Money Hater

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There is nothing quite like spring in Minnesota. I don’t know if it is because winter is always so harsh and unrelenting or what, but for some reason the first few days when it is really nice outside are just fabulous. The air feels clean and fresh, and I think everyone kind of has a “hey, we made it” attitude. It is a comradery that comes with overcoming great adversity. I imagine that people who survive a harrowing shipwreck feel the same way.

I just went for a walk and stopped at a store up the street to buy some ice. I probably should have bought some ice cube trays instead, but I never was a fan of that “teach a man to fish” saying, so a bag of ice it is.

When I walked up to the counter there was a guy there writing a check. Normally this would drive me nuts, as in this day and age a check should be written in a store exactly never, but my attention was focused on the giant paradox going on behind the counter.

On the left side was a vast selection of cigarettes. There must have been over 20 choices for the tobacco enthusiast. On the right side was nearly as wide of a selection of quit-smoking items. Gums and whatever else one can buy over the counter to rid themselves of the addiction that sits only 2 feet to the left. It was like a giant middle finger pointed at anyone who smokes or is trying to quit. I wonder how many people walk in looking to buy some nicotine gum and think, “Ah, screw it. Give me a carton of Marlboro 100s.” Or how many people who used to come in for the gum fall off the wagon and now have to go somewhere else to buy their smokes because they don’t want the cashier to give them the, “Oh, I see you’ve failed” look as they ring up two cartons of Camel lights.

It is as if the store just decided to say, “Look, we know that if you smoke, at some point you’re gonna want to quit, and we know that if you ‘quit’ you most likely will fail a few times. Well, we’ve got what you need right here regardless of where you are in this often futile cycle of quit/start/quit/start/quit, and we know you’re coming for one or the other. Basically, we’ve got your ass. So, what’ll it be today?”

I just got back from 10 days at Commerce. Two days before we left, there was snow in the forecast. Today it was 70. Not that I enjoyed it, as we landed at 6:30am. I got home and crawled immediately into bed. I am afraid that I am back on vampire-time, which is no good if it’s gonna be 73 and sunny every day. Adjustments must be made.

It sure feels good to be out of that hotel. One more meal in that place and I think my body would simply stop taking it. “Nope. That’s it. Anything you try to send down, we’re either sending back up or never sending out. It’s time to stop with the bad food. Got it?” I do get it, and thus we got the hell out of there.

It was absurd for me the first few days. I kept flopping sets. I must have flopped 1.25sets/hour for 15 straight hours. It almost got embarrassing as I rolled over yet another set that filled up on the flush-bringing turn card that also made some poor bastard a straight. That said, I wouldn’t have it any other way.

The day before I came back, there was an incident I didn’t think too much of at the time but now find to be just hilarious. There was one dealer who had just been asked to make some scramboooool of the deck by a white guy who should know better than to ask for scrambooool. He was not being sarcastic. He genuinely enjoys his scrambooools. This is just too much for me so I, also being a white guy who should know better than to ask for scramboooool, saw fit to help the dealer scrambooool by reaching into the deck and scramboooling the cards along with him as I shouted, “Yes. You are must make a very good scramboooool, dealah!!!” Another white guy (who also should, and does, know better than to ask for scramboooool) then says with a wrinkled brow and a slightly pained expression, “Dealah, make sure to cut the deck RIGHT in half!!!” That opens the floodgates and now everyone is into it and we are all enjoying the love of the scrambooool and the absurd dealer requests which are now being tossed about freely. It’s like an open forum for superstitious idiots, but in this case half of the idiots are being sarcastic. The dealer nods that he will try to honor this bevy of requests, and then turns to me and asks which hand he would like me to cut with. “Left”, I say without hesitation, almost as if I was expecting the question.

I have been in LA for the past few days playing some live poker. It is always an interesting experience. There are always little gambooolers throwing cards and asking for set-ups and berating dealers and going on tilt in some form. Anything is fair game for criticism, except of course their awful awful play. When they lose, it is because dealer kill them. Or set up kill them. Or bad seat change kill them. Or machine malfunction and then kill them. It is always something, and they are not afraid to make their feelings known.

On this trip, I saw something that may have actually legitimately qualified for “this dealer kill me”. Two little gambooolers were involved in a pot. Both gamboooolers tend to like to blame dealer, but the guy on the button seems to know that blaming dealer is foolish, and often smiles and laughs when he does it. It is in his blood to berate dealer, but it is pretty clear he knows how dumb it is.

