Recently in Poker and other games Category

Friday night I avoided intoxicants and pushed aside anxieties. I took a multi-vitamin, ate a banana, and slid the case containing my prescription sunglasses into the pocket of my fleece jacket.

No more fooling around.

This time there were 20 of us at two tables. With a precision I'd been unable to attain before, I watched each player as he peeked at his cards and bet, raised, or folded. By the time the action was on me, I knew what I needed to play, and after a quick peek at my hole cards, acted quickly and decisively.

My table was dominated by a very lucky trash player. He'd raise A-4, flop two pair, and take the money from A-K. As the night progressed, his stack grew larger and larger. The other big stack was a newbie, the father of one of the regular players, who in one big hand wiped out his son's A-Q with J-9.

My first win was unlikely. I was on the big blind, and when the action got to me, peeked at 6-3, one of the ugliest hands. No one raised, so I checked to see a free flop: 6-5-3. The small blind checked, I quickly counted the chips in the pot, and made a hefty pot-sized raise. I had two pair, but there was a decent chance a straight draw was out there, and I wanted anyone who tried to suck out on me to pay the price. By the time the hand was over, my two pair had turned into a full house and I'd increased my stack by about 50 percent.

Mostly what I do in Hold 'em is fold. The biggest mistake many players, even experienced players, make is to play too many hands. I folded every hand for the next hour or so, resisting the temptation to play A-10 and 5-5 out of position. My earlier win gave me the luxury of waiting for the right moment. Finally, on the button with an unraised pot, I peeked at A-6 suited. It's not a great hand, but with only two callers and on the button, it was worth a call. I limped in, the blinds checked, and we saw a flop. Now, it may have been more correct to raise on the button and try to bully the blinds, but at this table it just didn't feel right. Players had been calling raises all night with trash hands, and I didn't want to lose any more money than I had to.

The flop came down 6-3-4 rainbow, and the small blind made a huge raise. This was the moment of truth. The small blind, a good player who had taken me out the first time I played in this weekly tournament, was unlikely to be bluffing, not with two other players in the hand. It was possible he had flopped a straight and that any money I threw into the pot was lost. The big blind quickly folded and the action was on me. I had top pair with the best possible kicker. I didn't think he had a big pair because he didn't raise before the flop. It was possible that he had something like 7-7 or 8-8, but my gut told me that his hand was made on the flop. I put him on a straight or straight draw, or perhaps trips or two pair. He was too good of a player to bet big with top pair unless he had a great kicker. I reviewed the hand again, the way he had played it, and decided he probably did not have a straight, trips, or two pair because if he did, he would try to make as much money as possible instead of driving everyone out of the pot. If my analysis was correct, he was on a straight draw. I reraised, and he quickly went all-in. What a pickle. I almost folded, but an hour or two before he had made a huge raise to take the pot, and he had shown his hand -- an outside straight draw. I don't know why he showed his cards, except to perhaps gloat a bit, but -- To call, it would cost me 1100 in chips, almost all of my stack. I started stacking my chips, closely watching him for a reaction. Finally I said, "Call."

He turned over 6-5, top pair and outside straight draw. My A-6 made his 6 useless, so all he had was the draw. I'd made the correct play, and was about a 2-1 favorite to win the hand. The turn and the river were suspenseful, but my A-6 prevailed, and I swept in a mountain of chips. He was a player I respected and his "good call" was praise he didn't give lightly.

Shortly after the tables were combined, and the surviving 10 players got down to business. Keith was there with a smallish stack. The chip leader was the trash player; he had so many chips I joked that the table was likely to tip over. The newbie player who had taken out his son had a mountain of chips himself. I had a respectable stack, about average. The other players included a guy Keith and I called Sklansky because he had referred to a couple of books by the poker writer, books Keith and I knew very well. By this point the blinds had gotten very large, and most players were making one of two moves: all-in or fold.

