I Had Outs

Where poker went to die

July 31st, 2011 | Author: ihadouts

It’s been FOR- EVER since I played poker.

Well, there was a midnight tournament on my birthday (did you remember that July is my birthday season? Didja? Didja? DIDJA?). But that tournament hardly counts because I was starving to death and all the mean people at the Buckingham Game put a bounty on my head, so that whoever knocked me out for the third and final time, would get an extra pot of cash. #RRRUUUDDDEEEE

I think it was the Crazy Euro what collected on it…so he’s DEAD TO ME! And then Eric had the nerve to be more wasted than I was AND win the dang thing! #Doublerude

But I had fun and it was a nice way to ring in my new year. Me likey my birthday! A lot. Even rainy ones when I drop my food in the street and have to eat cake for dinner.

Anyway, so it’s been a spell and a half since I had cards or chips or putz odds or anything! In fact, I was giving my co-blogger shit about not posting anything about his “poker pro” career and he immediately pointed out that he’s blogged more than I have since he joined Team IHO.

Welp.

So, I set out to change all that with an impromptu trip to the Air Conditioned City with the redheads.

The EVIL redheads I should say…how is it that Alceste and Mary neither like Glee NOR Taylor Swift? What in all hell?

The day started out with me being inexplicably awake at 5 AM, even though I was out till like midnight Friday. SO, I tried to get our trip started earlier than planned. A bathroom emergency thwarted those plans, though I did finally get to see Casa de Mary. She lives in a miniture little house on the prairie and you’ve got to pump your own water for the bathroom. I have short, weak arms so this took a long time.

Then, I, evidently, decided that no one else should ever use the bathroom after me, so I locked it from the inside. And probably left the light on. And this is why I’ve known Mary for a hundred years and have never been invited to her house. #Rude

We then got sidetracked with Alceste and his girlfriend at the Pancake House. By the time we were right and proper on our way, we were smack dab in the middle of beach traffic.

EPIC. FAIL.

We finally got to Harrah’s at 1 pm. I was first on the list. GOOD GRIEF! WHY WON’T THE UNIVERSE LET ME BE GREAT??

WHHHYYYYYYY?

Ten minutes later, I got seated in the one seat at the table of death.

Actually, I think I dubbed it the “Usual Suspects” table on twitter. It was just a series of more and more bizarre characters and decreasingly awful (increasingly awful?) “poker” play.

Harrah’s Table 13, ladies and gentlemen, is where poker went to die.

My very first hand, I was in MP with 99. It had been raised to six in front of me, so I made it $16…look, I DIDN’T KNOW! Next guy calls, Black guy makes it $36, NEXT GUY makes it $90. WHHAAATTTT ____

It gets back to me, I fold, so does everyone else and the $90 guy flashes pocket tens.

The next hand is also raised and re-raised till we saw the $26 flop of 4s8cAd. $40 bet from black guy, insta call from old man. Turn is Ts. $100 bet, again insta call.

Jesus.

River is 5s. Black guy checks, old man goes all-in for $350. Black guy snap calls.

Hands??? HANDS? on a preflop $26 raise and re-raise?? Black guy has 3s6s Old man has As6s.

DUUUUUUUUUDDEEEEEE. I am officially terrified and begin tagging this session with the infamous #buckleup hash.

The old man is stacking his chips and taps me on the shoulder.

I. HATE. SHOULDER. TAPPERS!

“I had a good hand there, huh?”

I smiled.

HUGE MISTAKE.

For the next like five hours he was constantly tapping me on the shoulder.

“Oh, where did you buy that?”

Tap tap tap.

“Was it good?”

Tap tap tap.

“How much was it?”

I. AM. GOING. TO. KEEEEEELLLL. YOU! I wear earphones so I DO NOT HAVE TO TALK TO YOU! NOT TO GET POKED TO DEATH!

Then he started calling me “kitten.” O_o

AND THEN:

“You remind me of my wife…not like your face. She wasn’t a black, but you have the same smile, kitten.”

O_O

Kill me. No, seriously, just get it over with. I’m coming, Elizabeth.

So, I get pocket nines again. I have about $111 in total. (It’s always a bad sign when I can tell you how much I have to the dollar, no? Sigh.) It’s been raised to $7, then to $15, I make it $37 PRE-FLOP. WITH NINES! OY.

