I just experienced what might very well be one of my most satisfying moments in poker.
I recently moved up in limits to the .50c-$1 NL tables because the buy-in is exactly the same, and the play is much, much worse. These tables make Jenna Jameson look tight. How does that comparison even work here? It doesn't, I just wanted to use her name in a post, you know, for Google reasons. And that's another retarded thing I can cross off the list. But that's not the satisfying part.
I started on the table a few hours ago with a full buy-in, and quickly moved up 50% of my original stack, when a player that I'd never seen before bought in for around $35 three seats to my left. Immediately, he started bullying the table with his lower-than-average stack.
Unfortunately for me, he bullied me the most, and there was absolutely nothing I could do about it. I had great starting hands that would dissolve into absolute nothingness by the river. On at least four or five hands, I would fire on the flop and turn, only to have to back off on the river, and that's when he'd make an oversized bet that I simply couldn't call. Ace high for $45? Not likely.
But, we've all played with these types--they play too many hands, bluff far too much on scary boards, and wouldn't know the difference between weakness and being trapped, even if you said "Hey Buddy, I'm trapping you. READY? I'm not lying. I'VE GOT TEH NUTS! BOOYA!"
And this is what I banked on.
I sat there for an hour, waiting, watching him be the calling station that he was and by that time, he had tripled his buy-in. All I needed was a few good cards in order to set my trap.
Those good cards came in the form of the all powerful, suited JackHammer--that's right, Jack-four of hearts.
I was the big blind and the two people between us folded, when he limped. Everyone behind him folded and we were heads-up. It was like in old western movies when music started playing and you immediately knew that a shootout was inevitable. Townspeople cleared to the side of the street, and the two gun-toting madmen made their way to opposite ends of Main Street to prepare for the duel.
Unfortunately, the only gunslinger anthem being played was in the form of a whistle from my lips, and it was being badly whistled at that. It's a little anti-climatic when the whole song is off-key.
Oh good gracious me, would you look at that: the flop has two jacks in it. I might as well fire off a shot here.
BANG! I fire my 7 shooter. I never was one for accurate historical recreation.
Immediately after the bullet sprang from the gun, I noticed the villian put his weathered hand up to his mouth and pull a perfectly unscathed bullet from between his clenched teeth. He even guffawed once, but not more than once, because that would be un-villian-like. I have got to learn that trick. Not only will the ladies ceremoniously lift their hoopskirts in passionate surrender, but come on--it's catching a bullet. In your teeth. If nothing else, I can put it on my resume.
Where was I? Oh yes, the turn. Sorry, I got lost in a hoopskirt. It happens to the best of us.
The turn came a queen and I decided to play a little bit of defense. I grabbed the little floppy-haired Johnson boy as he was running by and used him as a shield. And just as I anticipated, the villian didn't fire.
This guy could very well have the case jack, and if that was indeed the scenario, I was out-kicked and wanted to limit the bleeding. You know, a band-aid instead of a gaping head wound. Also, I knew that no matter what came down on the river, he was going to overbet it. Perhaps being pushed around earlier had added to this cache of machismo, but I--like Bon Jovi--was prepared to be shot down in a Blaze of Glory.
I apologize for the Jovi reference. It was simply too good to pass up.
The river bought a second queen and I immediately thought that he'd backed into a higher full-house, but like I said, I was tied to this hand. Well, the only way I was laying it down was if he bet his full stack amount. I didn't feel like having to rebuy after losing with the ass end of a full house. Is it possible to have the "ass end" of a full house? No matter, I've written it down and it's staying.
The Johnson boy is too stupid to learn that playing in a gunfight just isn't that bright, so I grabbed him again. Yeah, yeah, that means I checked. And, true to form, the villian pulled out a BFG and fired an oversized bet worth $45. I still don't know how he hid it under his trench coat, or how he got it to work in the Wild West, but he did. And the Johnson boy is fucked.
I auto-called and he had to show his A8o. Woohoo, way to push your ace-high, Asshole. Exactly one hand later he called all but .16c of his stack while holding bottom pair. Johnny-fucking-Chan he is not.
So, the satisfaction was related to not only predicting that he'd lose all of his stack, but being one of the players that helped contribute to it. I also take a slight, sick satisfaction in wasting two hours of my employers day by writing this tripe, and getting paid to do so.
Whadda buncha schlubs.
Wow. I truly apologize to all the gunslinger buffs reading this. I just kind of trailed off at the end there.