Keith picked the right moments to go all-in and quickly increased his stack. After a bit, the table was down to six players. I asked Keith to reach behind him and grab the small case resting on top of my jacket. I got the case, took out my sunglasses, donned them, and said, "Time to get serious." I might have looked like a dork, but I didn't care. I'd been told many times in my life that I have expressive eyes, and I didn't want to give anything away, not now.

Finally, Keith's all-in got called, and he turned over Q-J suited. It was a rare misstep. Later he confessed that he hadn't got cards all night and only survived by calculated gambling. His caller turned over A-8, truly a terrible hand with which to call an all-in, but it was ahead, and when the river fell, Keith was out. To quicken the pace of the play, he volunteered to serve as dealer, an offer the table quickly accepted.

Now we were down to five. Only four places paid, so one of us was going to go home empty handed. I had lost a good number of chips when the father called my hefty J-J raise with Q-trash and caught a queen. He went out shortly after to the trash player, who was still chip leader, an honor he'd held for most of the night. One of the remaining four had a large stack, but the other three -- including me -- were nursing small stacks. Still, I had enough chips to wait for the proper moment, and folded every hand, hoping someone would screw up and I'd make it into the money.

Finally, the second largest stack went all-in, got called by the trash player, and went out. Shortly after, one of the short stacks went all-in and got taken out by the trash player. Now there were three -- the trash player, Sklansky, and me. The trash player was pushing every hand, putting incredible pressure on us. Finally Sklansky made a stand with a decent hand but got outdrawn.

Now it was just the trash king and me. I counted my chips and realized he had a 5-1 chip lead. But -- I didn't care. I'd made it into the money by picking my moments and by being lucky enough not to be outdrawn. Everytime I put my money in that night I had the best hand, but part of being lucky is to have the best hand prevail.

Before we started heads up, the trash player announced that if I bet a hand, he was pushing me all-in. It was supposed to intimidate me, but it was music to my ears. I threw a glance at Keith, the dealer, and he gave me a tiny shrug. I was in my element. On-line I'd played heads up thousands of times, and Keith and I had developed a profitable strategy, one I shan't detail here because, who knows, someday I may be heads up against you.

I folded my first several hands, and, emboldened, he quickly called when I went all-in with 6-6. He turned over Q-9, two overcards, and we had a classic race, which I won. Although 6-6 is slightly favored, pairs lose to overcards all the time. The next hand I peeked at was A-K of hearts, a very beautiful hand in any situation but absolutely gorgeous heads up. I went all-in, and to my delight, was instantly called with A-10. I prevailed, and after a very awkward period in which the trash player counted out what he had lost and pushed the chips to me, I was the chip leader, with about a 2-1 lead.

I folded the next hand to his all-in. Then I peeked at J-J, a monster heads up. This was the hand that could do it all, but I was worried he wouldn't call an all-in. After losing most of his chips because of reckless play, he was getting more cautious. It was clear he had assumed he was going to win and the fact that he was on the verge of losing rattled him. I was on the small blind, so I just limped in, and sure enough he interpreted that as weakness, and moved all-in. I instantly called and flipped over J-J. He was playing Q-trash, and when all the cards had been turned over, I was the winner.

It was a $25 buy-in Hold 'em tournament, and I walked away with $250, my first win in five sessions. Keith had played very well the previous nights and had placed in the money everytime but one, but tonight was my night. The trash player ran interference, but careful play and a bit of luck allowed me, at the end, to take all his chips.

For five hours Friday night I thought of nothing but poker -- no job anxieties, no longings, no worries about bills.

Just poker.

Keith and I played in our first live game in ages, a $25 buy-in no-limit Hold 'em tournament hosted by the father of one of Keith's students.

It had all the classic elements: the maniacally jolly mechanic who played every hand with great gusto, winning more than his share before his dramatic crash into the side of an AK mountain; the cigar-smoking red-eyed drunk who'd call huge pre-flop raises with K3 off; the sullen college kids playing for date or dope money; the young turk complete with hooded sweatshirt, dark shades, and inordinate confidence in A10; several aficionados of the game, carefully considering each hand and playing dangerously when they enter a pot; and the host, full of bonhomie and wearing a cowboy hat and wide grin.

