Learning when to leave

After spending the good part of an hour and a half trying to unclog my toilet (I created the problem by trying to flush a pot of moldy rice), I headed down to the UCB Wednesday night tournament. When I got there, I learned that it wasn't going to start until 11:30. I wasn't going to wait around for an hour to play in a $5 re-buy tournament, so I headed back up to the New York Players Club.

I recognized two people at my table: an aging math nerd named Dan and a young Brazilian kid who, despite probably playing 5 nights a week, still does not understand the concept of pot odds. The big stack at the table was a woman who, were she not at a seedy poker table in Manhattan, I would have mistaken 9 times out of 10 for my old ES professor Jill Pearlman. Bizarro Jill Pearlman seemed like a decent player--she understood when she had the nuts and was scared when she had reason to be scared.

Some fat guy to my right kept asking everyone if they were Italian, and sure enough, within the first half hour, a pimply ugly guy in a Mets hat and a joke of a chachi (in the real sense of the word, where it connotes greased hair and chains...) sat down on either side of the dealer. Of course, both hailed from Sicily by way of BensonHURST! and not surprisingly, both were absolutely terrible card players. I kept trying to catch the eye of the Asian Columbia student at the end of the table, to try to tell him to stay at the table at all costs, and at one point, I even considered following him to the bathroom to say, "Stay at this fucking table. These guys have $400 behind them each and are just waiting to get busted out of a huge hand."

I put in my headphones, something I usually don't like to do at the table--but, there's nothing I hate more than hearing a bunch of uneducated white people talk about their half-country of half-origin with such ignorant reverence. As I've said in the past, it's like watching a goddamn Olive Garden commercial.

It took about an hour for me to receive any sort of playable hand--AJ clubs suited on the button. I raised to $12. The inquisitor of Italian descent frowned and called, as did the Asian kid. The flop came 8spades-4spades-8clubs. IID raised to twenty five, the Asian kid folded and I, sensing weakness, raised to 100. IID went all in for $77 on top. So, I owed $77 into about $330 pot (there was a $5 pre-flop bet by the cut-off that was called pretty much all around...) . The IID had limped into pretty much every single pot so far, and was raising to $10 with hands like KJ. I didn't think he'd hit any of the flop, and I read his hesitance to get his chips in the pot as an attempt to steal. Certainly, if he had hit a set on the flop or was holding a massive pocket pair, he would have tried to trap me. So, I called--the turn was a Q and the river was a 3. I flipped over AJ and he muttered, "can't believe you called," and mucked his hand. (at this place, you don't have to show your all-in hands.) It probably was a bad call--at least math-wise, but at that point, I wanted to trust my read of the situation.

I played a couple of hands absolutely horribly as well. I had the button again with 44 and a guy in middle position raised to $10. Three people in front of me called, so I called as well, hoping that some of the limpers might complete my odds. They did. With 6 players, the flop came out QQ9. The entire table checked around. The turn was a 4, making my set. The table checked again to the kid to my right, who raised to $10. I put $50 on top and he folded.
This was a terrible play for a couple of reasons.
a) if he had a weak Queen, I was pushing him off of it, instead of hoping that he'd throw in the rest of his chips on the river (he had about $100 left, betting into my $550 stack)
b) if he had a 9, I should have represented that I had the nine as well. Perhaps one of my terrible acting jobs would have been helpful here--a disdainful call of his $10.
c) if he had Q-9, making his boat on the flop, (and given his betting, he might have been doing exactly that--checking on the flop, but getting impatient and trying to put out an enticing bet on the turn) I was going to get slaughtered by an all-in bet that I would probably have to call.
I was lucky enough that he was just trying to steal, but I was pissed off enough by my bad play at that point (I know, it's better to have a bad play when you win...) that I considered leaving. It was 1:30 and I had already passed my 1 o clock target leaving time. But I stayed because I wanted to bust the chachis out of their chips--and it was too late for me to remember that whenever I try to bust out anyone out of spite (ahem, Meyer...) I end up losing my whole stack.

At 2, after bleeding away about $30, I was about to leave, but our 6 handed table got broken up to fill out two other tables. With the promise of big action, I decided to stay one last half hour. I sat down next to another Korean kid with terrible facial hair--this one was wearing a blacked out Indians hat. When I sat down, we were the two biggest stacks at the table. I made some absolutely awful plays, including paying a pot-sized bet heads-up for a 9 outer on the river (I missed), which all led up to my last hand of the night, when I let the Answer (see previous entries) muscle me out when I knew I had the best fucking hand. Anyway, I left still up $172, but felt like I had lost. Which, in a way, is a blessing. If I had hit a big hand at the 10 person table (the bad facial haired Korean got dealt kings--interestingly enough, right after he threw the dealer a dollar chip and said, "simon, deal me kings"--and hit a K99 flop, picking up a $400 pot....) and left with $500-$600, I probably would have gone back there tonight. But, since I left feeling like a loser, I think it might be two, three days till I return....

winnings: $172
Semi-Semi Pro Career to date: $907