked more chips his way. So you're pissing in the wind with your post-hand analysis. Nobody is listening to you. Nobody cares.

Furthermore, your explanation just reveals a pathological insecurity: you are so afraid of what people will think of your call that you feel a need to explain it. But why on earth would you care what the other players think? If it was a reasonable call, given the range of hands with which your opponent made his bet, and it turned out that he was actually at the high end of that range with one of the few hands that would beat you, then be content with your own analysis that it was the right move. If you correctly sniffed out a bluff or a hand that was otherwise weaker than the bet represented, great, be proud of yourself.

Either way, what is the point of trying to change what somebody else might think of your call by providing an explanation of it? If somebody is impressed with a good call, they won't be made more so by your little self-centered explanation. And if somebody is inclined to think you made a bad call (regardless of the results), so what? Let them think you're a calling station or a moron, and then figure out a way to exploit that erroneous impression (if, in fact, it is erroneous). What's more, consider this: If it was actually a bad call, your justification of it after the fact just makes you look that much dumber in the eyes of experienced players, and they will go out of their way to set you up to make the same mistake again, to their benefit.

In my experience, I often have to think for quite a long time after a hand is over before making a really good assessment of whether a call was smart or not. Your instant analysis is at least as likely to be wrong as it is to be right.

So the next time you feel an urge to say "I had to call you," please just stifle it. It's never true, it's often not even an approximation of the truth, it tends to reveal only bad things about you, and, most of all, nobody cares.

Bizarre new "rule"

This post might better be titled, "Dealers who make up their own rules, part IV."

Monte Carlo, last night. There's a guy across the table from me who plays about 90% of hands, and bets or raises post-flop the majority of the time. He's very difficult to put on a hand, because he plays the nuts the same way he plays zippo.

He wins one pot with a bet on the river that an opponent doesn't call. Before he mucks his hand, he shows it to the guy next to him. Before the player has tossed in his cards, I say to the dealer, "Show those, please." The dealer hesitates. I've seen this happen many times, and it's usually because the dealer is busy doing other things and didn't notice one player showing his hand to another--perfectly understandable, with all the other things the dealer is doing when a hand is concluding. So I say, "He showed them to the guy next to him." That explanation is usually sufficient for the dealer to act, or at least to seek confirmation from one of the players involved that the cards were voluntarily shown, before showing the hand.

But this dealer mucks the cards anyway, and explains that the player that was shown the hand was not involved in the pot, so I don't have a right to see them. I think, "Are you f'ing kidding me? Are you just making this up as you go?" Instead, though, I explain that it is never the case that a player can give that information selectively to some people at the table but not to others. The dealer reaffirms that that is the rule--only people who were in the hand can ask to see it. (I was dealt in, but folded pre-flop. This dealer didn't explain how long one has to stay in the hand to retain the right to see the hand, under his bizarro version of the rules.)

Well, I don't believe this for a second. The cards are in the muck, and I'm not so concerned about this one hand that I'm going to try to pluck them out, but this is a principle that's too important to let stand in this idiotic fashion. So I tell the dealer, "Could you call the floor, please?" He does, though obviously he isn't very happy about it.

Predictably, the floor person confirms that "Show one, show all" does indeed apply, providing that the request is made before the cards go in the muck, while they can still be identified. I point out that I did make the request in plenty of time, but the dealer refused it. Neither of them attempts even a token apology, or acknowledges that a mistake was made.

I am usually completely forgiving of dealers' errors, and don't needle them about their mistakes--they're just part of the game, same as referees and umpires making erroneous calls in other sports. But this is one of the most universally recognized and commonly cited rules in the book, one which virtually every player can recite, and I was astounded that a dealer actually didn't know it. After the floor person left, I asked the dealer, "You really had never heard the 'Show one, show all' rule?" He opened his mouth, as if he was going to say something, then apparently thought better of it, turned away, and ignored the question.

For the fourth time in these rants, I have to say that I just don't understand the mindset of dealers who just make up crap completely on their own, and somehow delude themselves into thinking that those are actually the rules. There can't possibly be any person of authority or any book or any dealer school that taught him this. He apparently just made up this exception to the general rule. Who knows how long he has been citing it to players?

What the hell is up with that?

Tap, tap, tap

I'm getting increasingly annoyed with players who absentmindedly tap their hand and/or chips on the table when they're thinking about what to do. It looks like a check, and other players behind them should be entitled to interpret it as a check. Unfortunately, most dealers are much more lenient about this that I think they should be.

A couple of weeks ago at the Sahara this happened. A very drunk guy, when it was his turn, tapped on the table with his right hand. It was a situation where I really needed a free card, so I was happy to check behind him. But after I did so, the drunk guy pushed a stack of chips in. I protested to the dealer that he had checked. The dealer said he didn't see it, so I re-enacted for him what the player had done. The dealer asked, "So he tapped with his right hand?" Yes. Well, it turns out that this particular player is a frequent flyer at the Sahara, and he always checks by tapping his left hand, palm flat, on the table (which I confirmed thereafter by watching him). So the dealer says that it wasn't a check--as if it is my responsibility to know the exact personal style of checking of every other player at the table, and thereby separate idle hand movements from actual, intentional checks. Ridiculous.

To quote from Roy Cooke's wonderful "Real Rules of Poker" (p. 68, rule 10.12): "The dealer and other players shall have the right to rely on a player's hand motions. Any tapping of the table or other hand signal that the dealer might reasonably construe to be a check shall be deemed a check." That's how it should be, of course.

Want an example of what a huge difference it can make?

Recently at the Hilton I had an offsuit AJ, with the A of spades. There was a pre-flop raise to $15 or so, which I called--along with 6 other people, so it was already a big pot even before the flop. The flop was all spades, giving me the top flush draw. A player a few seats to my right was supposed to act first. He tapped his hand on the table, and I couldn't tell if it was a "just thinking" tap or a check. Just as he reached for his whole stack and put it in the pot, the dealer said, "Was that a check?"

Now, I certainly didn't want him going all-in, because I couldn't possibly call such a large bet, in the hopes of catching another spade. I wanted a free card very badly. The player said, "No, I'm all in!" I spoke up and said, "It looked like a check to me." The dealer agreed, and made him take his bet back. Everybody else checked, too.

The turn card was another spade, and I had the best possible flush. This dummy then *still* decides to go all-in! As it turned out, he had pocket 9s, and the 9 of spades had been there on the flop, giving him a set--no wonder he had wanted to bet big, to take down the pot right then, without giving anybody a chance to draw to a flush to beat him. His tapping was just his internal debate about whether that was the thing to do. But even with four spades on the board, he couldn't let go of it. To make things better, the guy to my right made a jack-high flush with that turn card, and he went all-in! And, as you might guess, so did I. With what was already there before the flop and our 3 all-ins, the pot ended up being about $500.

That little idle motion with his hand while he was thinking cost that guy nearly $200. And I don't feel one bit guilty about calling him on it. Rules are rules, and the fact that I'm usually willing to be lenient when there's some doubt about his intentions doesn't mean I have to be every time. I'm extremely careful not to take any actions or make any motions that might confuse or mislead another player, or cause somebody behind me to act out of turn, and if others have to learn the hard way about paying attention to what they're doing, so be it. I've got bills to pay.

