Rounders, Inc.

Whenever I play, the topic of great poker movies always comes up at the table.

More often than not, we start imitating characters from Rounders. Like Teddy KGB’s “Check. Check. Check.”

Inevitably, I make a comment about how Matt Damon’s narration tells you everything you need to know to play profitable poker.

This is when I get the blank stares.

What the hell? I like to watch the movie just about once a week.

To that end, I will be blogging for the next couple weeks on these gems.

There are so many great quotes, to do it in one post would result in a very long post.

I want to keep it simple and easy to reference these critical tips.

I have created a new category here called “Rounders”. There, you will find all the posts that will contain these important quotes from the movie.

After I complete this project, I will be back to discussing hands from the table.

Here is my short list of spotting a donkey at the table:

Plays more than 8 hands an hour;

Sees every flop at any cost;

Can’t laydown big pairs like A-A, K-K, Q-Q, or J-J when the correct move is fold;

Always calls and never raises;

Doubles or triples up (or better) but always leaves the poker room scratching their broke ass;

Are you a solid player or a donkey?

Holding pocket tens can be a tough hand to play.

Here are two hands I was in the other night. Each time I had 9-9 up against inexperienced players, each with 10-10.

In the first hand, I am out of position, but raise big to represent something like Q-Q or J-J.

I get one caller pre-flop. I put him on a bigger pair than me or some kind of Ace.

The flop comes J-7-2 rainbow.

“I am all-in,” I declare.

“Why the push?” he asks.

“Because I do not want you drawing out on me for a bigger set,” I reply.

My opponent puts me on a set of Jacks and folds. He shows 10-10 like it was some kind of monster laydown.

A player at the table laughs and says, “Sammy probably just had pocket nines,”

“Hold it!” my opponent says, “Did you have nines?”

With his cards safely in the muck and the pot pushed to me, I show nines.

“The game is hold EM not hold IT,” I say with a smile.

He goes on tilt.

Hand number 2.

A player to my immediate right raises pre-flop.

The right play for me was call or fold. Most of the time, anyways.

To help tell the story of “I have K-K or A-K”, I need to re-raise before the flop.

Plus, I have position on this player.

He calls.

The flop comes K-7-4 rainbow.

My opponent does not seem to be bothered by the King. He bets.

I call.

As always, I studied my opponent as the turn card came out. I could tell he did not like it.

Without looking at the board, I bet half the pot.

My opponent folds and shows 10-10.

No speech. No speculation.

I fold the nines and see that an Ace hit the turn.

In both cases, my opponents made the right decision; the safe decision.

A stronger player with the tens may have read my play as making a play.

Then again, maybe not.

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.

I am all for table talk. But it has to be relevant and appropriate.

The line gets crossed when one player criticizes another’s play or style.

I normally do not get involved with the talk unless someone needs help defending themselves.

In a tournament last week, I am in seat 4 and sitting directly across from seat 1 due to us being eleven handed.

A very young gun was in seat 5. He was nervous as hell. Under the table, both legs were shaking anytime he was in a hand.

Seat 1 was a 40-something man with sunglasses. He was a classic calling station that thought A-K was the nuts no matter what was on the board.

Me and seat 1 were in a hand before things got reckless.

I had Q-Q and raised like I had aces.

He calls.

The flop comes K-9-3 rainbow.

He checks.

I bet half the pot.

He min raises me.

“You have Ace King,” I say to him.

He stares me down and says, “It is a good time to have Ace King, isn’t it?”

I thought he was cocky and arrogant. I would have loved to see a Queen on the flop and bust his sorry ass, but the right play was fold.

A couple hands later, the young gun raises from the big blind. I was not in the hand, but it felt like he was trying to weed out the limpers.

Afterall, 8 players limped in.

Having that many players in the hand by limping is not poker to me. It is bingo.

The flop was A-4-2 rainbow.

The kid checks.

Mr. Player from seat 1 bets hard.

The kid comes over the top.

I put him on a straight.

Mr. Player played back at the kid all the way to the river.

The kid shows 5-3 for a straight.

Mr. Player shows A-K for top pair.

Then, he lost it.

“You are reckless!” the guy in seat 1 says.

“Reckless?” the kid responds.

Seat 1 goes on this speech about raising with 5-3 and so on.

This kid clammed up. Nobody had ever  yelled at him. I really thought he was going to cry.

Well, we were not going to have any of that. There is no crying in poker.

Not at the table anyway. What happens in your car on the way home from a bad session, stays in your car.

I digress.

Compelled to help defend the kid, I explain that he was making a play at the pot to get the weak players out.

Sure, the kid got lucky by flopping a straight. But, a real player would have folded A-K with a straight out there.

Then, I criticize seat 1 for over-playing A-K.

This put him on tilt. He donked off all his chips by the end of the next round.

The hand he went out on? Ace-King.

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.

I had a good day overall yesterday.

