Three Rivers

I've been in kind of a pissy mood today, and it all started at the bank, of course. Well, I guess I was off to a bad start when I saw my paycheck--the result of tax season in Vegas, so I'm going to be living pretty lean for the next couple of weeks.

But I finally made it to school, and although I didn't feel ready to do my final evaluation, my instructor pressed me to go ahead and do it. Of course this was after I had to get up in this oldster's grill because he was yelling at another student that the pot wasn't right on his fake game. Basically, we've got this grouchy old man who comes to class every morning when he's not anchoring a chair over at the Orleans, and he thinks that he's an instructor. He's not, he's just an old man who won't shut up. Pretty much everyone is tired of him, but when he started going off on one of the 'new kids' I'd had enough of his bullshit so I intimidated the fark out of him and ripped him a new one. He left and I doubt he'll be back anytime soon. If so I'm sure he'll give me a wide berth. After all was said and done, however, I got a few Dude, that was awesome, you are my hero type of comments.

The evaluation went well early on while dealing stud and holdem, but the wheels came off during Omaha. I lost track of the pot when two people went all in, and it went downhill from there. Unfortunately, we weren't getting any low hands, so I had to keep dealing. Finally, after the fourth try, the board was full of low cards, there were three side pots plus the main pot, and nine fucking players still in the hand at the showdown. Yep, further proof that the school is full of morons...

Turns out that I dealt that hand perfectly, although it was a nightmare--a flush as the high, and a 3-way tie for the low hand--forcing me to chop up every single pot four ways. I wasn't impressed with the way I did it, but the instructor said that if I could deal everything the way that last hand went, I could deal anything. Nice praise, but multiple side-pot Hi-Lo Omaha is still a cast-iron bitch to deal.

The bottom line is that I'm going to re-do my evaluation next week.

After school, I went back down to The Plaza to get into another tournament--I figure one or two a week would be excellent practice. I only had to wait a few minutes before ten players had signed up and we were off. I was doing well, winning the first hand I went in on, but then went card dead for about 20 hands. After three people were eliminated and the blinds started going up, I had to make some moves because I was falling behind in chips. But I knocked out one player who went all in with a pair of sixes in front of my pocket tens--I got the set on the flop, and turned the full house. We had the exact same number of chips, so with the blinds and the other earlier callers, I more than doubled up and was second chip leader.

A few minutes later I had complete rags and ran the best bluff I ever pulled on a guy with a short stack, making him believe that I made my straight, causing him to fold. I didn't show it, but damn, I sure wanted to.

After that I had a monster stack and the only guy with more chips was immediately to my right and kept stealing my big blind. I had nothing to fight back with, so I kind of had to lay there and take it like Andy Dufresne in the projection room.

Then, disaster struck. We were down to three players when the short stack went all in when I was holding strong cards. Two hands in a row that bastard rivered me, quadrupling him up and crippling me. On my last hand, the blinds were at $400 and $800, and I went all in with a pair of fours. The guy on my right with the big stack was getting good odds, so he called me with his Ace-Three offsuit. Mr Quad guy folded. The flop was a beautiful King-Four-Queen rainbow, giving me the set. The turn brought a Jack, and of course the farking river brought the ten making his Broadway straight and putting me out in third place... One place out of the money, or in poker terminology, the guy on the bubble.

I was livid. Three river cards in a row. I felt like TJ Cloutier at the Big One. I got all of my money in with the best cards each time, and all three times the fickle hand of fate raised it's middle finger in my direction. Old pros with a bankroll would say "Well, that's poker", but the already pissed-off bubble boy inside of me wanted to go on an ass-kicking rage.

Serenity now, I suppose. Unfortunately, I have to work tonight, so a stiff drink is out of the question. But writing about it has been therapeutic.

The one thing I learned, and it was a good lesson for $35, is that I can play this game. I don't consider myself dead money anymore when I sit down at a live tournament table. That knowledge may come in handy once the World Series rolls around.

Mikey