Now if we could just get dealers to be vigilant on this point, and enforce the rule consistently.

Fortunately, some do. A couple of weeks ago at Caesars Palace, there was a guy who was habitually doing the "I'm thinking" tap when it was his turn. Twice it caused people behind him to take their turns prematurely, and twice the dealers (different ones each time) called back those actions and let the tapper still decide whether to check or bet.

Finally there was a third such incident, unfortunately with yet another a new dealer, but fortunately with a dealer that was watching closely. He saw the tap, announced "Check," and gestured toward the next player. Mr. Tapper protested that he hadn't acted yet. The dealer explained that it looked like a check, but he would allow him this one warning. I spoke up and said that the same player had already been warned twice by previous dealers, which another player confirmed. Usually, this doesn't get anywhere (except maybe the floor called over for a decision), because obviously the dealer can't know what did or didn't happen prior to his arrival at the table. But this guy, bless him, took it seriously, and said, "In that case, we're going to have to let that stand as a check." The tapper didn't protest further. And, significantly, he didn't do it again. People are capable of learning quickly, if it costs them money. If they're allowed to slide repeatedly, they tend not to learn.

"Good luck, honey!"

Two bits of weirdness that are, in my experience, unique to Las Vegas, have been intruding into my consciousness lately. I'm hoping that talking about them here will help dispel the distress they have been causing me, similar to the way in which one rids oneself of earworms (songs you can't get out of your head) by giving in to the temptation to sing them aloud.

1. It seems that everybody here takes liberties with terms of affection for complete strangers who are of the opposite sex. At least between customers and casino/restaurant employees, men and women casually and freely call each other "honey," "dear," "love," "darling," "sweetheart," "sweetie," etc. I find this jarring, whether it's addressed to me or I just overhear it. The implied familiarity is simultaneously so intrusive and so phony that I have been unable to get used to it, despite some 11 months of exposure to it. I try not to be bothered by it when it's directed at me, because I know that it's not intended to offend, and, furthermore, that attempts to stop it are completely futile. But I refuse to join in.

2. I'd happily put up with being every female service employee's "honey" and "dear" if I could somehow stop being told "good luck" at every turn. Here's how it goes: I arrive at the casino for a session of poker. I buy chips at the desk, get directed to a table, and am told "Good luck." I arrive at the table, and the dealer greets me with some variation of "Welcome to the table. Good luck." Every 20 or 30 minutes the dealers rotate between tables. The process always includes the outgoing dealer telling everybody at the table "Good luck," a wish that is soon echoed by the incoming dealer. If I run out of chips and have to buy more, I get them either from the dealer or from a chip runner, either of whom will conclude the transaction with another "Good luck." If I order a beverage, I'll tip the waitress (in nearly 1000 hours of poker playing since I've been here, I have not seen a single male cocktail waiter, so I think it's safe to use the feminine form of the word), and hear, in reply, "Thank you and good luck." It has become so pervasive that one of the biggest casino conglomerates now has their telephone operators using a variation on it: I ask for to be connected to the poker room, and hear, "My pleasure. Have a lucky day."

Again, I try not to be annoyed by this, even though it's all purely mechanical and devoid of any feeling, because I know that all of these people are simply doing what their employers tell them to do and/or what seems to them to be situationally polite. But it's grating--like hearing "Have a nice day" 700 times in a row.

It all kind of makes me long for the old, familiar annoyances of Minnesota.

WHAT did you say??? (Non-grumpy content)

Played at the Hilton tonight. On my right was a 30-something woman in town for a convention. She was frequently chatting with the guy on her right, who was here for the same meeting, though they didn't know each other.

I was vaguely aware that they were talking about poker, but I wasn't paying much attention to their conversation--at least not until I heard her say, "I've had sex before and gotten my butt spanked."

Whoa--now there's a "TMI" (too much information) moment for you!

But a quick mental replay of the audio, combined with her next sentence for a bit of context, made it clear that what she had actually said was, ""I've had sets before and gotten my butt spanked."

Flopping a set and having an opponent hit a straight or flush to win--this I understand. And I guess it's really not TMI.

When I realized what I had misheard, I burst out laughing. Obviously nobody knew what was so funny. So then I had to explain to her what I thought she had said. Fortunately, she took it well, and joined in the laughter, rather than having management throw me out for sexually harassing her, or something like that. She didn't even mind when I told her I might have to put the story in my blog.

Yet another dealer who doesn't know procedures

I promise I'm not going to turn this blog into a one-note song about dealers who don't know the rules, but it's really irritating.

Yesterday at Caesars Palace I was dealt what's known (for reasons that escape me) as a "boxed card"--one that the Shufflemaster had accidentally turned face-up in the deck. It did not flip over during the deal. The dealer announced that it woud become the burn card.

This isn't the standard procedure. The usual means of dealing with this is to treat it as if it were an extraneous piece of paper--not even an actual card--that got stuck in the deck. It is shown to the table and then goes in the muck. It does not become the burn card, as would occur if the card flipped over during the pitch. I really don't know why a boxed card is treated differently from a card inadvertantly exposed during the deal, but it is. (If anybody can provide a rational explanation in the comments section, I'd appreciate learning the reason.)

Anyway, I asked the dealer if she was sure that the boxed card should become the burn card. She emphatically answered yes. (A couple of other players chimed in to agree with her, but it never surprises me that players don't know details of the rules.) As with the previous incident involving the amount of a raise, I really didn't care very much, so I didn't protest further or ask for a floor decision. But after the hand, I went to the floor person and asked, because, again, for all I know, Caesar's might have some idiosyncratic house rule under which the dealer was correct. But no, they use the standard procedure, I was told.

A boxed card is not rare. I would guess that an average dealer sees it happen once a shift or so. So how long has this dealer been following an erroneous procedure, 100% confident that she was doing it right?

I may never understand how people develop such confidence in their mistakes that they're unable or unwilling to experience any sense of self-doubt when questioned, and unable or unwilling to ask for clarification from a supervisor.

Another dealer who finished last in his class

I have griped previously (http://pokergrump.blogspot.com/2006/11/dealers-who-dont-know-rules-and-dont.html) about dealers who not only get something wrong, but stubbornly remain insistent that they're right after being gently corrected. Well, I ran into another one yesterday at Caesars Palace. (I only recently noticed that there is no apostrophe in "Caesars Palace." Apparently the sense of it is "The Palace of the Caesars," rather than "The Palace that belongs to Caesar.")

In a $1-3 no-limit hold'em game, the player under the gun raised to $12. The next player said "Reraise" and threw in $20. My turn was next. I pointed to the $20 and asked the dealer, "Is that a legal raise?" (I knew that the answer was no, but I was trying to be nonconfrontational about it.) The dealer said yes.

I pointed out that the initial raise to $12 was a $9 raise, but the reraise was only an additional $8. Are you sure that's OK?

