Well, I'm back and I apologize for making my loyal readers, both of them, wait so long to hear about the glamorous life of low stakes gambling. The turn of the new year brought lower interest rates, and being in the mortgage business I am absolutely SLAMMED with that dreaded four letter word: Work. Anyone who would like to take advantage of these dropping interest rates, please feel free to contact me at kevin@mortgagelighthouse.com. I would love to help.
Enough shameless self promotion, back to the action: As some of you know, I was the fortunate winner of a satellite tournament that bought me into one of the preliminary events at the annual WPT Borgata Winter Open.
I’d been playing well leading up to the $1,000 buy-in preliminary event at the WPT Borgata Winter Open. This would be my first tournament with a buy-in of over $200. Yeah, my indoctrination into the “low-to-mid roller club” was about to commence and I would need focus. I ramped up my work out schedule (hit the gym 3 times in 9 days!), went to bed before 3 am, switched to beer, and ate sensible meals. …..Ok, I didn’t sleep at all the night before, I worked late into the night the 3 nights before we left and, honestly, I was way too amped to sleep anyway.
The day before we flew out I received the following email from Daryl: “Caveman, Everett’s dad is picking us up in a limo at the airport.” The trip was definitely starting off on the right foot! Upon entering the limo at the Philadelphia Airport we were greeted to Jason’s dad, his high roller buddy, and cheers of “First stop, Liquor Store!” It was noon and I was zonked but the fact that those two Budweisers tasted pretty good gave me high hopes for the weekend to come.
We arrived in Atlantic City Thursday afternoon; the tournament was to start at 11:00 am the next day. I fished the low limit Harrah’s poker room for $200 in beer money and was in bed by midnight. My decent night’s sleep would serve me well. Standing in line to register for the tournament, I was surrounded by smelly tri-state area degenerates and began to think this might not be so tough after all. I laid down my grand, got my seat assignment and headed into the massive ballroom in which the tournament was being held. What an atmosphere! A monumental coliseum of poker was laid before my eyes; tables, dealers, huge screens with ESPN, and $640,000 was spread across the landscape as far as the eyes could see.
This tournament had 640 entrants and I could not quite grasp such an immense gathering of east coast pseudo-toughs, grease balls, and bottom feeders. The Guido Factor was of unbelievable proportions. Looking around the room, this cologne drenched, gold chain wrapped collection of knee-breaker wannabes made an episode of the Sopranos appear culturally diverse. In the words of Paulie Walnuts, what bunch of Stunads. I never thought I would miss the collection of striped-shirt hotshot douchery that so permeates the Las Vegas scene. At least those guys wear the expense cologne.
On to the game:
I sat down at my table at 10:58 and studied my adversaries. I was glad I did not recognize a single face from any of the way-too- many poker tournaments I have watched on TV. With 8,000 chips and blinds starting at 25-50, the first hand was dealt. Everyone folded to the cut off seat who raised it to 150, and everyone after that folded. The raiser guy showed pocket kings and we all chuckled. “Nice start” I thought but compared my next hand that was nothin’. Yep, I may have flown in on USAir but on the 2nd hand of the tournament, I’m flying American Airlines. I raise to 150 with my Aces and PRAY that nobody calls, I just don’t want to get into a tangle 2 minutes into the tournament with 9 guys about whom I know absolutely nothing. Thankfully they all fold and I get this eerie feeling that this just might turn out to be a good day. This feeling kept getting stronger as play went on. Other than the 50-something guy with the neatly trimmed mustache wearing a Penn State jacket (my alma mater), this table was pretty soft and I was getting my share of cards. I saw no reason to lay off the gas, playing every hand with sensible aggression and throwing in a few bluffs here and there. I usually don’t strive to achieve the “Table Captain” image but these guys were developing a healthy respect for my plays and someone had to drive the action.
