Tens Float on River
I went back offshore for more gambling yesterday, and emerged with a meager $220 profit form the $2-5 no limit game, particularly meager after I subtract for fuel and a hotel room. I borrowed a Ford Ranger from an acquaintance, so I didn't have to pay for a rental, but my vehicle was impossible to sleep in comfortably, since the seat can't recline.
Last week, by contrast, I won $640, about the same amount that was up for grabs in the hand that I will now relate. It was the last hand of the night, and it was only three handed. I was the big blind, and the button decided to straddle for $10. He was an aggressive, action player. Earlier I watched an old army buddy who I hadn't seen in about six years build up an impressive stack largely by picking off his bluffs. He then proceeded to lose it all by picking off his non-bluffs.
Action-Man had been drinking steadily all night. He was wearing a Notre Dame cap, which made me instinctively hate him, though after three or four hours this effect had worn off. Hate is the ally of tilt, and the enemy of patience, and patience is a virtue. Though this was the last hand of the night, since we were about to return to South Carolinian waters, the time for patience had not ended, since it's really all one long poker game. I was down for the cruise, and for the day, but still up for the weekend. If I'd looked down at Jack-deuce I would have serenely folded, or perhaps called, for one more blind. On the other hand, Action-man had straddled, so if we both called there is a decent chance he would bump it to 50 or so, assuming that we had nothing much if we only called.
I looked down to see a pair of tens. These could easily become an underpair on the flop, but three handed they were a pre-flop monster. I raised to $35. They both called, and the pot was $105.
The flop came J92, all spades. It was checked to me, and I checked. I intended to call this hand down, unless I became convinced I was beat. I didn't feel like betting and getting raised out of my socks. Action man took a green chip, and four reds, betting $45. The small blind folded, and I called.
The turn wasn't a spade, or anything else scary. I checked, and A-M placed three more greens on the felt--$75. I thought briefly and called, weighing the fate of my army buddy against my conviction that I was still ahead. The hand was getting expensive, and I was hoping A-M would check on the river.
The river was a blank, and A-M bet $150. He was kind of peculiar about it, though. He looked like he was about to check the hand down, then he fumbled his chips a little as he decided how much to bet. I was pretty torn between folding and calling. The indecisinve body language that preceeded his bet could be some Hollywooding on his part. I didn't want to share the fate of Sarge, and if I called and lost this hand would more or less wipe out my profits for the weekend.
"Will you show me if I fold?" I asked. He seemed confused for a moment, then said, "Maybe." I don't usually interrogate my opponents, since it slows up the game, and I figure I can make a pretty good guess as to whether I'm beat without it. Not to mention that you look like a fool when you guess wrong, and the interrogation process pretty much guarantees that everyone will be paying attention to you.
"That's fine," I replied. "I'd probably say the same thing." As I ceased my interrogation I sensed defiance from my opponent. More like I saw it, as he was staring me down. His body language struck me as a bit stiff, and aggressive. Strong when weak. "I call." He turned over Ace-three offsuit, and my red tens took down a $645 pot. Nice. If I get around to it, I might bore you with a couple of hands from this weekend, though I don't think they were as dramatic as that one.
Last week, by contrast, I won $640, about the same amount that was up for grabs in the hand that I will now relate. It was the last hand of the night, and it was only three handed. I was the big blind, and the button decided to straddle for $10. He was an aggressive, action player. Earlier I watched an old army buddy who I hadn't seen in about six years build up an impressive stack largely by picking off his bluffs. He then proceeded to lose it all by picking off his non-bluffs.
Action-Man had been drinking steadily all night. He was wearing a Notre Dame cap, which made me instinctively hate him, though after three or four hours this effect had worn off. Hate is the ally of tilt, and the enemy of patience, and patience is a virtue. Though this was the last hand of the night, since we were about to return to South Carolinian waters, the time for patience had not ended, since it's really all one long poker game. I was down for the cruise, and for the day, but still up for the weekend. If I'd looked down at Jack-deuce I would have serenely folded, or perhaps called, for one more blind. On the other hand, Action-man had straddled, so if we both called there is a decent chance he would bump it to 50 or so, assuming that we had nothing much if we only called.
I looked down to see a pair of tens. These could easily become an underpair on the flop, but three handed they were a pre-flop monster. I raised to $35. They both called, and the pot was $105.
The flop came J92, all spades. It was checked to me, and I checked. I intended to call this hand down, unless I became convinced I was beat. I didn't feel like betting and getting raised out of my socks. Action man took a green chip, and four reds, betting $45. The small blind folded, and I called.
The turn wasn't a spade, or anything else scary. I checked, and A-M placed three more greens on the felt--$75. I thought briefly and called, weighing the fate of my army buddy against my conviction that I was still ahead. The hand was getting expensive, and I was hoping A-M would check on the river.
The river was a blank, and A-M bet $150. He was kind of peculiar about it, though. He looked like he was about to check the hand down, then he fumbled his chips a little as he decided how much to bet. I was pretty torn between folding and calling. The indecisinve body language that preceeded his bet could be some Hollywooding on his part. I didn't want to share the fate of Sarge, and if I called and lost this hand would more or less wipe out my profits for the weekend.
"Will you show me if I fold?" I asked. He seemed confused for a moment, then said, "Maybe." I don't usually interrogate my opponents, since it slows up the game, and I figure I can make a pretty good guess as to whether I'm beat without it. Not to mention that you look like a fool when you guess wrong, and the interrogation process pretty much guarantees that everyone will be paying attention to you.
"That's fine," I replied. "I'd probably say the same thing." As I ceased my interrogation I sensed defiance from my opponent. More like I saw it, as he was staring me down. His body language struck me as a bit stiff, and aggressive. Strong when weak. "I call." He turned over Ace-three offsuit, and my red tens took down a $645 pot. Nice. If I get around to it, I might bore you with a couple of hands from this weekend, though I don't think they were as dramatic as that one.
posted by roQQ | 10:18 AM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home