There were 15 or 16 players, huddled around two tables, drinking beer, munching on Cheetoes, fiddling with their chips. It was a re-buy game -- if you crashed out in the first hour you could pony up another $25 and get back into action.

I was seated at the table with the cigar-chomping drunk and six others. I played my game, tight and aggressive, entering few pots but playing strong when I did. It's a strategy that's worked well playing online poker; you don't want to give your foe a chance to outdraw you, and if he tries, he should play dearly for the privilege. It's a strategy gleaned from books, thousands of online games, and long conversations with my Nifty cohort. It's a profitable strategy, but not one without risks. On the big blind I got KJ, a hand I hate, and sure enough, the flop came down Jack high. I tossed in a moderate raise, drove everyone out except the guy to my left, who flat called. The turn wasn't threatening, so I threw in another big bet. The short story: he was playing AJ and outkicked me.

Time for a re-buy. My luck was better this go, and, after limping in with a small pair, I flopped a set. I bet strong, everyone got out but some professional slumming in a game he clearly was unsure about. I put him on a flush draw, and after he hesitantly called me, went all-in. He agonized, finally called, missed his tiny chance to river the flush, and gave me all his chips.

Shortly after, the tables combined, and 10 of us sat scrunched together, trying to peek at our cards without flashing them to our neighbors. Keith was there, as was the cigar-chomping drunk, the young turk, a couple of sullen college kids, an aficionado or two, our cowboy hat-wearing host, and me. Keith had a smallish stack, which he carefully nursed, and I had a good number of chips, the result of a dramatic showdown a few minutes earlier.

Play was serious now, less joking, less talk. In short order players dropped until there were six. I got AK, tossed in a good raise, got one caller. The flop came down K-10-trash, and I fired both barrels and got called. Then I went all in. Usually I'd win the pot there, or perhaps take out someone playing K-trash, but ... he was holding K10, took the preflop raise, and flopped two pair. That was it for me, and after I stepped away from the table, one of the sullen students crashed, leaving the young turk, an aficionado, another sullen student, and Keith, still nursing a short stack. Lucky for him, the sullen student inexplicably went all-in with nothing much and crashed out. Keith played gamely, but eventually the large stacks took him out, and he placed third, which paid about $100.The aficionado, a burly young kid with a precise and decisive style of play, and the young turk, a homespun version of the Unabomber, cut a deal and split first and second.

So, one of us lost and one of us won, and neither of us felt intimidated. It was much like online play: a few good players, a few not-bad players, and quite a bit of dead money. Profitable? Yes, but the game took so long that we can make more online. Will we play again? Hell yes! Nothing like live action, like mixing it up with real folks.

Next Friday night, that's where we'll be, fiddling with chips, peeking at cards, playing QQ strong.

New Year's Resolutions:

• set priorities
• manage time efficiently
• quit smoking
• eat healthy
• get more politically active
• publish a paper and a couple of poems
• find the love of my life
• finish writing the book of poetry
• win a big poker tournament
• completely overhaul my syllabi
• read some big historical tome (suggestions welcome)
• pay off the car
• keep in better touch with old friends
• take no more catering jobs
• save more money (I'll be friggin' forty this year)
• play Prince of Persia: The Warrior Within with my best friend for nearly 26 hours over the course of two days

One down.

In light of the flurry of MUD entries posted by my peer, I feel a quick word is in order, just to clarify an identity question before I settle in to tell some longer stories now that Trent/Gerrold has painted the backdrop for our years-long adventures in MUDding.

My reasons for MUDding were somewhat different—no real insanity save the regular bits that have marked my entire life. I jumped into the world of MUD with the same manic energy I chased performance poetry. It was theatre. I assumed a personality and pranced all about the stage with little to no inhibition.