Timing is everything and though I wasn’t getting an unreasonable amount of good cards, they always seemed to come at exactly the right time. I was taking blinds with Ace-King and three limpers, coming over the top with Queens, and catching a flush on the turn with 3 in the pot. Things were going pretty well. And when presented with a tough decision and sketchy cards, I just threw them away. The blinds lasted an hour long and at this stage of the tournament patience and selective aggression were rewarding me well when the following hand came up: With the blinds at 150-300 the fellow to my right, “Jersey Jim” for lack of better name, raised it to 900. I called with a pair of 3s. The flop was A-3-7 and Jim bet out 1,500 which I smooth called. The turn was another Ace and Jim checked to me. I didn’t really like that but I was also certain Jim had a big Ace and no worry of pairing his kicker for a better boat. I bet 4,500. Jim gave it about 10 seconds thought, muttered that A-J must be no good and chucked his hand into the muck. “Well, Jim, you’re just too good” I thought to myself and decided that if he was going to make big laydowns then by God I would give him plenty of reason. I decided to pound on him whenever possible.
A few hands went by and the blinds had just gone to 200-400. It was folded all the way around to Jersey Jim on the button. He made it 1200 to go and along with the general aroma of Guido wafting through the air, I also smelled a rat. I held 4-2 offsuit (more on that later) but the guy on my left was playing extremely tight so I decided to give Jim the once over and contemplated a steal. Jim’s chest was heaving a little too hurriedly and his mouth was pinched tight. I re-raised it 4,200, set my chin in my hand and stared blankly at the felt. Big Blind folded and Jim calmly flashed K-Q, mentioned something about giving me respect, and I collected a free 1600. This is working, Jim. Let’s keep playing. Another opportunity presented itself two hands later.
The table was tightening up and it folded all the way to Jim in the small blind. Jim limped in and I looked at A-10 of clubs. I raised to 1200 and Jim called. With a flop of King high and two clubs, Jim checked to me and I bet 2000 and then….Jersey Jim came alive, min-raising it to 4000. My previous beatings on Jim had given me about a 20,000 to 12,000 chip lead on him and most importantly, he had enough chips to fold here. With my chin resting gently in my left hand (I had concentrated on cultivating this constant pose during every hand) those words I had been patiently waiting to utter came out of my mouth. “I’m all in”. God that felt good. And it felt even better when Jim showed a King as he folded, AGAIN throwing away the best hand. I now had about 28,000 in chips and the luxury of picking my spots, riding the range, and punchin’ them dogies. A couple orbits went by and it was again time for Jim and I to go to battle. With a few limpers in the pot, Jim raised to 1800, leaving him about 9000 behind. This time it was for real, I peeked at one King, and then another. The most wanted outlaw in the land was back in town and ….“I’m all in”. Jim had seen enough of this shit and took a stand with Ace-Queen. Well, an ace hit the flop and another hit the river. Jim doubled up and I was back to around 15,000. But salvation was right around the corner……
A few hands later the tournament director announced that this was the last hand before a 15 minute break. A nice, bald gentleman (we’ll call him “Dilbert”) who had earlier conversed that he owned a small engineering firm limped in middle position and it folded to me in the small blind. I called with 4-2 offsuit and the big blind checked. Alright, I have junk and my main concern was getting this hand over with and finding the rest room with the shortest lines. Well Valhalla! The flop is 2-2-4, two spades. Row, row row your boat, gently down the boardwalk, merrily merrily life is but a .. I hope you have a spade draw!
Here’s some rope, Dilbert, check. Big blind checks, Dilbert checks. Turn is a 10 of spades, Oh Hallelujah, Thank Ya Jesus! I notice Dilbert has about 14,000 left, he has perked up at this turn of events and my only concern is coming up with the best way to liquefy his assets. With 1800 in the pot, I lead out for 2000. Dilbert does his best impersonation of the Make-A-Wish Foundation, making all our dreams come true by raising to 6000. No use laying low here. “I’m all in”. GOD those three words sound so gooooood. I flinch just a little as he insta-calls me with…..Q-10 offsuit? The river is a blank, I’m up to about 32,000 and I practically skip to the rest room, glancing back as the unsuspecting gentleman gathers his belongings. Isn’t poker just awesome!!!!!
