Ok, I can't put it off any longer. Here it is the middle of the night, I can't sleep, and I've run out of interesting things to read on the internet. My TV isn't hooked up yet (I haven't watched anything for two weeks now), so that isn't an option, either.
So I guess it's time to just buckle down and start writing.
It's been a long week/weekend, and it seems that all I've done is work, sleep, or play poker for the last five days. Of course, I took a little time out on the Fourth to drink a few beers and do some ooohing and aaahing at all the fireworks. But other than that, it's been pretty much same-old same-old all week.
Let's rewind to Wednesday...
I remember posting on Tuesday night about how I didn't have to be in to work until 9:00 am the next morning, thinking that it was pretty cool avoiding that dreaded 5:00 am shift where I do nothing but hang around all morning waiting for all the retired legitimate businessmen to show up for their daily limpfest. So I got an extra couple hours of sleep and I had plenty of time to actually shave that day, and I headed off to work a half hour early to enjoy a leisurely breakfast in the employee dining room.
When I came strolling into the poker room about two minutes before my first push, the new boss was there and she asked in all seriousness Where have you been?
Uh, what?
Apparently, I was supposed to be in at six.
Doh!
Checking my pocket calendar, I had written my schedule down incorrectly, transposing the six and the nine. (Clearly I had other things on my mind at the time...) But there was no harm no foul, they called another dude in to cover for me and he was cool about it. But I asked them why they wouldn't just call me--I would've certainly hopped my ass out of bed and made it down there post-haste. But I was told that they weren't allowed to call 'no-call no-shows' (I guess in these lean times it gives them an easy excuse to fire people). But since I finally showed up, there were no repercussions, and the only harm done was that I ended up costing myself probably about sixty bucks in tokes because there had been a game going all night.
Anyhow, I got four hours of work in, but didn't crack a hundy in tips, so that mistake was a costly one.
But I got cut loose at 1:00, and I hustled up to the parking garage, opting to change there instead of the locker room. Feeling a little dangerous and naughty, I dumped the black and tan polyester for a more comfy t-shirt, shorts, and flip flops ensemble, and I then pointed the truck north and headed to Binion's to play in the last of their $150 Poker Classic tournaments that kicked off an hour later.
There was a small line at the registration desk, but I got to my table with two minutes to spare. Unfortunately, I had the worst seat in the room. Directly to my left, and having no concept of personal space, was the foulest, most annoying skank I'd ever had the displeasure of sitting next to. Oh my god, let me paint you a picture. Imagine a chick about my size, who reeks of vodka and gin, wearing cheap perfume, and never shuts up. Everything was about her--her life, her activities, her drama. She was nasty, disgusting, and creepily over-familiar with everyone from the players, to the dealer, to the cocktail waitresses.
It. Was. Awful.
I stop short of calling her a "table captain", because she couldn't play cards for shit. She'd get lucky with big hands now and then, but then we had to hear the running commentary for five minutes after every hand she was involved in. So everyone pretty much started folding to her whenever she led out with a bet, if only to avoid having to interact.
Twenty minutes into the tournament, every single person at our table wanted to bust her, just so she'd go away and we could play in relative peace and quiet. Being an experienced Binion's tourney player, I stood up and looked at the table line-up and knew that we'd be the sixth table broken that day. So I was praying for the first fifty people to hurry up and get knocked out, just so I could get a new seat.
The other problem was, a few minutes into the tournament, they'd moved another complete drunken asshole into the ten-seat, and between the two of them, they wouldn't shut up the entire time. I truly regretted not having my iPod with me.
Finally, after about three levels of play, they broke our table. I got a quick glance in at Large Marge's seating card when they tossed 'em out, and was relieved to see that she would not be at my new table. Thank god!
But, on the other hand, at my new table, her buddy the drunken asshole drew the seat directly on my right. So of course, since I was the only familiar face at the new table, I was his new best friend. I had to sit there and endure the smell of his nasty drunken-molester-stepfather breath all afternoon, so I ended up playing for several hours with my t-shirt pulled up over my nose Jesse James-style. Ugh. And every time he asked the waitress for another beer, I'd follow it up with And a shot of Listerine, too!, but she never delivered.
That bitch.
Apart from the annoying losers on my table draw, I was actually playing pretty well, and had a very good above-par chip stack going about three hours into the tournament. I was running my share of successful bluffs, stealing a few blinds here and there, raking a few pots, and accumulating chips for the big push at the end. But then, disaster struck.
