Poker
Poker. It's the sport of champions. At times it can be prosperous, other times challenging, even damaging. It can hurt the bankroll… all it takes is one mistake to lose all your damn gold. However, if you’re clever enough to fold at the right times, you could end up on TV, in the limelight. Just make sure the time’s right, pick your spots, be quick when you fi nd a player you can stop or exploit. Showing off is not the point; it’s really about feeling no doubt and going with the fl ow until everyone else is out.
Whether it’s cash games or tournaments, a fast way to learn a bit is to study all your buddies and the way they tick. That’s the way to go: You need good reads to become a pro. You need to believe you can outsmart your foes, deceive them into seeing weakness when you actually have a full boat. Fake them into a good fold when you’ve really got nothing; bluffi ng is a key aspect to practice. That is, you’ll be cashing more checks if you know something that they don’t. Look into your opponents’ eyes; they can’t disguise their true soul. A fl inch can give you all the info. Just decipher each move, combine this with appropriate betting, and know that you will not lose.
Allow me to paint the scene. Sitting at the Bellagio, trying to make some green. I believe I was in late position, and the way I was squinting looked like I was on a suicide mission. Folded to me, my play was standard – raise with jack-ten as I made friendly banter. The button folded, so I would be last to act; the small blind glared at me like I was performing a terrorist act… he folded nonetheless, I was none depressed. I would be fi ne taking the blinds and moving on to the next hand.
Damn, the big blind might play back… he reraised, dude kinda reminds me of Layne Flack. That’s okay. I read him for weak and I knew by the end of the day he’d have to read ’em and weep. My brain said fl at-call, devil on the shoulder said threebet and that’s all. I went with the fi rst one, my stack was big enough so I could hit a fl op and hurt him… this much was certain.
Flop rolled out, six, seven, eight. Yeah, I had potential for the jack-high straight. Damn, the guy bet out with an unfl inching face; now I had to think about the path of my fate. I actually now had a change in read, his bet seemed stronger then I had originally felt. Well, I was not sure if I could tell whether he was there already or still needed help.
Since that was the situation, i made him sweat, faked debating, stalled, then smooth-called. A nine was the card that would make him cry, so of course I died inside when an ace graced the turn. It's fine. The pot was basically still up for grabs. I just hoped he did not hit his Big Slick, an event which would make me sick; plus be bad for my stack, if he bet out I'd fold...cause I'm not fucking with that. Although, what he really did was the opposite: dropped his hand down to check like I wanted it.
Now the pot’s like fi ve grand, I looked at my man like damn I should stab and pick up those pretty chips. I clenched my fi sts. Slowly I reached while I followed his demeanor, and took a bunch of hundos. This guy was thirty years my senior; experience aside I still decided to treat him like a tourist at Suncoast. I bet about three-quarters of the pot, hiding my eyes, which were clearly bloodshot. He called on the spot. What could he have? Maybe he fl opped an overpair, but the ace scared him into slowing down right there. I was still quite unaware.
Okay, the board (6-7-8-A) stared back at me. I whispered to it please, please give me the card I need. The dealer burned one, it was in slow motion, the card he fl ipped up was the focus of everyone’s notice. Was it my straight card? Of course not. That sinking feeling almost made me throw up. Sigh… it was a fi ve. Now the old guy stared at it, stared at me, rapped the table while I’m thinking that losing huge pots makes me want psychotherapy.
But hold up for a minute. Now the dude looked weaker and I’m thinking this is truly the right opportunity. I can only win by bluffi ng. The board’s four to a straight, plus he might have nothing (6-7-8-A-5). I took my time, and steadily said, “I’m all in”… he wasn’t ready for it. I held my breath. He looked disgusted. This is my last buy-in; I can NOT GO BUSTED. Please ship the mustard, the sugar, what have you… God, if he folds, that would be right up my avenue. He thought for what seemed to be three weeks. Then he did something that made me smile from cheek to cheek. Not only did he fold; oh no… that’s the half of it. He fl ipped up THREE ACES, now THAT made me fl ip! What a happy moment, I didn’t even show it. I just took a deep breath and said “Great fold, sir, how’d you know I hit?”
I think the moral of the story is that poker is sort of unpredictable. You might get lost in a hand and be more surprised by what you pull than by your opponents. Eventually know that if you have passion for this, then things fall into place more then you might expect. The key is to respect the whole picture: One line might rhyme but you can’t always see the whole scripture. As long as you sit there and stay the course, you know you’ll be eventually making poetry out of each individual part.