Yes, the dealer repeated. His explanation was that since the big blind is $3, any raise or reraise just has to be a minimum of $3. Since the $8 reraise is more than $3, it was legitimate. Presumably, then, this dealer would even have approved a reraise to just $15, though I didn't ask him that exact question.

Well, it was clear that I wasn't going to win this argument. I had assumed at first that the dealer just hadn't noticed that the reraise was smaller than the original raise--it's a very easy thing to overlook, and I wouldn't fault anybody for missing it. But with this bizarro explanation, it became obvious that the dealer just plain didn't know the basic rules involved, and that wasn't something I could (or wanted to) fix on the spot. Besides, it was only a $1 difference, and I was going to fold my trash hand anyway, so I just shrugged my shoulders, mucked, and let it go.

I didn't want to make an obvious immediate run to the floor person, so I waited until after this dealer's down at my table was over. But then I left the table, pulled the supervisor aside, and asked, "What's the minimum amount of a reraise after an initial raise to $12 in a $1-3 game?" I knew without any doubt what the standard rule was, but there was always the possibility that Caesars uses some quirky house rule under which the dealer was correct. He confirmed that the dealer should have corrected the reraised to $21 (a minimum $9 reraise of the first player's $12 bet).

Bizarrely, though, I got the distinct impression that he did not believe that one of his dealers didn't know this basic point. I left that conversation pretty well convinced that the floor person believed that I just hadn't understood the situation, or had related the details wrong. I guess I can't blame him--it is pretty startling that a dealer wouldn't grasp how raising works. But if I were him, I would pull that dealer aside and quiz him on what constitutes a minimal reraise, just to make sure. Because if you really do have a dealer that is that deficient in a fundamental understanding of the game, wouldn't you want to know it and correct it? I'd bet $100 that nothing was said to the dealer as a result of my conversation.

Anyway, this is yet another plea to dealers (although I must admit that it's unlikely that any of the ones who need to hear this will ever read my words): Please, please, please--if you have even the slightest degree of doubt about a point of the rules after being twice queried by a customer who has the appearance of being a reasonably knowledgeable player, it doesn't hurt anything to ask the floor person to step over and clarify things. You will educate either yourself or the player (along with the rest of the table), either of which is manifestly a good thing for all involved.

It's Elton John! No, it's Liberace!

I had a, uh, interesting-looking gentleman sit down at the table in the Hilton poker room today. See for yourself. The photo resolution isn't great, but if you look closely you'll see the big double earrings, the oversized ring, the watch that's as big as the face of a grandfather clock--completely covered in fake diamonds--the heavy silver cross on a fat chain around his neck. And to top it all off, the glasses that Elton John would reject for being too ostentatious and effeminate.

I wonder if people like this have any idea how ridiculous they look.

What's the absolute worst thing in poker? A cheat, that's what.

I won a poker tournament today, in spite of—and, in part, thanks to—a cheater. It’s a strange story, but worth telling as a warning to other players.

I don’t consider myself much of a tournament player. Except for the occasional freeroll, I’ve pretty much avoided them. Too much of a crapshoot for my taste. The roller-coaster ups and downs of success (and income) from cash games is bad enough; for tournament players, it’s multiplied ten-fold.

But in early April I did well in the Hilton’s monthly freeroll, which prompted me to try a few others this month. To my surprise, I’ve done well and shown a substantial profit. One that I especially like is the Hilton’s weekly Saturday afternoon tournament, which I’ve now entered for several weeks in a row.

Today I was short-stacked near the bubble (the boundary between the players who finish high enough to get paid and those who don’t), and really thought I wasn’t going to make the cut. But I got ridiculously lucky at a key moment (all in with pocket 10s against a guy with pocket jacks, and I caught a third 10 on the turn, which made *him* the short stack, and, soon thereafter, the bubble boy). Then I got ridiculously lucky yet again against one of the two remaining big stacks (my A-9 paired on a flop of K-Q-9; opponent flopped two pairs with his KQ, and I got a third 9 on the river to beat him), and suddenly I was the big stack.

In the end, it was me and one other guy. At a glance, we appeared to have roughly equal chip stacks, though I thought I had a bit more. I offered to chop the first and second-place money proportionate to whatever our chip counts were. He wanted to chop, but he insisted that it be 50-50. Strangely, this wasn’t because he wanted more than his fair share, but because, he said, it would take too long to count the chips, and if we were going to take that much time, we might as well just play it out.

Huh? It would take maybe two minutes to count, and we each had more than 20 big blinds, so playing it out could easily take well into the next 30-minute level. The chip count is the standard way of making the chop. But I thought our stacks were close enough to equal that it wasn’t worth quibbling about, so I agreed to the even split.

While we were waiting for the tournament director to make the arrangements, I counted my chips, because I wanted to know for my own satisfaction whether I had actually ended up in first place. I had 10,575. There were (or should have been) 17,000 chips in play. Eyeballing the other guy’s stack, it looked like he had nearly 10,000, also. This seemed peculiar to me, but I dismissed it as bad estimation of the other guy’s chip stacks on my part. But it reminded me that I had noticed the same thing when it was down to four players: I checked my own chip count every ten minutes, and tried to estimate the others’ stacks, and the sum always exceeded 17,000. Again, I chalked it up to bad guessing on my part.

Then the odd happenings began. A Hilton security man came in, tapped the other winner on the shoulder, and asked him to step out to have a chat. Now, this was weird—what could security want to do with a poker tournament winner? As I was left pondering this, I was getting some weird looks and smiles from the poker room staff. They clearly knew what was going on, and that it would turn out good for me. (I’m pleased that I seem to be reasonably well-liked at the very friendly Hilton, which is where I play most often.)

A few minutes passed. Then Marc Nelson, director of the poker room and today’s tournament director, came in, shook my hand, and congratulated me on having won the tournament and first-place prize money. He explained what had been going on.

The highest-denomination chip we had gotten to at that point in the tournament was a pink $500 chip. Marc said that he had put five of them on the table during a break, removing an equivalent amount in black $100 chips. But a while later, he noticed that there were *eight* pink chips in circulation. I’m not sure of all of the details, but he obviously alerted other poker room staff and security, and they caught this guy both by direct observation and on the security cameras sneaking pink chips out of his pocket and onto the table. He had swiped them during a previous tournament, and brought them back today to pad his chip count. When they pulled him out of the room, they had him empty his pockets, and found that he had even more that he hadn’t yet added to the table.

He was, of course, disqualified from the event. I’m guessing that he is also banned from the premises permanently. I hope that he also goes into the infamous big black book of barred persons that the casinos share. In fact, I hope that they turned him over to the police and that he gets charged with criminal fraud—which this surely was. I wouldn’t even shed a tear if I learned that he received a bit of the old-school-Vegas back-room security “treatment” to help the lesson sink in a little deeper.

It’s amazing how cheaply some people will sell off their integrity. I have read rumors of such things happening in big-money tournaments. It’s just as inexcusable, but at least it’s easier to understand the temptation, when first place pays a million dollars or more. But in a $150 buy-in weekly tournament that never fills more than 3 or 4 tables, and for which the top prize is well under $2000? That’s where you focus all your scheming??? How pathetic. I was genuinely stunned that anybody would stoop so low over so little reward.