Against my better judgment, I played a tournament. Because of the holiday, the casinos were busy!

The tournament had a field of 110. This was the largest event I have played to date.

I played well. The only hand I lost was the last one.

You guessed it: I flopped Aces but lost to a runner-runner Q-4 to give my opponent two pair.

To win a tournament, you need to catch cards and not get unlucky.

I was card dead for most of the tournament. Solid play and good decisions kept me alive.

The blinds were like piranha. They ate me alive. I finished 10th.

Afterward, I played a cash game at a different casino.

That room had a promotion that paid cash for 8-8, 8s full, and quad 8s. As you can imagine, the room was full.

Full of donkeys and calling stations that were losing $388 to win the $88 pocket 8s bonus.

Holidays and promotions seem to bring out alot of casual and first time players.

The odd thing is, this particular casino has a total bad beat jackpot pool of $1 million (quads over quads or better). That does not seem to keep the poker room full 24/7, but the pocket 8s thing filled the room.

I had two calling stations at my table.

I felted one of them. Twice.

The other caller was in a hand. I was on the sidelines.

I burst out laughing when the caller went all-in. His opponent did not realize the all-in and raised $100.

The caller says “I call”, stands up, pulls his wallet out of his pocket, and throws a $100 bill on the table.

It was the funniest thing I ever saw at the table!

I like to represent big hands by betting like I got it. Unless you are up against a weak player, you can bet someone off K-K if an Ace hits or get them to fold Q-Q if a King hits the flop.

The other day, I get 10-10 under the gun and make it $22 to go.

This bet in most low limit games represents A-A or K-K.

The next player calls and the button calls. Everyone else folds.

The flop comes 10c-6c-2d.

I put the first caller on a big pair. I am not so sure about the button. He is an older gentleman. Most older folks don’t put the money in on draws.

I bet $40 hoping to take it down.

The next player goes all-in for another $100.

The button studies me. I want him to think I am folding so he calls. I give him a look of disappointment and pull my card protector chip off my cards.

I bet hard pre-flop to represent strength. Now, I want to represent weakness.

He goes all-in for about $150.

“Let’s see. You have Queens or Jacks. (pointing to first player) And you have a flush draw? (pointing to button) Really? You have a flush draw?” I say.

I call and show top set.

The first player shows Q-Q and the button shows a flush draw.

Neither player improved and I took it down.

Whoever said that poker is the only sport without a handicap was wrong.

Dead wrong.

I crushed a cash game yesterday. With all the easy money gone, I decided to play a small tournament.

My rationale? I was freerolling from the cash game. In hindsight, I pissed away 80 bucks.

I am at a table with several strong players, several weak players, and one big donkey.

What do I look for when hunting donkeys? Ones that play every pot at any cost and win with sheer luck.

These players never raise. They have three tools: call, call, and call.

I was playing perfectly. Right hands, right position, right reads.

Flash forward two hours into the tournament.

I am sitting on an above average chip stack. Exactly where I want to be.

The players at my end of the table are talking about The Donkey and how he has played every hand and wins on the river.

I make a comment about having to go all-in against him to push him off a marginal hand. I think to myself that this play may not be enough.

A few minutes later, I get the chance to put this into action.

I get K-Q in late position and raise.

Normally, I would limp in, but I wanted to build a pot then take it down on the flop if I hit a pair or better.

So, I raise 10X the big blind.

The Donkey is in early position and he is my only customer.

Now, keep in mind that I have been building a table image so far by showing every uncalled winning hand. I have shown A-A, K-K, a set of 10s, and 8-8. I have also  been calling out other player’s hands.

In fact, have not lost a hand yet.

All for naught.

The flop comes K-10-7 rainbow.

My customer checks.

I feel he is weak. If I go slow, he could draw out on me.

I decide to play it fast and hope he folds.

“I am all-in,” I declare.

He pauses.

This call is for half his stack.

If he folds, it will be his first fold of the day.

He counts out the chips.

“You are way behind here. You are a 4-to-1 dog right now and are getting only 1 1/2-to-1 to call,” I tell him.

“I got a hand,” he says.

“You do. You have the losing hand.”

“How the fuck do you know what I got?” he asks.

“The problem here is you don’t know what I got. At best, you have bottom pair. You need to get real lucky to win this hand.”

He throws the chips in.

I show top pair.

He gets pissed and slams his cards down.

Sure enough, he has 9-7 off.

The turn is a 4.

One card away from either a double up or a bust out.

The river? A fucking 9.

The worst feeling in the world is playing it right, putting it in good, and getting beat by pure luck.

Did he get lucky or did I get unlucky?

I am not sure, but I know this: bad players seem to have an abundance of good luck.

In retrospect, I should have just checked it down. If he bets, that would tell me he hit two pair or better.

How someone can call off half their stack on bottom pair is beyond my ability to rationalize.

But then again, these kinds of players play poker like the slot machines: put the money in, pull the lever, and hope for the best.