"What time does the Playboy Mansion party begin so I know when to start jerking off."
--Mr. Subliminal, in a rare burst of overtness.
We ran into Mr. S in the Aladdin poker room on Friday afternoon. Yes, the events of Saturday night at Chez Hefner have tended to over-shadow the previous days in Vegas, which were also chock full o' blog material. Today, I'll get to the poker.
CJ and I sat at a 1/2 NL table with Mr. S after busting out of the Aladdin $60 tourney. A few hands in, I got a couple 3s in the SB and completed to see a flop with 5 others. It came down J42 with two spades and I bet half the pot ($5) to see where I was at. I got two callers and figured at least one spade draw and the other...a weak Jack or a medium pocket pair. The turn came a non-spade 5 and since I'm now open-ended, I bet out $15 (did I--or Chad--mention I'm a pretty aggressive player live?). One call, then a min. raise to 30. I take a bit of time and eventually put the raiser on either ace-rag (I've got yer outs, dude!) or a turned set of 5s. Regardless, I correctly assume the other guy is coming along, so I've very nearly got the odds to put the extra 15 into a $110 pot (better than 7-1 and I've got six outs on my open-ender if the other caller is on the spade draw, a reasonable assumption; I actually had 8 outs, so the price was indeed right). A lovely non-spade 6 drops on the turn and I make a value bet of $25. Spade draw drops and raiser reluctantly calls, tabling his KK and saying, "That was a nice call on the raise."
I, uh, responded, "That was a nice limp with your kings." He said something back that I didn't quite get largely because it didn't make any sense and I replied, "Check the math, sport."
I love poker.
I was still loving it later that evening--needing it, in fact--after sinking nearly $500 into Villanova and a frigid craps table at the Excalibur. BG, Chad (of Pukerama-rama fame), Jason and I pulled up at a 1/3 NL table where I soon more than doubled up. I paid an extra fiver (getting 4-1) to see a flop in the BB with Qs2s. The flop came up all spades. I checked to the raiser, who put in a cute overbet of $25. The SB called and I popped it to $100. Groans from the left of me. He took his sweet time and finally pushed in his remaining $150. SB folded her KK (including the King of spades) and I called to see his aces (including the ace of spades). Jason immediately mentioned he'd folded two spades, so the guy actually only had 4 outs twice to the flush. He didn't get any. He left for his wheel spin, not happily I might add, and returned with a scathing, "That was a lucky flop, buddy."
"I know," I said. "But you knew you were beat."
He replied, "Yeah, but I gotta try and get lucky, too."
So then I had more than $400 in front of me and I'm feeling a little invincible. Until I donate more than half of it to a guy when holding aces to his flopped set of Kings. It was now my turn to make the walk of shame to the cracked aces wheel spin and my mood was not lifted by the $20 that came up. Then I get back to the table and the new dealer has put a missed blind button in front of my seat. It's possible I snapped, internally, and verbally at the dealer. I did toke her a redbird in apology when she got pushed.
By this time, The Bracelet had replaced BG, who had gone broke with an overpair of tens to a flopped set 8s (same guy as with the KK, by the way). Bobby and I sat in consecutive seats to Chad's immediate left and believe me--or The Chadillac--when I say that's not exactly the seat you want. Bob and I play at each other pretty hard. You don't wanna get squeezed into a pot we're both in unless you're comfortable pushing your entire stack. We'd both, at this point, gotten each other to lay down the better hand, he raising a ragged flop with unimproved 53o, causing me to lay down similarly unimproved AQo. Then I got him to fold two pair with A4o on a flush board, when I held A3o (what I like to call my patented Drizz Play, an Excalibur specialty).
Apart from that, I was still smarting a bit from having my aces cracked and soon saw my chance to stack up with pocket tens. They were an overpair to the flop and I raised Bob's bet a healthy portion (I do that sometimes). He said, "I'm going to push here to help get you off tilt." Thanks, buddy.
I called the remaining $40 or so to see he'd made a set of 8s (yep, tens and 8s again) and I was in re-buy mode. But first, I did perhaps the only truly intelligent thing I did all weekend. I took a walk.
I'd be lying if I said I still felt pretty solid about my play. I was down to my last $200 and didn't want to buy back in as scared money. But as I walked a couple loops around the garish casino floor, I rationalized the prior events and knew I had not done anything terribly wrong. I also knew I had cultivated my perfect Drunken Idiot table image, which, while not an act, is still highly effective, because I AM still able to play cards while being a drunk idiot. Ask anyone.
What happened next was unparalelled in my poker existence. It was so crazy, in fact, that I forget how I stacked up in the first place, though I seem to recall a Broadway straight in there somewhere and a couple smaller pots with Bob and the guy two to my left (who was replaced by a psuedo-Sammy Farha who would donate the most to my burgeoning stack). Anyway, before I knew it, I'd had a couple more SoCo shots and better than $800 in front of me.
Photo and chips courtesy of Bobby Bracelet
At that point, I turned into Uber-Aggro and started making Game Theory raises with 54o and 82s. I showed down both those hands and they were both winners. You know what they say, "Gotta give action to get action." And I got it.
Flopped set of Jacks? Paid off. Flopped set of Queens? Paid off. Flopped Quad 7s? Paid off. IN TWO PLACES.
When the quad flop came down, I fairly yelled in Bobby's ear, "I gots quads beetches!" then paused in my idiocy long enough to bet out. the player next to act hemmed and hawed before saying, "I think I'm behind."
I responded, "Oh, you're behind."
He pushed in his last $150 anyway (with unimproved AQ) and was called by a shorter stack's AK. In addition, I spun the wheel for another $120 (triple + 40).
Bob, Chad and I were the last men standing, though I was weaving in my chair, having gone well past our sleep deadline of 3 a.m. It was light outside, which Chad refused to believe by avoiding looking out the windows. We had to be up in 4 hours for the drive to LA and Playboy Fantasy and I'd been drinking pretty much straight for 17 hours. That drive was gonna suck. As I racked up my nearly $1400, I didn't care.