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The Luckiest Man In Town

Filed under: Imported

I played in my first-ever Texas Hold 'Em poker tournament last night at Canterbury Park.

In recent weeks I've become something of a poker junky. My reading material has been strictly poker-themed: James McManus' entertaining, if somewhat annoying (largely because of the author's insatiable ego) account of making it to the final table of the World Series of Poker, Positively Fifth Street; Phil Hellmuth's insightful tutorial, Play Poker Like the Pros; Al Alvarez's classic, The Biggest Game in Town; and Anthony Holden's Big Deal, detailing his trial run as a professional poker player.

I've also spent way too much time watching Texas Hold 'Em on the TV, primarily the Travel Channel's excellent World Poker Tour. (On Tuesday ESPN began serializing this year's World Series of Poker, but for numerous reasons that I won't bother delineating, the first episode was wretched.) My TV poker habit reached a new abyss this week when I found myself around 1 a.m. Wednesday morning watching a World Poker Tour episode that I'd already seen. (Gus Hansen wins again!)

Most alarmingly I've become addicted to on-line poker. In the last two months I've spent more hours than I care to contemplate--primarily between midnight and 3 a.m.--staring at my computer screen praying for a decent flop. I've concluded that Danny Gatton's "Redneck Jazz" is the optimal poker soundtrack and developed elaborate theories about how ultimatebet.com is fucking me out of my deserved winnings. Luckily I've contained this habit strictly to $1/2 Texas Hold 'Em, and have so far stayed meagerly in the black.

Last night, however, the computer screen was replaced by 131 live, sweaty, over-caffeinated poker fiends, scattered across 12 tables, all primping like they just returned from Binion's Horseshoe after robbing T. J. Cloutier and Doyle Brunson for a couple of weeks.

The Thursday-night tournament works like this. Each player puts up $55 and receives $600 worth of chips in return. Players then have the option to fork over an additional $45 for $1000 more in play money--an option that virtually everyone chooses. The last nine players standing each get a cut of the prize money.

Here's the abbreviated blow-by-blow

I'm at table two, seat five--and I'm sweating before a single card is dealt. Dark shadows of perspiration gather at the armpits of my peach polo shirt. Why did I wear peach? There's a stack of red, green and black chips in front of me on the baize, but I'm not certain how much they're worth. I'm too nervous to ask. During the first round of play--lasting 20 minutes and perhaps 30 hands--I don't make a single bet. Just sit there, trying to avoid engaging in some horrible breach of poker etiquette, while mucking hand after hand. 

Eventually, driven by sheer boredom if nothing else, I begin to toss some chips around. I win a few decent pots and keep my head above water, continuing to play exceedingly tight. About midway through the second hour of action, however, with players dropping like flies, and my own pile of chips rapidly nearing extinction, I spy a pair of Aces. The best Hold 'Em hand possible! My raises pre- and post-flop fail to shake two callers. At fourth street, with the board showing a King and three hearts (one of my aces is a heart as well), I push the remainder of my chips into the pot. The Pocket Rockets hold up. I'm flush about $3500.

For the next half hour or so I go about systematically squandering my good fortune. At one point I fold three sevens, convinced that my opponent has a staight, only to see him win the pot with a measly pair of jacks.

Finally, once again facing barely enough money to post the Big Blind, which will arrive in just two hands, I go all in with Ace-Queen. Everyone folds and the (miniscule) pot is mine. The very next hand comes A-3 and I go all in again. This time I get one caller, but two more Aces come on the board and I'm suddenly solvent again. 

I'm now among the last two dozen players left in the tournament.

At this point I should point out that luck is an integral part of poker--and I was obviously, obliviously, ecstatically lucky. To illustrate this point I will mention one more hand. I'm one off the button and have 4-5, both of hearts. When no one in front of me bets, I raise, hoping to steal the pot. Unfortunately one lousy bastard calls my bluff. When two hearts show up on the board, however, I raise again. I still can't shake him. Finally on fourth street, after I check, he tosses in the last of his chips. At this point I am four cards to a flush and a straight. After agonizing for a minute or so I call. The three of diamonds appears on the board, connecting my straight. Me win again.

Lucky or not, after three-plus hours of play I'm sitting at the final table. I'm in the money. All nine of us will more than recoup our entry fee. I'm barely alive however. My $8,000 is not the smallest pile on the table (two other players have just $5,500) but it's only enough to play one hand. In other words, I have to win the first hand I play or my tournament run is over. 

Luckily, I draw the ninth seat, meaning that I'll be the last player to act--and that I won't have to post a blind for seven hands. This buys me a little bit of time to sit and wait for a decent hand. On the first hand, the owl-like lady in seat four (who is also the chip leader) bets $16,000. Then the baby-faced kid across from me in seat six goes all in with his measly $5500. I'm all set to muck my hand, but then I peer down and spot Ace-King, both of hearts. How can I not play that hand? I push my final eight yellow chips into the pot.

We flip our cards for the showdown. The Owl shows a pair of sevens. And Babyface? The fucker flips over King-King. The only possible card that will help me now is an Ace. It never shows up. Babyface wins the pot. I'm finished after one lousy hand. 

However pitifully brief, this last table appearance wins me $348. Not enough to alert the IRS, but certainly sufficient to buy a couple of (near) victory beers.

Posted by Paul Demko at July 11, 2003 7:37 PM

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