I GET FOUR CALLERS. Mind you, it’s been an hour and I played just the ONE hand when I first sat down and NOTHING since! Whatever. These people are damn hell ass honey badgers, THEY DON’T GIVE A SHIT.

Flop is 9c Ah 4h.

Whew. Cause honestly, I had NO plan for not hitting a set. I check. This dirty whore bets out $45. It folds to me and I double check the board, put her on the flush draw and shove. The dealer pulls in the $45 and tells her $82 more. She thinks and thinks and thinks AND THEN slams in a stack of greens to make the call.

I immediately flip my set. She taps her cards on the felt. I figure I’m dodging hearts. I fucking wish.

The turn is a Ts.

River is 8 of spades.

I’m ready to collect my chips AND THIS STUPID ASS WHORE TURNS OVER Qc Jc!

The table, EVEN THIS TABLE OF REJECTS FROM THE ISLAND OF POKER MISFITS, goes “oohhhhhhh maaaaannnn.”

SO this heiffer says “Well, I wonder what she raise to thirty preflop and say “must be pair,” so suited cards could get the bad beat.”

I want to give her a bad beat, alright.

Instead, she pulls back her greens and takes all my reds and whites. I cry.

Rebuy.

A few hands after that, I get pocket queens and open raise the pot from UTG to $30.

Two calls. *Head desk*

Flop is A J 4.

*Throws self in front of stopped train*

It checks around. Turn is a 5 and now the black guy bets out $15. I call. The board pairs the 4 on the river and he shoves for his stack of $600. (I only have like $55 left, idiot.)

I think for a bit, but then dude starts chirping and I insta-fold. Now, I am become tilt, destroyer of bankrolls.

My next hand is 9hTh, I raise to $15 — I get 1800 callers, so when the flop come s A 9 Q, I shove.

It folds to evil stupid heiffer and she goes into the tank for like FIVE minutes. I’m like “NOOO!! I cannot get stacked by her TWICE!”

Of course, she slams her chips across the line to call.

BALLS.

I am just about to start crying, Buffalo Style (Fo Real), when the dealer puts out a T on the turn. SANKS GAWD!

River is a blank and I show my two pair.

*SHE* gets all pissy and goes “A nine? I thought you had my ace outkicked.”

So I get pissy right back, and I’m all “You thought I had you outkicked? Good call then,” and I rolled my eyes.

The black guy, whose name was Tony. Know how I know this? Because every hand (which he played) (oh, not “every hand which he played,” “EVERY HAND. BECAUSE HE PLAYED EVERY. HAND.)) he’d be all:

“ahh you were setting a trap for Tony.”

“You try to make Tony eat the hook and fall in a trap.”

“Oh, you were waiting for Tony in a alley for him to ride your horse.”

Wait. WHAT? ARRRGGGHHHHH. I want Tony to shut the eff up!

Then there’s this crazy hand where heiffer has reraised to $40 preflop and three people call her. The flop is

AsKs4d.

She bets $30, Tony raises her to $65. She calls.

Turn is 6s.

She bets $50. Tony raises to $125. She re-raises to $250, he shoves for like $700 more because they are both super deep.

She goes into the tank and again, Tony starts chirping. “Oh, if you’re thinking this long, I definitely win. ” “Oh, still thinking? You had nothing over there, huh?”

Blah blah blah until dumb ass heiffer finally says “Call.”

The pot is ridiculous and I die inside knowing that one of these idiots is going to collect it.

River is the Ah and Heiffer turns over AK. Tony, of course, angrily shows the flush and starts berating her play. She, of course, believes she is a genius.

My next playable hand is pocket tens and I hit a set on a flushing board. I double up on the turn, when some middle aged dude reraises me on the turn. The board, harmlessly, pairs on the river. YAY!

I was playing super tight, 1. because that is my way and 2. because this table was the fourth circle of poker hell…there was no reason to do anything but play ABC and pray.

I started flopping sets like it was my job AND getting paid. It got to the point where I’d look at my pair and be like “okay, so how am I going to play my set of sixes…” And then the flop would come 6 5 5! And I’d be like “A Boat! Nice!”

I managed to leave with a tidy profit, as did Alceste and Mary.

“Hey, we’re all leaving up. It’s been a long time since that happened,” Alceste commented looking at me judgingly.

“Yeah, I’m usually the dead weight.”

And then Mary said that next time they were going to hit me in the head with a shovel.

Seriously, folks, do not lock Mary out of her bathroom. She goes all zombie apocalypse on your ass.