A Night Out with the Boys
On the fi rst Monday of every month my plans are always the same. Sometime during that day I receive a non-cryptic text message bearing a reminder: “Game tonight.” As you know, I don’t play all that much, but this is a home game I don’t like to miss. In attendance are friends from every walk of life, including a doctor, retailers, construction workers, and a retired FBI agent/author. That last guy is the sucker.
On the schedule for the evening is every imaginable version of poker. With names like Bunk Beds, 727, Follow the Queen, The L Game, and Screw Your Neighbor, every game is abuzz with action and excitement and the rules seem to change almost every time we play. Amazingly, Hold‘em is played the least, and I honestly don’t mind. Learning the crazy games is part of the fun. Half of the time I am one step behind in knowing the rules of the very game we are playing. I often feel like the character in Rain Man; I’m not fully understanding, yet I am there, along for the ride, content just to be out socializing with friends. After the hefty fi ve-dollar buy-in, I grab a beer and a plate of pulled pork and the cards are in the air.
The stakes are incredibly low and because of this my friends are usually throwing money into the pot when they know they shouldn’t. If the bets were bigger they would quickly get out of the way. But for nickels and dimes, why not see another card?
There isn’t much creative bluffi ng at this game and most of the time every player acts like they have the nuts. It seems contagious. Their mannerisms dictate strength, but they can’t all have a winning hand! I know I don’t. I usually have a rag hand, but they insist I play and contribute to the pot. All I can think about is my buddy Greg Raymer who always says you should be folding close to 70 percent of time. Not at this home game. They can easily read my interest in folding – I make sure of it – but it doesn’t matter. They want me to stay in, and I oblige.
Finally, I get my chance as dealer and declare affi rmatively that it’s time to play Limit Texas Hold‘em. I hear a few grumbles but they abide. In contrast to many of the other games, Hold‘em is respected at this eight-player table, but that doesn’t mean they’re going to fold.
As the fi rst hand begins, they all methodically look at their cards and begin to react with behaviors they aren’t aware of. Juan exhales in a way that I can hear and I know he has nothing. Frank looks around, sits quietly and touches his eyelid. Greg sits higher than usual… or maybe he is moving away from the table, I can’t tell just yet. Chris plucks at his upper lip ever so briefl y before making a raise. By the time it gets back to me and my pocket kings, everyone is committed to the pot.
The fl op brings Ad Kh 3c. Ifve fl opped a set and am a little nervous they are going to think I somehow favored my hand as dealer. My focus remains on my opponents as I try to gauge immediate post-fl op reactions, and on myself since my eHappy Feetf typically kick into gear when I have a good hand.
Everyone at the table is beginning to make adjustments after seeing the fl op. They squirm in their chair, touch their face, or transmit other notable behaviors. They could care less that I am looking at them and are only thinking about the odds and their chances to win. Once more everyone commits a 50¢ bet to the pot. I comment that we need to spice things up so I raise. As I hoped, this is followed by howls that I am obviously bluffi ng. Nevertheless, after looking at their cards to check their holdings, everyone follows my lead and puts in 50¢.
It’s just starting to get interesting. Frank begins to inch forward and asks me if I have a good hand. I respond, “It’s as good as the beer I’m having.” KB, who provided the beer nods with a “Thanks.”
I carefully burn the next card and deal the turn, the 7h. Mostly sighs come from my opponents, although Mitch begins to shift in his chair. Everyone puts in yet another bet and for the fi rst time I see that Chris is pursing his lips. Given my profession, I announce, gChris is going to fold,h but he doesnft and stays in. Ifm ignored, but I know the truth about his hand.
I deal the Kd on the river and it takes all the effort I have to conceal my emotions. Frank is still in the pot and Ifm not sure why. Greg bets and that causes Chris to fi nally fold. He acknowledges my previous comment about pursed lips by saying, gPurse this, Navarro.h I ignore the insult because I know that pursing of the lips is something that we do when we disagree or donft like something. Frank calls because thatfs what he does, even if he has to buy in several times during the night. I raise and they all call once again and we show down our hands.
Frank also fl opped a set – threes – while Mitch has a pair of aces. Greg doesn’t even bother turning his cards over, but merely says he was “close.” I fl ip over my monster hand and walk away with just under six dollars.
The evening ends too early as we all have work the next morning. It has been a night of fun and laughter. The winner (nope, not me), walks away with $14 and we all leave KB’s house looking forward to next month. It costs more to drive here than to play, but this game is about the camaraderie, not the money.
The game also provides an education and I wouldn’t be doing my job if I wasn’t learning at a poker table. No matter what the stakes, we reveal our emotions in real time. I witnessed the pacifying gestures on the face, the leaning forward, the neck touching… and we were only playing for dimes.
All these observations have to include context. In our case, the context is that people at this game commit to the pot no matter what for the sake of harmony. In the same way, at a high stakes game where one player has a lot of gamble and lots of money to burn, the context is that they will play loosely with their money. Pot commitment is not beholden to actual card strength.
After so many years, I relearn something every time I play with these guys. Even though we play for fun and do so often enough to know each other quite well, there are still those that don’t pay attention to tells. They simply don’t care to invest the time to observe, decode, and interpret nonverbal behavior. That’s fi ne if you want to limit your ability to play poker, but if you’re taking the game a little more seriously, you can’t afford to fall into this category.
And that’s it, enough excitement for one night. Next month the game is at Frank’s house. I can’t wait.