I was sitting on the big blind with a few hundred bucks already in the pot, when the player on the button decided to limp in. The small blind folded, and I looked down to see pocket nines. So I raised it up, about four-and-a-half times the big blind, not really wanting a call with a medium pair.
My opponent immediately went all-in, and I put him on a hand like Ace-King or Ace-Queen, or maybe even Ace-Jack. I knew he didn't have pocket Aces or Kings--he wasn't sophisticated enough to slow play them and then change gears so quickly--so I figured I had him. I had his chip stack covered, and knowing I had a better hand, I made the call.
Yep, my instincts were right--he turned over Ace-Queen.
The flop came out 9 - 8 - 8, giving me a full house. Jackpot!
My opponent got up and shook my hand, saying Good hand, and started walking towards the door. But the turn brought out a Queen, giving him a weak pulse, and if I live to be a hundred years old, I'll never believe what happened next--the dealer peeled off one of only two cards in the entire deck that could've saved him, another Queen.
That f*cker caught two running Queens to make a bigger full house, crippling me.
It was the sickest hand I've ever seen--I have never had a worse suck-out put on me, and that's including a few years worth of internet poker where the suck-outs are a dime a dozen. It was an odd coincidence because the same type of hand was discussed over in the T2V forums a few days before that, and somebody had looked up the odds of losing that hand after the flop. My odds were 98.6% in favor of me winning that hand after making my boat, and my opponent had a 1.4% chance of surviving. Yet he caught the two miracle cards in the deck that devastated my chip stack.
When the river card came out, giving him his third Queen, a roar went up from the table, and all the players at surrounding tables who weren't involved in a hand were watching the all-in action anyways, so it was just pandemonium in there at that moment.
I'll be honest, I muttered a few curse words and walked a way for a minute, steaming, while everyone else in the room could be heard whispering amongst themselves Holy shiat, I don't believe that! Man, that truly sucks... and so on.
After that, I was now Joe Short Stack, down to my last $2400 or so in chips, while the average stack was about 14K. Our table was very quiet after that, afraid that the wrong word uttered might send me into a blinding rage, and even the skinny little dealer refused to make eye contact with me after that one, probably scared that I'd come across the table like a spider monkey and pound the shiat out of him. But the Anger and Disbelief phases had quickly passed. I was well on my way to Acceptance by the time I sat back down.
After taking a kick to the nuts like that, I screwed it down tight and started folding everything but the primo cards. It took me about two hours to rebuild my stack to where it was before, and a few times I thought I was done, but I was playing well and didn't run into any serious trouble.
The drunk was still sitting next to me, but most of my rebuilding came at his expense, so I was hoping to be the one to bust him out. But it was not to be. After about three hours at that table, we got broken and assigned new seats.
Do you remember that scene in Pirates of the Caribbean when the Black Pearl sails into Port Royal and starts cannonballing the town while Jack Sparrow is in jail? And the one cannonball crashes through the wall, freeing the prisoners in the next cell, but leaving Jack trapped? And before the last prisoner escapes through the hole in the wall, he looks over at Jack and says, I'm sorry mate, you've no manner of luck at all...
Well, that was me--Jack Sparrow in the jail cell. My luck just kept getting worse. Guess who was at my new table? Yep, Large Marge. Luckily, my seat was at the other end of the table from her, but as soon as I sat down, she started in again. Hey, I know you! We're friends from my first table today! I knew you'd still be alive! It's so cool that we could play together again! Blah blah blah...
I could tell by the looks on the faces of all the other players at the table that they were extremely tired of listening to her, and a couple of the people who'd had to sit with her for the previous three hours gave me a knowing glance. Their eyes said it all -- Dude, WTF?
I just shook my head, rolled my eyes, and sat down, raising a figurative fist at the Poker Gods for dropping so many obstacles in my path that day. Luckily, I had a pretty good seat--all the bigger chip stacks were to my right, so I didn't have to worry about monster stacks coming over the top of me every time I made a bet. But my stack was relatively healthy by that time, and I liked my chances of making the final table, if not winning the thing outright. I figured if I could survive the sickest beat of the tournament and still mount an incredible comeback like I did, I'd be ok.
Doing my best to ignore the stinky fat chick in seat four whenever I was in a hand, I raked a few pots and chuckled with the guys at my end of the table, dreaming up ways to knock her out and making wisecracks in hushed tones. As well as I was playing, I fell for one of the Classic Blunders. No, not getting involved in a land war in Asia, but picking up a 'tell' on one of my opponents and sharing it with other players. That is a huge no-no. Why is that? Because if they get to use that information before you do, they'll get the chips and use them against you, that's why.