Next: Indian Larry and the Online Misfits.
Enough shameless self promotion, back to the action: As some of you know, I was the fortunate winner of a satellite tournament that bought me into one of the preliminary events at the annual WPT Borgata Winter Open.
I’d been playing well leading up to the $1,000 buy-in preliminary event at the WPT Borgata Winter Open. This would be my first tournament with a buy-in of over $200. Yeah, my indoctrination into the “low-to-mid roller club” was about to commence and I would need focus. I ramped up my work out schedule (hit the gym 3 times in 9 days!), went to bed before 3 am, switched to beer, and ate sensible meals. …..Ok, I didn’t sleep at all the night before, I worked late into the night the 3 nights before we left and, honestly, I was way too amped to sleep anyway.
The day before we flew out I received the following email from Daryl: “Caveman, Everett’s dad is picking us up in a limo at the airport.” The trip was definitely starting off on the right foot! Upon entering the limo at the Philadelphia Airport we were greeted to Jason’s dad, his high roller buddy, and cheers of “First stop, Liquor Store!” It was noon and I was zonked but the fact that those two Budweisers tasted pretty good gave me high hopes for the weekend to come.
We arrived in Atlantic City Thursday afternoon; the tournament was to start at 11:00 am the next day. I fished the low limit Harrah’s poker room for $200 in beer money and was in bed by midnight. My decent night’s sleep would serve me well. Standing in line to register for the tournament, I was surrounded by smelly tri-state area degenerates and began to think this might not be so tough after all. I laid down my grand, got my seat assignment and headed into the massive ballroom in which the tournament was being held. What an atmosphere! A monumental coliseum of poker was laid before my eyes; tables, dealers, huge screens with ESPN, and $640,000 was spread across the landscape as far as the eyes could see.
This tournament had 640 entrants and I could not quite grasp such an immense gathering of east coast pseudo-toughs, grease balls, and bottom feeders. The Guido Factor was of unbelievable proportions. Looking around the room, this cologne drenched, gold chain wrapped collection of knee-breaker wannabes made an episode of the Sopranos appear culturally diverse. In the words of Paulie Walnuts, what bunch of Stunads. I never thought I would miss the collection of striped-shirt hotshot douchery that so permeates the Las Vegas scene. At least those guys wear the expense cologne.
On to the game:
I sat down at my table at 10:58 and studied my adversaries. I was glad I did not recognize a single face from any of the way-too- many poker tournaments I have watched on TV. With 8,000 chips and blinds starting at 25-50, the first hand was dealt. Everyone folded to the cut off seat who raised it to 150, and everyone after that folded. The raiser guy showed pocket kings and we all chuckled. “Nice start” I thought but compared my next hand that was nothin’. Yep, I may have flown in on USAir but on the 2nd hand of the tournament, I’m flying American Airlines. I raise to 150 with my Aces and PRAY that nobody calls, I just don’t want to get into a tangle 2 minutes into the tournament with 9 guys about whom I know absolutely nothing. Thankfully they all fold and I get this eerie feeling that this just might turn out to be a good day. This feeling kept getting stronger as play went on. Other than the 50-something guy with the neatly trimmed mustache wearing a Penn State jacket (my alma mater), this table was pretty soft and I was getting my share of cards. I saw no reason to lay off the gas, playing every hand with sensible aggression and throwing in a few bluffs here and there. I usually don’t strive to achieve the “Table Captain” image but these guys were developing a healthy respect for my plays and someone had to drive the action.
