Rounders, Inc.

[This post is part of my series on Mike McDermott quotes from the movie Rounders]

“You don’t hear much about guys who take their shot and miss. But I’ll tell you what happens to them. They end up humping crappy jobs on graveyard shifts trying to figure out how they came up short. See, I had this picture in my head. Me sitting at the big table. Doyle to my left. Amarillo Slim to my right. Playing in the World Series. And I let that vision blind me at the table against KGB. Now, the closest I get to Vegas is west New York, driving this lousy route handed down from Knish to rounders who forget the cardinal fucking rule … always leave yourself outs.”

This quote runs through my head every time I feel compelled to push all-in preflop. Always leave yourself outs. The cardinal fucking rule.

What a brutal session!

My first hand was A-A. It held up for a $100 profit.

Then, it was all downhill from there.

Missed flops and forced blinds took me down to even.

Then up another hundo.

Back down to even.

Up a couple hundo.

Then down to the felt.

It was a terrible session for me. A combination of bad players and my fatigue.

There was, however, some symmetry to the session.

My last hand was A-A.

I could see an aggressive player stacking chips behind me for a pre-flop raise. So, I call a $10 straddle.

With nearly $100 in the pot, this player bets the pot.

The straddler calls.

I smooth call.

That was mistake #1. I should have popped it right there, knowing all the chips will be going in anyways.

Terrible flop: J-10-6 rainbow.

The straddler puts me all-in.

I am way ahead with A-A over J-8 off.

Bam! The turn is an 8 and the river is a 5.

Hee haw to the pinche burro grandes.

All night long, I got unlucky.

I take responsibility, though. I should have left with a small profit when I started feeling tired.

And, when the game changed to a bunch of drunk donks thinking they were on ESPN, I should have left.

If donkey brutality was a crime, the jail here would be full.

I had an overall good day of poker yesterday in both tournament and cash play.

My bankroll was up overall. But, I came up short in the tournament.

I had not lost a hand until the final table.

With the overwhelming chip lead but still out of the money, I am in the big blind with 9-7 off.

With two limpers, we see a flop of Q-9-7 rainbow.

The small blind checks.

I overbet the pot to give any caller only 1.5-to-1 pot odds.

The third player in the hand pushes all-in. It was about 30% of my stack to call.

Like a donkey, I call. The small blind folded.

He shows K-Q and gives himself a speech about knowing better.

The turn is a blank.

I got unlucky when a King came on the river.

I came up short.

After going card dead, I blinded my way to last place.

Another tournament where I should have finished first had it not been for good old fashioned luck by a less experienced player.

I had it in good. Again.

At least it was not a runner-runner longshot …

Next time, I hope I do not come up short.

We have all sat at the table with someone that is obnoxious.

Here is one of my stories:

I can generally find SOMETHING attractive in the opposite sex.

Eyes.

Lips.

Hell, even personality.

Well, there was a night when MotorCity had to close to let the City of Detroit run tests on the backup generators.

Some buddies of mine wanted to go play at Greektown. At this time of night, it would have been tough to find a game at MGM.

At that time, Greektown’s poker room was a dump.

I sit down in seat 9. In seat 6 is a large woman.

A very large woman.

Not to be rude, but she reminded me of Jabba the Hut.

She reeked.

The smell was a cocktail of body odor, cheap perfume, and even cheaper wine.

This player had a pocket-sized radio that she kept under her blouse, resting on her shoulder.

No earphones. Oh no. She had her crappy-ass music playing out loud. Blaring off her shoulder.

To make it worse, she was singing along.

It was so bad that she could not make the American Idol blooper reel.

Whenever she would win a pot, she would stand up and do this disgusting dance complete with pumping her hips like she is having sex with, well, Jabba the Hut.

I searched for something attractive or redeeming about this player.

I found nothing but vomit in my mouth.

The problem was I wanted to play. Poker.

About an hour into this emotional assault, she sucked out on me.

I got the song. And the dance.

I was determined to felt her.

Another hour passes and I get a hand.

K-K.

The flop comes A-K-10 rainbow.

She moves all-in.

I put her on two pair, maybe a straight.