Now. About the character I played. I didn't set out to play a female persona, not with any goal or agenda in mind. Trent picked the name Gerrold, I the name Marge, as in one's aunt Marge rather than any kind of echo of the Simpson's character. A middle-aged, hefty, built-like-a-truck-driver kind of woman, a powerful one who might attend Adrienne Rich readings wearing a Carhart field jacket, Redwing boots, and a watch cap. It was a temporary thing, or so I thought, but after 50 or so hours playing the game, it stuck and I was Marge. The range of the character allowed everything from a discussion of biscuit recipes to a forceful feminism. And I maintained the persona for five years without revealing my own gender.

Henceforth in these entries, as on two MUDs, I shall be Marge. It'll be good to wear her again. To be honest, in a way, she represents an ideal, the kind of person I might like to be given the chance.

Lots of things suck: Wal-Mart, regressive taxes, light lids, bad haircuts. But right now, nothing sucks worse than 6-7.

This was the situation. $50 multi-table pot-limit Hold 'em tournament, 72 players, I've got a lot of chips and in the running to make big money. On the Big Blind, I get A-2 off, a hand I would never pay to play.* The flop is 3-4-5, giving me a straight. Of course I bet big. I get raised. I go over the top with all my money.

I lost. The Small Blind played 6-7 off, a hand I would never play even for half price, and of course he flopped a better straight.*

So.

6-7 sucks.

I shouldn't complain. November was very good, poker wise. Hold 'em paid for my new furniture.

But still. ...

*Exaggeration. Of course there are specialized situations in which I'd play any hand.

The Jack Binion World Poker Open, sponsored by the Horseshoe Casino and the Gold Strike Casino, both in Tunica, Mississippi, takes place in January. Jack Binion, for those not steeped in the lore, is a poker legend. From his father Benny, Jack inherited the Horseshoe Casino in Las Vegas, and made it a poker icon; in 1970, the Horseshoe hosted the first ever gambling tournament, The World Series of Poker.

His brother, Ted Binion, was famously murdered a few years ago, allegedly by his mistress and best friend -- I read in the paper a couple of days ago that the two are once again on trial for the murder (for a highly literate read about Ted's murder, the first trial, big stakes poker, and Vegas-style drugs and sex, check out James McManus' Positively Fifth Street).

Anyway, the main event at The Jack Binion World Poker Open is the $10,000 buy-in no-limit Texas Hold 'em tournament, the final table of which will be televised. The winner gets a free ride in the $25,000 buy-in no-limit World Poker Championship at the Bellagio in April. Now, $10,000 is just a smidge out of my budget, but -- there are also a number of smaller, cheaper tournaments, including a $500 buy-in pot limit Hold 'em game, which takes place January 13-14.

As it happens, pot limit is my best game. It's Keith's best game, too. How can we not go? We figure that we'll split whatever winnings we get, assuming we are so lucky -- that will minimize our risk and increase the chances for walking out ahead. We'd get to play against some famous players and against a lot of, no doubt, duffers, the kind who will call a huge raise for the tiny chance of catching an Ace on the river (sorry, I just lost a game to such a schmuck).

Of course, the most likely scenario is that we lose our money, but -- what the heck, something to look forward to, something to prepare for, something to provide excuses to buy more poker books.

Now, if we could just find some backers. ...

Update: For more good poker books, check out the ConJelCo link in the right-hand menu.

A couple of years ago, I ran a Dungeons & Dragons campaign for some friends. It was an epic adventure covering the life stories of the four members of The Company of the Winter Wolf. Now, this has no possible interest to anyone but a fellow gamer, and if you're the sort to sneer at D&D, just go ahead and stop reading. Take thy superior attitude elsewhere!

Working out student schedules is a pain in the ass.

Especially when 9/10 of classes in the college are closed.

I'd rather be playing poker.

And losing.