Fed up with Large Marge, I noticed that the only time she ever stopped talking was when she had a real hand. Seriously--she would not shut. the. f*ck. up. ~Unless~ she was holding monster cards. I casually mentioned it, kind of jokingly, to the guys at my end, that the dealer should just deal her some big pocket pairs for the next couple of hands so that we could get a few minutes of peace and quiet.
It didn't seem like a big deal until a few minutes later when the guy on my left raised after the flop, and when the action got around to her, she went all-in. But instead of shutting up, she just kept on talking about whatever stupid subject everyone else was trying to ignore. The player on my left then nudged me under the table and whispered, I think you're right--she ain't got shiat.
So he made the call.
He had second pair, she had nothing but King high. Bingo--I was right. Her bluff never improved and the guy next to me scooped a monster pot. As soon as the nasty chick walked away, the entire table broke out in applause, and the dealer said "I can accept tips for that". So we all fished out a buck each and gave it to her. It was pretty funny, and the sense of relief that the annoying bitch was finally gone washed over the table. But I sat there kicking myself, thinking, Dammit, I should've never said anything, and I could've been the one to snap her off... And now the new chip leader at the table was sitting directly on my left.
Our joy was short-lived because a few minutes later, they replaced her with a guy who had a huge stack--bigger than anyone else at our table. Great, we all thought silently, now we have to contend with this guy. There would be no rest for the weary.
This is where the wheels started to come off. I played pretty tight, which was fairly easy since I was getting shiat cards. But late in a tournament, you have to at least pick up the blinds, antes, and one other called bet every two orbits around the table just to tread water and maintain your chip stack. So I had to gamble at some point.
Luckily I had position on the monster stack, and he just limped in on a hand. I had the button and looked down to see a suited Ace-Four. So I raised it up a few thousand. The blinds folded and the big stack called. The flop came out Ace-King-Jack, rainbow, and the big stack checked. Hesitating for a second, I made a nervous bet of $6500. The guy totally read my weakness and came over the top of me like a hammer striking the anvil. He went all-in with no hesitation. I just didn't want to risk my entire tourney on that hand in case he was trapping me. A big stack like that can afford to slow-play, and I figured that if I wasn't up against trips right then, he had a bigger Ace, so I folded, feeling like I'd just donkey'd off about ten grand worth of chips--a third of my stack.
But I was still over par, and the dinner break was getting close. I figured I could use the break to relax, re-focus, and forget about that weak play I just made. The tournament started with 189 players, and we were down to 35 when they announced 'Last hand before dinner break'. Everyone wanted to get upstairs and eat, so the entire table folded around to me. I was in the cutoff seat (one to the right of the button), and saw Ace-Jack of Spades. So I raised it up about four times the big blind. The guy on the button, who'd knocked out Large Marge, immediately went all-in.
I've been thinking about it ever since, and I truly don't know why I did it, but I heard myself calling his raise. Maybe it was because he'd called with so much junk the past half hour and had gotten away with it, I don't know. But my stupid ego, I guess, forced me to make a stand. As soon as I said I call, the voice in my head said You dumbass--why did you do that?
My opponent turned over pocket Kings, and I got no help on the board. I went out in 34th place, 14 places away from the money.
At least I got my dinner. Yay. Of course, since I'd just busted out, I was like cancer--nobody's gonna talk to you, so I sat at a big round banquet table alone with my stubborn raise-calling ego eating my pizza and spaghetti, wishing I had a time machine and the coordinates to go back 45 minutes into the past and replay those last two hands I was involved in.
That was probably the least satisfying meal I'd ever had.
I finished quickly and headed for the door without making eye contact with anyone. A half hour later I was home in bed, replaying those hands over and over in my mind. My other knockouts have come when I've gotten unlucky. This knockout was because of my own poor play. And the huge bummer of it wasn't the money, but the fact that I sat there and played for over six hours with nothing to show for it except experience. Maybe that experience will pay off in the future, but right then it tasted like a shiat sandwich on moldy bread.
Anyhow--that was Wednesday. I think I've already regaled you all with the tales of my adventures on Thursday and Friday, so once I get some sleep, I'll catch you up on Saturday's activities. But I've been up all night, and it's taken me almost three hours to write this, so I think I'm gonna go ahead and wrap it up for now. The details are a blur anyways, maybe some rest will help get them unscrambled.
Later,
Mikey
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