I am good enough to fold a set of Kings with this kind of flop. But, my emotions took over. I figure if she has me beat, it is a sign from the Force to go home.

Fuck it. I call.

Before I knew what she had, the turn brought another 10.

She flopped a straight.

My Kings full was good and she was down to the felt.

I racked up and left.

Floor management apologized for having to deal with her and comped me breakfast.

For three days, I had players at MotorCity ask me about that hand and such.

It was the only way I could shut her up.

The game was over, but the fat lady was singing no more.

What would you do?

I am in a $500 max buy-in no limit game a while back.

I sit down in the under the gun position. Sitting down with me is a former golf pro. He is in the big blind.

With my pocket 10s, I make it $50 to go.

The only caller is Mr. Fairway.

The flop comes 10-6-2. All clubs.

Top set for me.

Mr. Fairway moves all-in.

What do you do?

I don’t put him on any flush. Why bet me off the hand with the nuts?

At best, he has a four card flush.

I call.

He shows 8h-4d.

All air.

The turn is 5d.

He went from double gut shot to just a gut shot.

All I have to dodge is a 7 on the river.

Bam! The 7 of hearts comes on fifth street.

Even now, think about the hand. Had I folded top set, I know he would have shown the bluff. I would always wonder.

In the end, I got shanked on that hand. But, still I wonder.

Several hours after the quad 8s fiasco the other night, I walk outside for a smoke.

Standing there alone was the dealer from that hand. She is a short, sweet Asian woman.

Two things were odd about this. First, she was alone. The smoking patio ALWAYS has several people there.

Second, I have never seen casino staff in this area. Plus, she does not smoke.

I say hello to her. She was waiting for me.

“Sammy, pros can’t play with these amateurs,” she begins.

“What makes you think I am a pro?” I ask out of curiosity.

“I know a pro when I see one. I know two things. One, you are the best Hold ‘Em player I have seen. Two, no matter how great you play, no one can beat the luck of these amateurs.”

She is right - at least about the beating luck part.

“That donkey should not have been in the hand with you after the flop. I had to do my job and retrieve his cards. I did not want to, but I saw his hand,” she says.

Fair enough.

Now, many dealers play poker. Most are marginal players. A few pros were dealers at one time. I have not met a pro that became a dealer.

Until now.

As it turns out, this dealer used to play professionally.

She tells me a story about how her bankroll went from $20,000 to $80,000 from January to August one year. Then, from September to December, it went from $80,000 to minus $120,000.

This dealer continues the story by telling me she did not play with these amateurs, but in private clubs - illegal games chock full of pro-level players.

As I am about to ask about these games since I would rather play with skilled players, she gives me a bit of advice.

“Playing for a living is stressful and the bad beats are unavoidable. If I were you, find another way to make money. Professional players have no life. They are always at the table. And when they are not, they are in a bad mood the next day from tough beats.”

She is right.

Great insights and great advice.

My problem is I have the rare gift of accurate reads and surgically-precise decisions.

My bigger problem is finding a way, if there is one, to overcome the donkey luck factor.

As I have said before, I have recently experienced a high number of losses that were 1000-to-1 longshots.

Her advice came at a good time. I gratefully took it to heart.

Lousy cards.

Lousy players.

Lousy dealers.

I hear players say these phrases all the time at the table. Here is my tale from yesterday’s session:

Lousy cards

I could not hit a flop with a shotgun. Missed every draw when I had a playable hand. And playable hands were quite scarce to begin with. It was a sign of things to come. A bad sign.

Lousy players

The players were unusually bad yesterday. After watching the player to my immediate left play every single pot to the river at any cost for three hours, I decide to play super aggressive when I had a hand.

I get 6-7 clubs and raise to $50. This is high for a $1-2 game. He calls.

I flop the nut straight: 9-8-5 rainbow. I bet $100. He calls.

I tell the player I flopped the nuts. “I can’t fold this hand,” he says.

The turn is an 8. I don’t put him on a full house, but I do think he has an 8.

“I still have the nuts,” I tell him as I pump out another $100.

“I am sure you do but I have to call,” he says.

“No shame in folding, Sir. I don’t want you to draw out on me with a miracle 1000-to-1 longshot.”

He still calls.

The river is yet another 8.