This guy raises on the button with KK, and the other little gamboooler calls in the BB with 55. The flop comes 744 with two diamonds. The little gambooooler in the BB bets out and the button raises. Before the BB can act on this raise, the dealer burns and brings out the turn card. This card is a King. The problem is that the flop action is not completed, so that card needs to get shuffled back into the deck once the flop action is completed. So, the BB calls the raise and the King gets shuffled back into the deck. This understandably irritates the button. The dealer now burns and turns and brings what would have been the ‘natural’ river card. This card is a 5. BB is now thrilled because he made a full house. The river card is some brick. So, had the dealer not screwed up, a King would have come on the turn and a 5 would have come on the river, giving both players full houses, and these guys would have gone off for a ton of bets.

The guy with KK is not pleased, and is constantly mumbling how the dealer cost him $3,000. What some of the hot-blooded little gamboooolers would have done had they been in his shoes one can only guees, but I cannot imagine a situation where flying chips/cards/obscenities would not be prominently involved, and perhaps even law enforcement.

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Today I was fortunate enough to get to play live poker with some of the worst players in the northern hemisphere. I am always thrilled when I show up and the game is very good. That said, it is not uncommon for me to get absolutely tortured in such a game. It is like fighting a bunch of blind midgets in a confined area. If you can neutralize a few of them, you’ll be fine, but if they get a hold of you, it’s gonna be a long day. Today was such a day.

The lead midget kept telling me that I “always have an ace in my hand.” He must have said it 10 times throughout the day. I must admit that he is correct. If I raise, there is a very good chance that I have an ace in my hand. Even in light of this fact, he still managed to play the following hand against me today…..

One person folds and I raise UTG+1. This should be a good indication to anyone with even a modicum of poker sense that I might have something, and that something may indeed be an ace. For a moment I fear that I will not get any action, because “I always have an ace”. If they always think I have a big hand, they’re just going to fold and I won’t make any money. Thankfully this is not the case, as 2 players coldcall, king midget 3bets, the blinds call 2 more bets, I call and now the first coldcaller 4bets, we all call. This pot is now huge and it was started by the guy who “always has an ace”. These guys must have really good hands. Or maybe they have a special “wild” card or something in their hands that is actually better than an ace. Hmmm. I better be careful here.

There are many of us to the flop which comes K74r. Checks to the coldcall/4bettor who bets whatever he is misplaying, midget-in-the-middle calls, king midget calls, I call. The turn is a queen, putting 2 hearts on the board. Same action as on the flop. The river is the 4 of hearts. I check, the coldcall/4bettor bets, midget-in-the-middle who has been doing nothing but calling up to this point calls yet again, king midget now raises, I fold, the coldcall/4bettor calls in disgust and now midget-in-the-middle who up to this point has done nothing but call, folds closing the action getting over 20:1. The 4bettor slams down two black aces in disgust as king midget rolls over the 92 of hearts. Apparently he wasn’t worried about me having an ace.

Today is MayDay. It is also my sister’s birthday. Happy birthday, SueNa.

It is also the time of year when the snow needs to stop. We are over a month into spring, so it is time. Unfortunately MotherNature has other plans, for when I look at the pictures of the little boxes with days above them on the extended forecast, there is a giant snowflake icon in the box labeled “Sat.”. It was 65 and sunny today, and in 3 days there might be fucking snow on the ground. In May. The poor birds and squirrels and any other animals that have come out of hiding, to enjoy what their biological clocks are telling them should be spring, must be confused as hell. As I walked to my car the other morning in 38 degree weather, I noticed there were lots of birds chirping. I just know they were bitching about this weather, and that the guy who lead the migration back to MN is taking all kinds of flak for landing the gaggle in what looks to most of the birds as fucking winter.

I think it may be affecting some humans as well. There was one gentleman in my local card room who seemed to be quite confused by the extreme fluctuations in weather conditions. I had seen him before and think I may have even played with him, but wasn’t sure. Naturally I assumed he was just awful at limit hold’em. I would soon learn that I was either correct in my assumption, or he was being affected by the weather in such a way that he played as bad anyone could ever play this game. For example….

Someone raises in early position, I 3bet with two black 8s, the specimen in question calls 2 cold in the BB, and the initial raiser calls. Flop comes AhQs7d. They check to me, I bet, the BB calls and the other guy folds. The turn is the 5c. He checks, I bet, he calls. I now hate this hand and really hate this guy in the BB because I know he has a Q and I know he ain’t folding it and why would he ever have a Q in this spot unless he has exactly KQ which he should fold to a 3rd barrell from me but I know he’s too stupid to realize that and this sucks. The river is the 4s. He checks, I give up and check behind. He says, “I was setting you up for the check/raise” as he rolls over the 32 of clubs for a running 5-high straight. Splendid effort there Merlin. This living, breathing, human indictment of the American educational system put $180 in the pot with the nut low, and not a red cent when he had the 2nd nut high. His hand went from being “12 below zero and windy as hell”, to “83 and sunny with a light breeze”, yet he put in all his money when he was freezing his ass off and none when he had sunny skies.

I’m sick of this fucking weather.