10 buck buy-in, pot limit tournament.
97 total players.
6 players left at the final table.
Your hero is in 4th chip position.
5th and 6th have few chips.
Your hero is in the small blind with pocket 8's.
It's passed to him.
He raises the pot limit on the big blind.
Who is in 2nd chip position.
Who calls.
The flop is 7-4-J.
Your hero again puts the pot limit in.
(This is the bad decision.)
He gets called.
The turn is a 10.
Your hero puts all his chips in.
The big blind is holding A-J.

T.J. says that, if it's passed to you, it's more than likely the player behind you has something if you only have a mediocre hand. He also says that a good player won't call if the flop doesn't hit him.

Good players make it to the final 6.
Your hero probably could have folded his way into 4th.
Which paid 96 bucks.
He won 58 bucks.
Has he learned his lesson?

Almost a year ago, a friend and I got interested in poker after watching the Travel Channel's World Poker Tour. It was fascinating drama: hundreds of thousands of dollars riding on a hand, on the ability to tell if the stony-faced card shark who went way over the top was trying to steal the pot or really wanted a call.

We were hooked. After buying several hundred cheap plastic poker chips and numerous decks of cards, we called our friends and set up a weekly Monday night poker game. The game of choice was Texas Hold'em, a wild and wooly poker variant with lots of betting, lots of chances, lots of drama.

Before Texas Hold'em, I'd always sneered at card games. They weren't pure: luck played a role, and to my mind, the only games really worth playing depended entirely upon skill. Chess was my game, though truthfully I was only mediocre at it. After 20 years of playing chess, I'd become a decent player by chess club terms, but nowhere good enough to beat 12-year-old wunderkinds. Still, I could beat most people within a 100-foot radius, as long as I stayed in areas of desolate waste. Now, however, I was having some success at poker, a success I naturally attributed to innate ability.

The weekly poker games faded out after awhile, and eventually, after watching another episode of the World Poker Tour, I signed up on an online poker site. What a rush -- now I could play poker whenever I wanted, and I had to invest only $20!

I lost the first $20, and the second, and the third. My dreams of striking oil and retiring to a tropical beach where pretty island girls would happily ply me with fruity drinks and oooo and ahhh over my descriptions of key hands won by hard-edged skill and deep understanding of human psychology -- well, those bright Technicolor dreams were quickly fading into sepia-toned oblivion.

But then, after hours of thought and self-examination, I plunked down another $20. Suddenly, the fates smiled, petitioned the poker gods, and bestowed their blessings. In a couple of hours I turned that $20 into more than $200. Only a few more hundred thousand to go and I could start checking out beaches. In two decades of playing chess, I'd never won a dime, but already I was on my way to becoming a poker legend.

Of course, I quickly lost that $200. According to Milton, memories of the bright light of grace intensify the agonies of hell. In the space of a few hours, I had gone from nonchalantly engaging in witty repartee with the angels to indulging in mordant self-pity on the plains of hell. I was right before: card games sucked, chance and fate had no role in real games, and ... well, you get the picture.

Eventually I realized that playing poker well took hard work. I started investigating the literature of poker, read reviews, and bought my first poker book -- David Sklansky's The Theory of Poker. It was a revelation, but didn't at first improve my game much because it was written for medium- to high-stakes poker players, and I was still playing with 25 or 50-cent bets. Still, I was learning. Finally, I came across Lee Jones' Winning Low Limit Hold'em, a book designed for exactly the game I was playing (I'd eventually graduate to pot-limit and no-limit Hold'em, but that's a story for another day). It took the concepts developed by Sklansky and others and modified them for the low-level ringside games I was playing. That book made all the difference, and I started winning again, some anyway. I'd eventually study nearly a dozen poker books, each one providing additional insight (if a $25 poker book gives you only one insight, it's more than worth the cost). For information on the poker literature, check out ConJelCo.

How does this story end? It doesn't. I still play regularly, still win and lose, but overall I've won more than I've lost, though not by much. In a year of play I'm maybe $500 up, not a great return on all the thousands of hours I've spent, but more than enough to keep the tropical dreams alive.

My friend KSN plays language games in his new blog, Taxonomy of Whats. For the record, I happen to know he did not mow his lawn.