I check.

He bets.

I turn my cards over and put a chip on them. “See? I told you I flopped the nuts. You got lucky with quads, huh?

He is in seat 10 and mucks his hand.

“That is a dead hand,” I say.

Well, there is a loophole in the gaming laws. A mucked hand is not a mucked hand. If the mucked hand is retrievable by the dealer and it turns out to be the winning hand, the player that mucked wins.

The hand was retrievable. My opponent had A-8 offsuit.

Lousy dealers

I am last to act with Q-Q. I raise and get two callers.

I am in seat 9 and the dealer is having a conversation with seat 10, who is also in the hand.

The flop comes Q-Q-9.

Seat 10 bets $100. The next player min raises.

I call.

The turn is a 9.

Seat 10 bets $100. The next player min raises again.

I call.

The river is an Ace.

Seat 10 bets $100. The next player min raises again.

I announce all-in.

My cards are behind the betting line with a chip on them.

I first grab my chip stacks, then I pick up the chip on the cards and push the bet over the betting line.

“What are you doing, Sir?” the dealer asks.

“I said all-in!”

“But you don’t have any cards!” he says.

I look down. No cards.

“Where the fuck are my cards?”

“I scooped them into the muck when you took the chip off.”

“I said all-in! I picked that chip up as I was pushing my stacks over the line. The chips were over the line and the cards were behind the line.”

“Sorry. They are mucked.”

No apology. No remorse. No recourse. No nothing.

Seat 10 shows A-K.

The player in the middle shows quad 9s.

We would have hit the bad beat jackpot for $350,000.

Instead, I went home broke.

And feeling lousy.

Well, that sucked.

I played a tournament yesterday.

My table had a couple of reasonably strong players and 7 or so weak amateurs.

By the first break, I like to be sitting on the chip average or so.

I did not have a playable hand for the first 90 minutes.

About two minutes before the break, I decide to make a move.

A player in early position min-raises to $800.

Everyone folds.

I am on the button with 9-8 hearts and call.

The flop comes 9-8-6 rainbow.

As always, I studied my opponent as the flop came out.

He nervously checked.

I then look at the flop and see I have top two.

I bet half the pot: $1000.

My opponent nervously calls.

I put him on A-K or A-Q.

Keep in mind, that there are two straights on board, a possible set, and possible two pair with suited connectors.

I study my opponent as the turn card comes out.

He nervously checks again.

It is an Ace. I bet half the pot again.

My opponent thinks about it a while and decides to put me all-in.

I insta-call: My chips were in the middle before his hit the felt.

He sees top two and shakes his head.

Of course, he has A-K and is kicking himself for overplaying the hand.

Going to the river, he needs any Ace, King, or 6 to beat me. At best, he has 8 outs.

Can he pull off the runner-runner miracle?

Can he go from a 5-to-1 dog to a winner and knock me out?

The way I have been running, he was a shoo-in to win.

The river card was a 6.

He did it! Pulled off a runner-runner miracle.

Like I calmly told the table before I left, I can’t remember the last time I put it in bad. I also can’t remember the last time I put it in good and did not get hit with a 989-to-1 runner runner longshot.

The worst feeling in poker is getting beat by a bad player that gets rewarded for bad play by catching the miracle cards.

I have never run this bad before … I don’t know what is going on.

I do know two things: One, I played it right. Two, getting hit with runner-runner again sucked.

Last week, I wrote a post saying I was done with poker.

Since then, I have had fellow players, friends, and dealers call and email me asking what the hell is going on.

Perhaps my post jumped the gun a bit. I don’t know.

I have the gift of accurately reading players’ hands blind and making the right decision.

Blessings are curses sometimes.

I took a break from cash after I flopped Queens full of 9s (I had Q-Q) and got called pre-flop and at every street by someone with K-9 off. Well, the dog hand caught the case 9 on the river for quads. So, I went to tournaments for a week.

I played three tournaments a day for a week. During that time, I hit the final table on 90%.

Not a single mistake - every read was correct and every decision to either play a hand or not play a hand was correct.

The hand that hurt the most and drove the decision to quit?

Actually, it was two hands.

The first, I have A-K on the button.

