1. You argue with the ATM machine over your available balance.
2. Players opt to pee in a bucket underneath the table rather than miss playing a pot with you.
3. You are on a first name basis with the chip runners.
4. The only way you can get even for the night is by hitting the big end of the bad beat jackpot.
5. You're two favorite words when it's time to showdown are "I missed."
6. You multi-table live.
7. Players kick their cigarette habit to avoid hearing your bad beat stories in the smoking area.
8. You play musical chairs at the table hoping to warm your butt in "the lucky seat."
9. You set your watch to go off at the top of the hour so you can immediately request a set up.
10. "But they were suited!"
Thursday, June 12, 2008
Monday, June 9, 2008
tap tap tap...
"One time, baby!" I scream before the dealer peels the river card. "YESSS!" I pump my fist triumphantly at the nine-of-hearts, jumping out of my seat and knocking over a side table with an errant elbow. A small crowd of onlookers in the mammoth 300+ table poker warehouse quickly gather around to witness the holy grail of the Commerce Casino: the bad beat jackpot.
The hand has all the ingredients of the hallowed 150K prize. 7:20AM on a Wednesday afternoon. 3-6 donkey limit hold'em table. The tail end of a 14-hour session features a typical hand of the evening(morning?): an under the gun straddle followed by a consecutive blind three-bet. The preflop action is capped after the dealer gently taps a snoozing 80-year old Filipino grandmother in seat one.
"How much?" she asks, half awake.
"It's three bets to you, Ma'am."
"Cappucino." she declares in a thick accent, peppering the pot with chips.
The onlookers and railbirds praying for a handout quickly disperse as the dealers scoops a monster $120 pot my way. My K-J of diamonds has survived a 9s-Ks-2s-Ah-9h board. I could care less that my second pair defeating a pair of deuces (who knows what the third caller could've had on this board) is a bajillion miles from sniffing the bad beat jackpot. My time has finally come.
That's when it dawns on me. I am a fish.
One year removed from crushing 20-40 (6max) online and 40-80 ring games at the Commerce I find myself in the poker purgatory of low limit hold 'em. A bottomless pit of bored tourists, senior citizens, and Prada toting wives are foaming at the mouths for my last $52. Fortunately, I battle back to $220 to end the marathon session. Still, my epiphany from earlier is like a rabid Doberman gnawing at my jerky-flavored ankles.
How did it come to this? How did I become a fish?
The hand has all the ingredients of the hallowed 150K prize. 7:20AM on a Wednesday afternoon. 3-6 donkey limit hold'em table. The tail end of a 14-hour session features a typical hand of the evening(morning?): an under the gun straddle followed by a consecutive blind three-bet. The preflop action is capped after the dealer gently taps a snoozing 80-year old Filipino grandmother in seat one.
"How much?" she asks, half awake.
"It's three bets to you, Ma'am."
"Cappucino." she declares in a thick accent, peppering the pot with chips.
The onlookers and railbirds praying for a handout quickly disperse as the dealers scoops a monster $120 pot my way. My K-J of diamonds has survived a 9s-Ks-2s-Ah-9h board. I could care less that my second pair defeating a pair of deuces (who knows what the third caller could've had on this board) is a bajillion miles from sniffing the bad beat jackpot. My time has finally come.
That's when it dawns on me. I am a fish.
One year removed from crushing 20-40 (6max) online and 40-80 ring games at the Commerce I find myself in the poker purgatory of low limit hold 'em. A bottomless pit of bored tourists, senior citizens, and Prada toting wives are foaming at the mouths for my last $52. Fortunately, I battle back to $220 to end the marathon session. Still, my epiphany from earlier is like a rabid Doberman gnawing at my jerky-flavored ankles.
How did it come to this? How did I become a fish?
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