Timing is everything and though I wasn’t getting an unreasonable amount of good cards, they always seemed to come at exactly the right time. I was taking blinds with Ace-King and three limpers, coming over the top with Queens, and catching a flush on the turn with 3 in the pot. Things were going pretty well. And when presented with a tough decision and sketchy cards, I just threw them away. The blinds lasted an hour long and at this stage of the tournament patience and selective aggression were rewarding me well when the following hand came up: With the blinds at 150-300 the fellow to my right, “Jersey Jim” for lack of better name, raised it to 900. I called with a pair of 3s. The flop was A-3-7 and Jim bet out 1,500 which I smooth called. The turn was another Ace and Jim checked to me. I didn’t really like that but I was also certain Jim had a big Ace and no worry of pairing his kicker for a better boat. I bet 4,500. Jim gave it about 10 seconds thought, muttered that A-J must be no good and chucked his hand into the muck. “Well, Jim, you’re just too good” I thought to myself and decided that if he was going to make big laydowns then by God I would give him plenty of reason. I decided to pound on him whenever possible.
A few hands went by and the blinds had just gone to 200-400. It was folded all the way around to Jersey Jim on the button. He made it 1200 to go and along with the general aroma of Guido wafting through the air, I also smelled a rat. I held 4-2 offsuit (more on that later) but the guy on my left was playing extremely tight so I decided to give Jim the once over and contemplated a steal. Jim’s chest was heaving a little too hurriedly and his mouth was pinched tight. I re-raised it 4,200, set my chin in my hand and stared blankly at the felt. Big Blind folded and Jim calmly flashed K-Q, mentioned something about giving me respect, and I collected a free 1600. This is working, Jim. Let’s keep playing. Another opportunity presented itself two hands later.
The table was tightening up and it folded all the way to Jim in the small blind. Jim limped in and I looked at A-10 of clubs. I raised to 1200 and Jim called. With a flop of King high and two clubs, Jim checked to me and I bet 2000 and then….Jersey Jim came alive, min-raising it to 4000. My previous beatings on Jim had given me about a 20,000 to 12,000 chip lead on him and most importantly, he had enough chips to fold here. With my chin resting gently in my left hand (I had concentrated on cultivating this constant pose during every hand) those words I had been patiently waiting to utter came out of my mouth. “I’m all in”. God that felt good. And it felt even better when Jim showed a King as he folded, AGAIN throwing away the best hand. I now had about 28,000 in chips and the luxury of picking my spots, riding the range, and punchin’ them dogies. A couple orbits went by and it was again time for Jim and I to go to battle. With a few limpers in the pot, Jim raised to 1800, leaving him about 9000 behind. This time it was for real, I peeked at one King, and then another. The most wanted outlaw in the land was back in town and ….“I’m all in”. Jim had seen enough of this shit and took a stand with Ace-Queen. Well, an ace hit the flop and another hit the river. Jim doubled up and I was back to around 15,000. But salvation was right around the corner……
A few hands later the tournament director announced that this was the last hand before a 15 minute break. A nice, bald gentleman (we’ll call him “Dilbert”) who had earlier conversed that he owned a small engineering firm limped in middle position and it folded to me in the small blind. I called with 4-2 offsuit and the big blind checked. Alright, I have junk and my main concern was getting this hand over with and finding the rest room with the shortest lines. Well Valhalla! The flop is 2-2-4, two spades. Row, row row your boat, gently down the boardwalk, merrily merrily life is but a .. I hope you have a spade draw!
Here’s some rope, Dilbert, check. Big blind checks, Dilbert checks. Turn is a 10 of spades, Oh Hallelujah, Thank Ya Jesus! I notice Dilbert has about 14,000 left, he has perked up at this turn of events and my only concern is coming up with the best way to liquefy his assets. With 1800 in the pot, I lead out for 2000. Dilbert does his best impersonation of the Make-A-Wish Foundation, making all our dreams come true by raising to 6000. No use laying low here. “I’m all in”. GOD those three words sound so gooooood. I flinch just a little as he insta-calls me with…..Q-10 offsuit? The river is a blank, I’m up to about 32,000 and I practically skip to the rest room, glancing back as the unsuspecting gentleman gathers his belongings. Isn’t poker just awesome!!!!!
Next: Indian Larry and the Online Misfits.
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