Some donk in middle position pushes all his chips in.

If I call and lose, it is 1/3 my stack.

If I call and win, I am the dominant chip leader.

Action folds to me.

I scan the players behind me and decide they can’t call.

So what does donk have?

I talk to him.

“You must have a big hand.”

Nothing.

“I think you have a hand like A-J or A-Q and don’t know how to play it after the flop.”

He looks up at me.

I call.

He shows A-J.

The flop comes K-8-7 rainbow.

Even though I flop top pair top kicker, I am not thrilled to see the 8-7.

Turn card is 10.

I cringe.

River card is the miracle 9 for a straight.

Two hands later, the donk donked off the double-up.

I grind it all back and find myself at the final table with players that are considered by many to be weak. I agreed. It was soft as butter.

I am under the gun with J-10 hearts.

In retrospect, I should have folded and waited for a better spot.

Maybe I should have raised, but I know any weak Ace still would have called.

Well, 6 players are in this pot.

The flop comes 8d-9h-Qh.

I flopped the nut straight with an open-ended straight flush draw.

I want to push out the flush draws and take down a decent pot.

The blinds check to me.

“All-in”, I declare.

Everyone folds around to the big blind.

He pauses.

“I think I am beat”, he says.

“I am on a draw”, I tell him.

“I don’t think so. Sammy Wynn does not put his chips in on a draw. That much I know. But I don’t know what you have”, he responds.

“Open-ended straight flush draw”, I say.

I don’t think he understood what that meant because he called me.

What it meant was 4 of his theoretical 9 outs were gone: The two hearts I had plus the two hearts to make the straight flush.

Five outs in theory makes him a 5-to-1 dog to the turn and 10-to-1 dog to the river while getting about 2-to-1 on his money. On the bubble.

Why risk it?

As it turns out, another player folded hearts.

There were three hearts left in the deck for this player to win.

He is a 9-to-1 dog on the turn and 20-to-1 on the river.

Cinch hand for me, huh?

Fuck no.

The dealer brought hearts on both the turn and river. Two of the three hearts left in the deck that did not give me the straight flush.

I was out.

As for this player?

He was out during the next round.

I think he used up his luck in the hand with me.

So, you all now have an appreciation for my frustration.

I will be back at the table soon.

Very soon.

Get ready to deal me in.

I was forced to sit in seat 4 in a $1 - $2 - $100 spread limit game last night.

It was one of the softest games I ever sat at. An entire table of weak fishes.

I felt great and my reads were 100% dead on.

I had one playable hand in three hours: Q-J where I turned a King-high straight and rivered Broadway.

At this point because of blinds, I was roughly even for the night.

Seat three opens up, so I move.

The first hand after the move, the person who had my old seat, raises to $15.

I was in the big blind with J-6 hearts. I chose not to call the extra $10 even though he had seven callers.

The flop? J-J-6.

My opponent - you know - the one in my old seat - had A-A. The first pocket pair since I sat down at the table.

This was the beginning of the end. I hate missing opportunities like that.

Blinded off for the next two hours, I get Q-J in early position.

Some donkey raises and I call like two other players do.

With $100 in the pot, the flop comes Q-J-3 rainbow.

I bet $50.

The original raiser calls me.

The turn is a 9. Perfect rainbow.

I bet $100 on my top two pair hoping to price out any straight draws that want to go 989-to-1 runner-runner longshots.

I get min raised.

I call out his hand and re-raise.

He thinks for a couple minutes, counts out the chips, and calls.

The river is a 10.

Fuck.

I know my opponent had a King.

He bets $100.

I call to see the King.

Sure as hell, he raised me on a gutshot and hit the gut shot with K-2 offsuit.

I read it right. I played it right.

And I lost 80% of my chips.

The rest of my chips went in the middle with 5-5 against A-K.

Some A-K loving donkey that runs that trash hand to the river no matter what kept calling me on every street.

I knew he had A-K.

The flop was 4-4-3.

Why play Ace high with that flop for 50X the big blind bet?

The turn was a 6.

Somehow, he thought the 6 helped him because he was playing back at me with Ace high.

Of course, the river is a King.

Felted by another donkey.

I seriously think it is quittin’ time for me.