Hey, Mister would-have-been-second-place: I hope you’re reading this, you lowlife, scum-sucking cheat. You miserable, wretched piece of slime. Stay away from poker forever, you lout. We don’t need or want maggots like you infesting our game.

I feel most sorry for the guy who finished in 5th place—the bubble boy. The cheater’s 2nd-place prize money was divided evenly among the other three money finishers, because that’s all they could do. The guy who finished 5th wasn’t known to the room staff and didn’t leave his name, since he assumed he wasn’t getting any money. I’d gladly give back part of my winnings to help make it right with him, if I could.

So, sadly, the lesson has to be that when, in a poker tournament, you notice that something is off in the chip count, you should—you must—consider the possibility of cheating going on.

My heartfelt thanks to the Hilton poker room people for, first, being alert enough to notice and identify the source of the problem, and, second, for handling it so fairly and professionally. I wouldn’t expect anything less from them, because they pretty much do everything just about right there. Still, this was exemplary. It was happening right under my nose, but I was oblivious to it, even though in retrospect I realize that I had a lot of clues about the nature of the problem. Nevertheless, the tournament director and other employees were there unobtrusively watching and fixing the problem of which I was blissfully unaware. Strong work, all of you.

Addendum, December 20, 2007

I forgot to add the end of this story. A month or so after this happened, I ran into the "bubble boy" while I was playing at Caesars Palace. He had no idea what had happened after he left. I told him the story and gave him $100 of my prize money. I really didn't have any idea what the fair amount to give him would be, since that would require figuring out a proportionate amount from each of the people who cashed. But I thought that $100 was in the right ballpark. It make both of us feel better, and it fulfilled the commitment that I had written above.

Crazy night of poker (non-grumpy content)

Nothing profound herein--just two stories from a wild night of play.

Went to the Hilton, played normally, built up my $200 investment to a little over $700, and was feeling ready to quit, when....

HE walked in.

HE is this insane dude that comes in once in a while. I've only seen him there once before, but everybody that plays with him even once remembers him, and the poker room staff know him well. I won about $300 off of him a couple of weeks ago.

Here's how he plays: He buys $100 or $200 or $300 in chips, sits down, and announces himself all in before the cards are even dealt. He's just daring people to call. He doesn't even look as his cards until the hand is over. He considers this tremendous fun, whether he wins or loses. If he wins and doubles or triples up, then he starts actually playing, although even then he goes all in at the drop of a hat. But he thinks the game doesn't really start until after he's doubled or tripled his chips through dumb luck at the beginning.

Tonight he lost 8 times in a row, never winning once. And he left laughing.

Well, I got more than my fair share of that, because on about his 5th rebuy, I was in the big blind (last to act before the flop) with pocket aces. And 3 other people called the maniac's $100 raise before the action got to me. Aces are a big favorite against any other hand, and even against any 2 other hands. But start putting them against 3 or 4 other hands, and the probability of winning drops. Against 5 hands, the aces are less than 50% to hold up. So I reraised to $400 (I was very glad I had enough chips to do that). One of the callers had only about $170 total, so he was pretty much obligated to call, but the other two callers dropped out, which meant that there was $200 in dead money in the pot. My aces held up nicely against both remaining opponents.

So I finished up with my biggest Hilton cash-out ever: $1239, a $1039 profit.

It was just after midnight. The Sahara runs a popular midnight tournament, usually getting 50-75 people. If you can time it right, getting into a no-limit cash game when people are busting out of a tournament can be very profitable, because they tend to be angry and frustrated, and they play a little crazy. So I went there. Within the first few hands, I doubled up my initial $100 against a guy who really should have known he was beat.

Went card-dead for maybe 30 or 45 minutes. Then the crazy hand occurred.

I have the two red 8s. I limp in. Guy on the button raises to $15. Six or 7 people call, because he raises way too often to always have good hands when he does. The flop had three hearts, K-10-9. First guy checks. Second guy bets $25. It's my turn.

I've got three pieces of a straight flush. I don't really expect the next two cards to both be the perfect ones to give me that, but I can make a flush with any heart, and there are some combinations that can also make me a straight. But most importantly, I've been playing very few hands while I get to know the table, so I think I can pull off a big bluff here. I assume that the first two players don't have flushes right now; the first guy could have nothing at all, since he checked, and I think it's most likely that the guy who bet has a king, maybe even 2 pair, and likely also has one heart for a flush draw as sort of a backup plan. If I go all-in here, they will have to guess that I have 2 hearts and I flopped a flush. With my tight image, it has a decent chance of working. There's already about $100 in the pot, so it's worth trying to win it.

At first it looked like it might work, as the players behind me folded. But then the guy who checked went all in, and so did the guy who bet the $25! Yikes! That wasn't supposed to happen! Even worse, my guess about their hands was completely wrong--they BOTH had 2 hearts in their hands, so they had BOTH already made their flushes. And both were higher than the flush I could make, even if another heart came! (One was the ace-high nut flush, the other a queen-high flush.) Disaster! Oh well. Sometimes these things work and sometimes they blow up in your face. But I wasn't devastated, because (1) I felt like I was already playing with free/found money; and (2) getting caught bluffing can repay any losses later when people call me when I have a really strong hand, because they tend to think I might be bluffing again.

But hold the phone--the next two cards were another king, then the 8 of clubs. I made a full house (three 8s and two kings), and beat both flushes! When I got home, I used a web-based poker odds calculator to enter the scenario: when all the money went in after the flop, I had only a 3% chance of winning.

That is one of the worst suckouts I've ever pulled off. To get the two perfect cards to make a full house to beat TWO other all-in players who weren't on draws, but already had made flushes, is just extraordinarily lucky. One of them got pretty pissed off. The other just said, "Unbelievable. Oh well--it happens." I should have lost about $130 on that hand, and instead ended up making almost $300.

This is the cruelest game ever invented. But it's nice to be on the giving side of the cruelty for a change, instead of the receiving end.

Feels so good (non-grumpy content)

On Friday, for some reason, I was thinking about the frequency of getting the high poker hands (four-of-a-kind and straight flushes) that qualify for jackpots in many local casinos. To the best of my recollection, I had not hit a straight flush since about August, though I had seen quads three times since then. I was thinking that I must be about due for a straight flush.

Yesterday I played in the weekly Hilton Saturday afternoon tournament--went out as the week's official Bubble Boy. Oh well--it was a "nothing you can do about it" situation. Anyway, I then sat down in a $3-$6 limit game while waiting for a $1-$2 no-limit seat to open up. My second hand, I had the 7-8 of diamonds.

Flop came 4-5-6 of diamonds. Not only did I flop a straight flush, I flopped the highest possible straight flush. This was that rare situation of the immortal nuts: I was 100% certain to win the pot, no matter how many other people were in it, no matter what hole cards they had, and no matter what cards fell on the turn and river. You just don't get that very often. It was particularly sweet because 6 other people were in the hand, and betting and raising to the cap! I won what I'm pretty sure is the biggest pot I've ever taken in a $3-6 game.

