Money Hater

I recently got lucky and won a tournament. When we got down to 6 players, I began to pay more attention to the gentleman on my right. He had to be in his 60’s and looked like he had worked on a whaling boat in the Arctic Sea for 37 years. He was not an imposing physical specimen, but he had a rugged toughness about him that let you know he was your man if you needed to procure a large sea-borne mammal. Actually he was not right next to me as there was an empty seat between us, but was close enough so that I could see he had an unfinished “MOM” tattoo on his left forearm.

While waiting for him to act (which was a 15 second ordeal every single hand. it wasn’t that he looked at his cards and then paused.  it actually took him several seconds to retrieve his cards.  it was maddening.), I noticed that his card protector was a poker chip that had an inspirational religious message written on it. To make this discovery even more unsettling, the divine message was cleverly intertwined with some poker lingo. It said something like ,”I’m all-in with Jesus”, in words that were surrounding a cross.

It turned out that not only was this guy a sea-faring, God-fearing evangelist, he was a curmudgeonous prick as well. He was constantly complaining that the spectators behind him were talking too loudly. It got to the point where he had the floor woman come over and sit next to him so she could experience this audio assault he was enduring. To her credit, she listened to him bitch and got him running his mouth and pretty soon he forgot all about those chatty spectators. I think this guy just liked to complain, because those people were almost silent.

A little later on there are only 3 of us left, and I notice that he starts singing or humming or something. I’m not sure what it is initially, but there is definitely something musical coming out of his mouth. I focus my hearing on his voice. I can’t make out much of it, but I clearly hear him sing, “You can’t find Jesus on the in-ter-net” several times.

All this religious material got me to thinking about whether or not Jesus was paying attention to this guy’s play, and if he indeed was, why had he not struck him down for open-limping two queens on the button in a 3-handed game?

Thanks to everyone who stuck around to watch me win my first tournament. Your support meant a lot.

One thing that I have learned from being a poker pro is that playing limit texas hold’em is one of the most frustrating endeavors that one can endure.

In everything we do in this world, luck plays a part. When I went for a walk earlier, I was lucky that a tree didn’t fall on my head and kill me, and that I did not get run over by a bus, and that I was not eaten by a pack of ravenous lions. Granted, I took great care on my stroll to avoid listing trees, speeding buses and hungry lions, but the fact is I got lucky. Not very lucky, but I got lucky that I didn’t get unlucky.

Now, if I were to sit directly under a rotted tree, or walk down the middle of the road, or saunter through the Serengeti with trout in my pockets, I would surely be crushed by that falling tree, or smeared by a bus, or mauled by a lion. The reaction of most when hearing of my fate would be something along the lines of, “Well, what the hell did the guy expect?”

Unfortunately, such is not the way of limit texas hold’em. One can be completely devoid of reason and common sense, yet still survive and even prosper. For example, I played a hand recently where I raised AQ of clubs, and the guy in the big blind called with the 98 of clubs. The flop came down A45 with no clubs. This guy checks, I understandably bet, and inexplicably this guy calls. He has nothing. Absolutely nothing. He needs to catch a card on both the turn AND river to win this pot, yet he calls the flop bet. This play is beyond stupid. Yet it comes 6 on the turn and 7 on the river, and this guy gets bailed out by the deck and makes a straight.

It turns out that he was 4% to win the pot. OK. Are we going to survive 4 times in 100 if we do something equivalently moronic, like walking through the Serengeti reeking of fish? No. We wouldn’t survive 4 times in 1,000. We are going to get eaten every single time. Yet in limit hold’em, one can attempt to burn their money but find that despite their best efforts to incinerate it, they have actually caused it to multiply.

I hate this fucking game.

There is a disturbing trend in poker that must be addressed. We’ve all seen the guys on TV wearing their sunglasses at the poker table. Some of us have even been so unfortunate as to have played with such an individual. These people need to knock it off. It is socially equivalent to having a mullet. Unless your name is Stevie Wonder, leave the sunglasses in the car. You think you are cool, but just like people with mullets, you are sadly mistaken. You are not cool. You are an idiot.

In my experience there seem to be 3 types of sunglass wearers; the Jim McIlvaine, the Luke SkyWalker, and the Jack Nicholson.

The Jim McIlvaine is a big stiff. These folks are very rigid in their motions and mannerisms. They sit very erect, and likely keep a very tidy home. The chip that protects their cards will always be perfectly centered. Occasionally they will have a custom chip-protector. This will also be perfectly centered, and typically will be some bizarre trinket that holds special meaning to them, but the reasons behind this special meaning are really weird and borderline creepy. Either the trinket or one of those big dumb “Ladies” or “PocketRockets” giant coin things that you get at those soon-to-be-replaced-by-a-JambaJuice poker stores. The Jim McIlvaine folds his underwear a bit too neatly.

The Luke SkyWalker treats his sunglasses like the blast shield on the Millenium Falcon. When he is out of a hand they are stowed up on his head, but are at the ready if a battle should ensue. When he enters a pot, he lowers them into their protective position. These people are horrible at poker, but believe just the opposite of their ability and thus feel entitled to win every pot. They will often express their derision for the subpar play of their opponents with sighs and shrugs and under-their-breath mumblings. The Luke SkyWalker typically has bad facial hair, and is quite fond of hockey fights and other completely retarded testosterone-driven antics.

The Jack Nicholson is always seen with sunglasses on. He is able to carry out his daily activities completely unincumbered by the fact that he is wearing those stupid sunglasses indoors. Seeing him somewhere without the sunglasses would be equivalent to seeing him without pants. They are a standard part of his wardrobe at this point. He smiles and is jovial and makes conversation. When interacting with him it is almost as if the sunglasses aren’t even there. In many situations, the sunglasses can act as a barrier between two people, but this is not the case with the Jack Nicholson. He makes you feel comfortable and loved and cared about. He charms you and wins you over. You soon find yourself actually liking the Jack Nicholson, which is stupid because he is an obnoxious lout who is wearing fucking sunglasses at the poker table, and thus should be the focal point of your most venomous hate.