Thursday, July 22, 2010

Our Wednesday Night Home Game

My wrists are aching like fire - I suspect a change in the weather, really soon - so this entry may be shorter than it ought to be. But you know, still worth every penny, right?

So I almost never mention my home game, because a lot of times it's really almost just pretend poker. These are people whom I've known forever, it seems, and I count them among my very best friends. So if I lose, it's really not that big a deal. As long as I play reasonably well, or identify when I haven't played well (bonus example of same later) I couldn't give a rat's ass less how much dough I pull out of them.

But Josie and I, who I swear to Buddha would bet on anything, made a wager on who won more, and promised to write about it in her own inimitable (nauseating) style.

The first game we played was heads-up. Her strategy was to raise every single hand. I countered with tightening up, folding BB after BB, folding to every re-raise that I didn't think would take it, and just waited in the tall grass for her. That opportunity came when she raised big with K9o. I shoved with KQo and she snap-called. Had I won this hand I'd have been just about exactly even with her - but she turned a 9 and that was the story of me.

A word about luck: To win every tournament, one doesn't need a huge amount of luck, but one does need one's share of luck. Like if you call 10 hands as an 60/40 dog, for example, your share of luck means you win four of those hands. And I think that I get just about my share of luck - maybe a little less than my share but close enough for rock and roll. I also happen to think that Josie, for reasons inexplicable, enjoys more than her share of luck. I actually called the 9 that lost me that first hand as the third card of the flop; I wasn't off by much.

So - back to the scene.

Second game, first hand out of the chute I find myself calling an un-raised preflop with J9 or K9 - I can't remember which. Flop comes 99Q. Woo-hoo! Flopping trips always makes me giggle like a girl. I play it cool, make a pot-plus-a-wee-bit bet and get called by Noodles. Turn comes a blank, I bet about 1/2 the pot and get called again. River comes along and I bet about the same amount, which by now has eaten half my stack, and get called again. My joy at winning the hand was tempered by the fact that I didn't win the bitch - Noodles had Q9 and flopped the joint. There went any momentum I could possibly have built up. I was out second only to Cricket, who didn't quite seem herself this evening. Cricket sweetie, you ok? Anyway, now I'm down ten bucks; Josie agrees to a three-way split between her, Noodles, and FDD Spuds, and she's up on our bet by $15.

And she has that look in her eye - she wants to win.

She even wore a low-cut dress to distract me. God knows how she did it -- she's not the most gifted girl in the world -- but she was showing about 4 inches of cleavage. Those poor things musta been jammed together like veal. But I was a rock! I was absolutely unfazed by this cheap trick. The Dream Police were NOT coming to arrest me; oh no. I took a picture but I promised I'd send her a copy to see if she would allow it to be shown, and a promise is a promise. Hopefully you'll see it later.

It was only the final game of the evening that my share of luck finally showed up.

I was just about felted after that poorly-played hand I was telling you about earlier. Holding Qs6s as BB, I called a small raise to see the flop, Q23 rainbow. I bet out and FDD Spuds calls. Turn is a blank, I bet small, FDD Spuds shoves, and I go into the tank. I'm terrified of my kicker - it will likely play with the 23 on the board - but instead of coming to the only logical conclusion and throwing it away, I actually said "I call, against my better judgement."

Hey, you fucking idiot: If your better judgement is to lay the hand down, THAT'S WHAT YOU FUCKING DO. Call against my better judgement? Jesus F. X. Tap Dancing Christ on a stick, how much more stupid can I be? How much worse could I possibly have played that hand? I'm all wound up all over again just thinking about it. I actually said the words! Another way to put it is this: "I know exactly what to do, but I'm choosing not to do it." Idiot. I was talking to myself for 10 minutes after that hand.


Anyway, you live, you learn. Not next time.

So I was down to about a blind and a half, doubled up, spent a blind, doubled up, made some dough, spent a blind or two. Now I had about maybe three or four blinds - still pretty impoverished - when I looked down to see pocket 3's. I shoved and hoped for the best.

Nope. Ass-chin and Cricket both call. Ass-chin rolls over 10's, Cricket has a high-ish ace. I'm dead. But no! Luck shows her magnificently beautiful head and I pull my 3 to more than triple up. From there it was just settin' em up and mowin 'em down. Josie raised every single one of my BB's, I shoved when I had at least something and she calls with K8 I think. In fairness it was Mookie time, but be that as it may, I won despite having to take the long way home (she caught her 8 but I rivered a straight to take it away from her). Cricket went down the next hand and victory was mine.

And Josie and I end our evening in a flat-footed tie. Can you beat that shit?

Ah well. Bottom line, it was fun and fellowship, and a lot of laughs that don't come too easy these days. So who cares if it's not exactly real poker? Not me - as long as I don't lose to Auntie Jo. ;)


  1. You suck at poker - I threw the last game to play the mookie. And to say you weren't effected by my veal cleavage - lol your big jewish nose just grew another foot!


    Send the pic over, but I dunno if these guys could take it. :P

  2. And your wrists hurting...does that have anything to do with the picture of me that you took? :P

  3. I suck at poker? You know what, you're kind of a douchebag. Last night you called it damn good poker or somesuch. Well, I guess that's how it goes.

    However, 5 points for calling it veal cleavage.