Alas, the jackpot amount was only $34, the lowest of all of the straight flush jackpots available, since it was the only one that had been hit recently. *sigh* just my luck. The rest of the straight-flush bonuses were hovering between $150 and $505, and I get the one that's sitting at $34. The last two times I had quads at the Hilton, on each occasion the same hand had been hit earlier in the day, and I racked up the big $20 minimum bonus.

Still, it's one of the loveliest sights in poker: an all-diamond flop of 4-5-6 when I'm holding the 7-8. So, so, so pretty!

A new name for a poker hand

I was playing in a tournament at Caesar's Palace this afternoon when somebody told me that Don Imus had been fired from his CBS radio job. By a cosmic coincidence, at exactly the same time a hand (in which I was not involved) was concluding, and one of the players turned over the queen of spades and queen of clubs.

The juxtaposition immediately triggered this thought: From now on, I will refer to the two black queens as "the nappy-headed hos."

Now, sadly, this requires a lengthy explanation/disclaimer. (Not that it will help; those determined to find offense will do so anyway, no matter how I explain my thoughts.) I am not a racist. I do not think of all black women as either nappy-headed or as hos. But I think it's ridiculous the amount of negative fallout and outrage (much of it not genuine outrage, obviously) that has come from one offhand remark by Mr. Imus. I haven't watched or listened to his show in over a year, because (1) I'm never up that early anymore, and (2) my cable doesn't have MSNBC, and I don't know of any local radio station that carries the program. But I used to watch or listen fairly regularly, and I enjoyed his antics. This is actually among the tamest things he's said, and it makes no sense for it to have engendered so much controversy.

So my intent in proposing that the QsQc be called the "nappy-headed hos" is not meant to offend anyone (although if it does, I don't much care, because I don't think that people should be troubled by things that are, in the grand scheme of the universe, so utterly trivial). I intend it as something of a political protest, that we're becoming a nation that can't laugh at itself, that positively *revels* in being offended at any off-color or edgy or ill-considered remark. The whole business is just cultural insanity.

Recycling the phrase and trying to keep it alive is my own personal way of rebelling against the insanity. Even if you think it's not funny when applied to Rutgers basketball players, it *is* funny when applied to two playing cards.

In a nation that reveres (or used to revere) freedom of speech, I consider it patriotic to keep saying the things that the censors among us tell us we should never, ever say. So I'm saying it: Nappy-headed hos, nappy-headed hos, nappy-headed hos!

It's my new favorite hand.

The armpit of Las Vegas poker

In 1962, Edward Albee famously shocked audiences, certain religious folk, censors, and the Pulitzer Prize committee with his play "Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf?", in large part because one of the main characters, Martha, has an attention-grabbing opening line: as she and her husband, George, enter their modest home, she disgustedly proclaims, "Jesus H. Christ--what a dump!"

Surely that line will occur afresh to all right-thinking, serious poker players upon their first experience with the poker room at the El Cortez hotel and casino.

I haven't done any poker room reviews in this blog, mainly because they all have their merits and demerits, and where one likes to play is a highly subjective call; my preferences aren't any better or worse or more objective than anybody else's. But this place deserves all the negative attention I can bring to it.

The El Cortez is easily the nearest place that I could go to play; it's only a block north of my apartment building. I've avoided it for the 9 months that I've lived here because I knew that it was one of the few remaining Vegas poker rooms that allowed players to smoke at the table, and I just couldn't stand that. But I read recently that they had joined the non-smoking bandwagon, and so today I decided to give it a whirl.

Jesus H. Christ--what a dump!

Let's talk about the smoking thing first. It's only a little better than it would be if smoking were allowed right at the table. The "room" isn't a room at all, just a little nook in the main casino, three tables right next to a bunch of slot machines. Five or ten feet is all one has to move to be in the smoking area. The tables, by the way, still bear the scars of the smoking era--the cheap vinyl rail has so many cigarette burn/melt scars, it looks like the lunar surface.

The tables are ancient. Whatever layer is under the felt has warped badly (probably from absorbing liquid from spilled drinks). The taut felt over the top no more hides these flaws than spandex bicycle shorts hide the cellulite on a 300-pound cyclist. My chips looked like I had stacked them drunk; no two stacks were parallel to each other, because the surface of the table was so uneven.

What can one say about the clientele? I'll try to quantify it. Their average age is about ten times their average number of remaining teeth. The place must really liven up the day the Social Security checks hit the mail. I've honestly never seen so many scooters, hearing aids, oxygen tanks, and cataract glasses around one poker table. The game was constantly slowed down by the hard-of-hearing asking, "What's the bet? What? WHAT? I can't hear you!" and the hard-of-seeing asking what cards were on the board. In my experience, it's pretty damn rare that at age 45 I'm the young gun at the table.

And I'll just add two more words, trusting that the reader knows whereof I speak, without the need to elaborate in nauseating detail: Body odor.

One elderly woman kept announcing what cards she folded whenever she would have made a pair with the board. After the third time--with the dealers, of course, saying nothing about it--I tried to tell her that that was against the rules. Her only response--and I am not making this up--was, "What? I can't hear you." I asked the dealer to enforce the rule about discussing the hand while it was in progress. The dealer got the same response as I did. She finally called the floor over to caution this fine patron of the game. It was obvious that the floor person did this only as a perfunctory obligation, given the complaint, but actually thought it was a point that didn't matter one little bit. The rest of the table looked at me as if I were from Mars for caring about such things. Rules? There are RULES?

When I was there, two tables were in use, both spreading the most ridiculous structure of hold'em I've ever seen--sillier, even, than the Luxor's bizarro $50 min/$50 max, 1-1-3 blinds game. At the El Cortez, they play a strange mutant spread-limit game: $1-3/$1-6. There is a single blind, which the player posting can make $1, $2, or $3. Raises/bets on the first three rounds are then $1-3 spread, with the larger range ($1-$6) applying only on the river. Among the octogenarian crowd, this produces infinite potential for confusion on every bet, every round, every hand. Half of the game is spent getting the pot right.

For the most part, the posted blind is just $1, and nearly the whole table limps in. This game would play almost identically, and move a hell of a lot faster, if they instead made the structure like this: Everybody puts in $5 blind, then gets their down cards, then the five community cards are put out all at once, and the hole cards are revealed. Winner gets the pot.

The reason this would have the same result is because nobody ever folds. Role of skill? 1%. Role of luck? 99%. Importance of position? Zero. Importance of being able to deduce an opponent's hand? Zero. Probability that the best starting hand will hold up? About 10%. Importance of selectivity in starting hands? Nil. You really can't even call what happens "sucking out," because it's the rule rather than the exception. It really would be more efficient to run it like the lottery that it is, and abandon the pretense that what they're playing is poker.

To make it even better, you can buy in for just $20--and you'd better believe that they do. Lose a hand, buy another $20. They also let even smaller denominations of currency play, so the dealers get the fun job of counting out the 1s and 5s that players toss into the pot, to replace them with the equivalent in blue chips. It's just like the worst home game you've ever been in, except a lot slower, smellier, with worse play, and the participants are drunker. (I won't venture a guess as to what fraction of them are really just there for the free drinks--but the number must be substantial.)

My guess is there isn't a single player there who can, over the long run, beat the rake by enough to average, say, more than $5/hour profit. My $100 got sucked down to nothing over the course of 90 minutes, though it was up significantly for a while. That's neither a complaint nor a boast, because the outcome either way is almost completely independent of skill.

With all the past and current smoking going on there, it's a small miracle that the El Cortez hasn't burned down yet. And though I would never advocate arson, I'll just note that if it did ever get torched, the poker world would be better off for it, and I would send up a little prayer of thanks to the firebug.

I have not yet been to every Vegas-area poker room (at my last count, there were 51, and I've played in 38 so far), but I have a hard time imagining that there is any overall worse room than the El Cortez. I will henceforth refer to it only as the armpit of Las Vegas poker--and I would dub it that even without the B.O. problem mentioned earlier.

Jesus H. Christ--what a dump!


Addendum, July 31, 2007

I just ran across one of Jennifer Tilly's columns from Bluff magazine (see here). She says, "At the El Cortez there is not much to see. A far cry from the glitz and glamour of the Bellagio, it resembles a bus station. There are rows of penny slot machines, and a shoe shine chair. The poker room smells of disinfectant, and has a distinct Wild West feel. It seems like the kind of place where you could get hit by a beer bottle if you’re caught bluffing."

Are you SURE you've got the nuts?

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.

"The Annoying Bastard"

An article in the November issue of "Bluff" (which I think is the most entertaining poker magazine out there; for hard-core strategy, nothing beats "Card Player," but for lighter fare, "Bluff" is my favorite) is about the varieties of players who chat at the table. For today's grump, I can do no better than to quote verbatim their description of "The Annoying Bastard" (p. 77):

This guy (or girl) talks because he must, the same way sharks have to keep
swimming to live. The patter is generally an unending stream of mundane
nonsense--the equivalent of someone asking "Hot enough for ya?" seven hundred
times in a row.

Of course, babbling about the buffet or the dry heat is one thing; heaven
forbid he starts trying to school you at poker. After he busts your set with a
miracle straight on the river, he'll take pains to educate you on how to
calculate outs, odds, and pot equity until you're ready to stuff a copy of
Brunson's Super System down his gullet and put him on a plane back to
Des Moines.

Recommendation: You can't win with an Annoying Bastard, and you
can't go over the top on him. He's why god made iPods. Screen him out, then bust
him out.

Abso-freakin-lutely.

However, another alternative for the inveterate table-teacher is one I've come to use more frequently of late. I ask, "Are the lessons free, or do we have to pay extra for them?" (This has a bit more bite if it's addressed to the dealer, while pointing in the general direction of the self-appointed professor, than if addressed directly to the offender. It sounds a bit more like a sincere question.*) The jerk usually can't resist the bait, and will say something like, "No, they're free." This set-up is such a softball that I should be ashamed to swing at it, but I like to follow that up with, "Oh, good--because they're worth what we're paying for them."

It really does seem to stem the flow of "lessons."


*My apologies to any dealers who have been put into an awkward position by involving them in this way, but in general I think they share my combination of amusement and annoyance at the "expert," and haven't minded the rhetorical question.

Perfect poker

A couple of weeks ago I was at a table at the Orleans when I overheard a conversation between a player and a dealer. The dealer expressed to the player his surprise at learning that the player had placed only second in a recent tournament. The surprise was apparently because the player had gone into the final table with a substantial chip lead. The player, explaining his disappointing second-place finish, naturally proceeded with a series of bad-beat stories, complaining about what terrible players his opponents were, etc. The player--for whom the terms "loudmouth," "braggart," and "egomaniac" are woefully inadequate--concluded by griping that he had played "seven hours of perfect poker," only to fall victim to other players' stupidity.

I couldn't help myself: I laughed out loud. "Perfect poker." As Bill Cosby used to say, "R-i-i-i-i-i-i-ght."

Imagine what that would entail, were it humanly possible. It would mean perfect reads on every one of one's opponents' hole cards every hand. It would mean never giving away a speck of information about one's own hand beyond what is conveyed in the size of a bet (i.e., never a bit of hesitation or haste in the timing of a bet, not a hint of any facial expression related to the hand, not a trace of weakness or strength in the tone of one's voice). It would mean never betting, say, $100 when a weaker opponent would actually have called as much as $101.

I do not believe that any person is capable of pulling this off more than on a rare, exception hand--and it's damn hard to know that one has done it, because you just don't get the information you'd need to be able to ascertain that it had been accomplished.

I am impressed with the far more realistic assessment that Barry Greenstein makes in his superb book, "Ace on the River" (pp. 204-205):

I typically make more than twenty plays in a session that in retrospect I
think were mistakes. Some are clear blunders that cost me the pot or caused me
to lose more money than I should have on a hand. Others are more subtle. Maybe I
should have check-called or check-raised instead of betting. Sometimes I should
have folded instead of calling, or called or raised instead of folding. Yet, I
have played with people who have told me they play almost flawlessly. I have
never respected the play of anyone who has said that....

I believe the game of poker is so complex that we all make many bad
decisions, but the best players win by making fewer than others. It reminds me
of what Lee Trevino said when he was asked if he chokes. He admitted, "Of course
I choke, but I look around and see other players choking worse than I do. That's
why I'm able to win golf tournaments."

Seven hours of perfect poker, my ass. It can't be done.

Still, I'm happy to have heard the guy say this. It's exceptionally revealing about his psychological state. First, he has a huge ego. Second, that ego is tied to his success at poker--the outcome more than how he actually plays. Third, his ego is fragile enough that he desperately needs the accolades of others--else why bother trying to convince everybody that he's so good? (The really great players don't need to talk people into believing in their skill.) Fourth, he's incapable of honest self-assessment, which perforce means that he's incapable of assessing others accurately; he'll likely think that I'm a terrible player, no matter what I do, which is just fine with me, because then when I win hands, he's that much more likely to go on tilt as a result. Fifth, he believes that any loss is due to bad luck and/or bad play by others, which means that he'll never, ever improve; after all, how can you learn to play better than "perfect"?

I'd almost feel sorry for the guy, if it weren't so much fun to ridicule his pathetic condition.

Biggest raise ever (non-grumpy content)

I recently learned of the biggest raise ever made in the history of poker--at least according to legend. It regards John Dougherty, perhaps the most famous gambler in old Tombstone. This is from “Sucker’s Progress: An Informal History of Gambling in America,” by Herbert Asbury, published in 1938, pp. 348-349:

If Southwestern tradition is to be credited... [t]his historic event occurred in
1889, when Dougherty and Ike Jackson, a rich cattle owner of Colorado City,
Texas, met in Bowen's Saloon in Santa Fe and agreed to play a square, no limit
[sic] game for the Poker championship of the West. A hundred prominent citizens
of Santa Fe, including L. Bradford Prince, Governor of New Mexico, crowded into
the saloon to watch the battle.... In a few minutes $100,000 in coin and
currency was piled on the table between the players. Jackson was then short of
cash, so he wrote out a deed to his ranch and 10,000 head of cattle, and with
this document raised Dougherty a hundred thousand. Dougherty hadn't money enough
either to call or to raise, but he was equal to the emergency. He called for
paper and pen, wrote rapidly for a moment or two, and then handed the paper to
Governor Prince, at the same time drawing a revolver.

"Now,
Governor," he said, "you sign this or I will kill you. I like you and would
fight for you, but I love my reputation as a Poker player better than I do you
or anyone else."

Without reading what Dougherty had written,
Governor Prince hastily signed, and with a smile of triumph Dougherty flung the
paper into the pot, saying impressively:

"I raise you the
Territory of New Mexico! There's the deed!"

The Texan threw down
his cards with a mighty curse.

"All right," he said, "take the
pot. But it's a damned good thing for you that the Governor of Texas isn't
here!"

I’m please to report that today such moves are against the rules in most of the better casinos in Las Vegas.

Just stay home, you inconsiderate jerk!

Let's make one thing clear: you don't have to play poker in a casino on any given day. (I'll make an exception here for people who have paid in advance for a big-dollar tournament.) So if you're sick, just stay home (or at your hotel).

It happened again last night, and surely will again many more times before the currently starting cold season ends: One doofus sat down in seat 8 (I was in 10) at the Flamingo, and was instantly recognizable as being sick. First thing he did was take a bottle of God-kn0ws-what cold syrup out of a bag, and take a big swig of it. In spite of that stuff, he coughed and sniffled and snorted and blew his nose and wiped his nose with his hand, etc.

This isn't that complicated, folks: The rest of us don't want to pick up your miserable cold! Don't go into a casino and plop down for several hours (or even several minutes, for that matter) in close proximity to a bunch of other people, who will then have to share your air, and handle the same cards and chips that you're befouling with your stupid virus.

Really--how inconsiderate can you be? How about taking a few days to brush up on your online play instead?

I am not looking forward to this aspect of winter in Las Vegas. I think I'm going to become a vigilante about this. I didn't say anything to this particular jerk, but next time I am going to speak up.

Dealers who don't know the rules--and don't ask

Three stories.

1. I was playing at the Flamingo last night, my usual game ($1-$2 no-limit hold'em). I was first to act on the river. I bet $8. The guy to my left, without saying anything, put $13 in front of him in one motion (2 red chips and 3 blue chips). Therefore, it wasn't clear if he had intended to call and accidentally dragged an extra red chip along, or if he had intended to raise and miscounted or miscalculated what the minimum raise would be.

There are four possible rules that one could have to cover this situation: A. The dealer asks the player what his intention was, and then, depending on the answer, the player either retracts the extra amount or puts in more money to make the minimum raise. B. In the absence of a previous verbal declaration of a raise, any amount pushed forward that is more than a call but short of the minimum raise is deemed a call, and the extra returned to the player. C. In the absence of a previous verbal declaration of a raise, any amount pushed forward that is more than a call but short of the minimum raise is deemed a raise, and the player is obligated to complete the minimum raise. D. As a sort of compromise between the possibly harsh consequences of (B) and (C), you split the difference, and if the amount is more than halfway between the call and the minimum raise, it's deemed a raise; if the excess is less than halfway to the minimum raise, it's deemed a call.

Cooke's Rules recommends option D. Some casinos appear to go with D for tournaments, but either B or C for cash games (a distinction that makes no sense to me). But clearly the worst option is A, because that's what the angle-shooter would want: ambiguity, which he can then take either way, depending on what reaction he gets from other players.

So what did the dealer do here? He went with A. I asked him whether the player really had the option, and suggested that there must be a house rule settling the issue one way or the other without giving the player the choice. The dealer said that the player had to say what his intention was. I didn't believe it, but it was a small enough amount that I was going to call it anyway, so I didn't make an issue.

Later, however, I approached the shift supervisor and asked what the dealer's move should have been. If I understood his answer correctly, the Flamingo goes with B--the extra $5 should have been returned to the player and his action deemed a call, even if he claimed that his intention was to raise. The dealer was just wrong.

I won the hand at the showdown, incidentally. I still don't know if the guy really intended a raise--he had just hit one small pair on the river, so with 2 0r 3 people left to act behind him, it was a pretty stupid raise, if that really was what he meant to do.


2. I left the Pink Chicken because I wasn't making any money this time around, and went to Tuscany, a short drive away. Late in my session, I made a pre-flop raise to $12. The button reraised to $80, all in. The big blind was gabbing away with somebody and not paying attention. He had seen my raise, but missed the reraise, so he tossed two more $5 chips forward, intending to call my raise. Before anybody else could act after him, I intervened and told him of the reraise. (The dealer hadn't noticed the problem.) He decided to fold instead and took the $10 back.

The dealer told him that the $10 he had just put in had to stay in the pot. The player protested. The dealer, rather than calling for the floor, insisted that the guy put the $10 back. Player refused. They went back and forth a couple of times, until the guy on the button (who had put in the reraise, and was an off-duty dealer there) called for the floor. Floor ruled that since it hadn't affected any action behind him, the player would be allowed to take the $10 back.

This is in accordance with Cooke's rules: "[W]hen facing a raise, if a player is unaware that a pot has been raised and places enough chips in the pot to call an unraised bet only, the dealer shall advise the player that the pot has been raise, whereupon the player may reconsider and change his action, provided that no one has acted behind the player." (10.06, p. 66.) I assume that it is also in accordance with Tuscany's house rules.


3. About two weeks ago at the Orleans, there was a huge pot--about $1000 by the end, which is about as big as pots ever get in a $1-$2 game. I wasn't in it. I was in the 10 seat. On the river, the guy in seat 8 was facing an all-in bet for something like his last $400. He stood up to think about it, and finally decided to call. He pushed forward his two tall stacks. (He was one of those guys who like the 40-chip, $200 stacks instead of the more common 20-chip, $100 stacks--a tendency that was about to cause an unforeseen problem.) He then picked up his hole cards, and attempted to drop them on the table face-up with a little forward motion.

Unfortunately, his cards caught on his tall stacks on their way down, which flipped them face down, right on top of the muck.

The dealer reached for them, picked them up, and placed them face-up in front of the player, as if nothing unusual had happened. I asked her, "Isn't his hand dead?" She said, "No, he didn't mean to muck them [which was obvious--he's not going to call, then throw his hand away before seeing the other hands], and I know it was these two." Since I wasn't involved in the pot, I didn't do or say anything more--and, to my surprise, neither of the other two players in the pot said anything about it, either. (If it had been me, I'd instantly ask for the floor person. I'll take a $1000 pot by default if I can, and not feel one smidgen of guilt about it.) As it turned out, the caller had the worst hand and lost anyway, so the outcome would have been the same. But still, cards in the muck (at least face down, when nobody else has seen them) are dead, pure and simple, end of story. I seriously doubt that Orleans (or any other casino) has a house rule otherwise, though I didn't bother asking.


The common thread in these incidents is that a dealer doesn't know a rule that he or she should know, compounded by being certain of something that wasn't so, and not asking the floor about it. As I said in an earlier post, there's (usually) no shame in not knowing something. But one should be ashamed of being confident that the rule is X when it's actually Y, and not having the humility to say, "I'm not sure what the right thing to do here is; let me call the floor person to clarify it."

Addendum, August 16, 2007:

James Klosty is one of the shift supervisors at the Hilton poker room, and co-host of "Poker, Straight from the Hilton" on KLAV, 1230 AM, Fridays at 3:00 p.m., Pacific time. (You can also listen to the show live on the web through http://warpradio.com/single.asp?id=6224, click on the "listen" button. End of free plug.) Tuesday he told me that he had been reading some of my old posts--including this one, obviously--and questioned whether my opinion was right in story #1 above. At the time, I couldn't remember the situation that had prompted the rant, so I wasn't able to provide James a very satisfactory answer. But his point was thoughtful, and worthy of an equally thoughtful reply, so here's my take on it.

James noted that his long-standing practice in such a situation is to immediately ask the player what his intention was, and go by that. A player would get to make this mistake once--after that, it's assumed he's an angle-shooter, and the bet would be ruled a call only. James is a superb and experienced dealer. I trust him to have a keen sense of BS coming from a player who is trying to pull a fast one, versus an innocent mistake. If all dealers were as consistent and reliable, this system would probably work adequately. That said, we'd still have the problem that dealers change every 30 minutes, and the next one wouldn't necessary know that the guy in seat 8 has had his one chance to have his ambiguous move deemed a genuine oversight.

Overall, though, I still think it's preferable to have a rule that clearly defines what is to happen here, and not give the player a choice. Granted, the great majority of the time there is nothing nefarious intended. But that's also true of other ambiguous actions, such as tossing in an oversized chip when faced with a bet. It is, as far as I know, universal that that action will be deemed a call in the absence of a player announcing a raise before the chip hits the felt. Again, most of the time when a player intends to raise with the oversized chip, but fails to announce it, it's an honest mistake, not an attempt to deceive, so the rule has potentially harsh consequences when it is inadvertantly violated. But we don't give players a choice; the rule clearly defines how the bet is to be treated.

I think that the situation in my story #1 above is exactly analogous, in terms of how it should be handled. That is, there should be a rule (either one standardized everywhere, the way things like the oversized-chip rule are, or ones that casinos adopt internally, which may vary from place to place) that settles the matter cleanly.

I don't so much care which of the possible rules I discuss above (B, C, or D) is implemented. But I will stick to my guns on saying that having one of those rules in place to automatically and consistently determine the interpretation of the otherwise ambiguous action is better than the practice of asking the player what his intention was--even once.

Immutable law of poker

The cocktail waitress will only come right when it's your turn to play.

I have no idea why this is, but it is an undeniable, universal truth.

"Let's just check it down"

One of the most egregious--but common--violations of the general rule about not discussing the hand while it's in progress is two players agreeing to "check it down" (i.e., not bet against each other) once they have both called the all-in bet of a third player. I've witnessed it once before in a casino game (at Bally's--and the dealer heard it and did nothing about it), and often in online games, but I had never been the object of it until today.

It happened at the Hilton. I was getting tired and was about ready to go, when I found pocket 9s. The two players to my right were extremely loose, in almost every pot, so when the first of them raised it to $12 and the other called, moving all-in for my last $30 or so seemed the obvious move. The action was folded around back to the original raiser and caller, both of whom called. Then one asked, "You want to just check it down?" The other agreed.

I protested to the dealer. He said, "What's wrong with that?"

He's fairly new, but he's been dealing since July, and he actually went to dealer school, so he should certainly know what's wrong with it. Fortunately, the floor person intervened. But, of course, the damage is already done, because even if the two players are required to officially recant their agreement, there's the wink-wink, nudge-nudge knowledge that they're going to abide by it anyway.

That's why if I had my own casino, the penalty for making and/or accepting such an offer would be that the player's (or players') hand(s) would be declared dead, and they would forfeit any interest in the pot. No exceptions, no explanations, no mercy. I think players would learn pretty quickly not to try it.

In today's case, I won the hand anyway. One player was very apologetic, and clearly didn't understand that it was against the rules, and when I pointed out the reason for it, immediately understood. I'm confident that he gets it now, and won't do it again.

The other guy (the original raiser), however, was annoyed that I was accusing him of collusion. He showed me his 7-2 offsuit, and asked, "If I was trying to collude, why would I do it with the worst hand in poker"? Well, you idiot, maybe because you have the worst hand in poker, and don't want anybody betting into you! If you had a strong hand, you probably wouldn't feel the need to get an opponent to agree not to give you a hard decision to make! What a moron.

In case any reader doesn't understand the problem with this situation, I'll try to explain. One of the fundamental principles of poker is that every player must make all of his own decisions without assistance, and must make them in his own best interest--not in the best interest of any other player. When you enter an agreement not to bet against another player when one is already all-in, you are conspiring. You are reducing you own potential gain (because if you developed a very strong hand, your best interest would be served by making another bet and hoping an opponent called with a worse hand, making a side pot you could win). And you're doing so at the expense of the all-in player.

Look at it this way: if you're all-in against two opponents, wouldn't you love it if one of them made a big bet and drove the other out of the pot, so that you'd only have to beat one other hand at the showdown? Even better, wouldn't it be great if the person betting was really stupid and was bluffing with nothing, and drove the best hand out of the pot?

In tournaments, particularly in the late stages, players will often check down a hand when one is all-in. There's nothing wrong with this, as long as it isn't made an agreement. In a tournament, each player's interest in knocking another one out of contention for the title may well be greater than their interest in winning a particular pot, so in such a situation each player is still acting in his own best interest. But that's not true in a cash game, since a losing all-in player will either just buy more chips or be replaced by a new player bringing new chips into the game; there is no countervailing interest to take into account. If you want to maximize your chance of winning the biggest possible pot, you don't agree to "check it down." The effect of the collusion is that each of the agreeing players shares the risks and rewards--they trade off maximum chance of winning the biggest possible pot for a reduced risk of losing what they've already put into it.

Occasionally when there is a bet and everybody folds except the last player with the option to call, that player will make an agreement with the bettor: I'll call if you agree to check it down after this round of betting. That is, the potential caller says that he's only willing to call if he doesn't have to risk any more of his money. Although I think this isn't good form, it doesn't have the same problem of collusion. The bettor can accept the call on the terms offered, or decline it and take the pot as it is. Either way, he's making a decision based solely on what he thinks is best for him. There's no conspiracy against a third player.

So if any reader didn't know before, now you've been told: agreeing to "check it down" when a player is all-in is collusion. It's against the rules. It's cheating. If you do it, you're a cheater. Dealers who don't know this are incompetent. Casinos that don't enforce this rule are facilitating cheating.

It really is that simple and stark.