Ugarte's Poker Grovel #20, or Purple HazeLast Tuesday brought another game at Ferrari’s with a familiar cast. Pauly already wrote the game up at Tao but strangely focused on his own hands, so I guess it’s up to me to write about my own.
I also have some poker blog shoutouts.
My game, I have been told is too tight. I throw away things others at the table play (and win with) and while I am a consistent winner in the home games, my wins tend to be modest. I will make this one time a Rounders reference because it is fairly accurate: I am Knish. I don’t make a living at this, so the comparison isn’t perfectly apt, but the movie treatment of Knish seems to be on the ball. Low risk. Steady +EV. Tight. Dispensing advice that, in all honesty, should be taken. Knish is a great character, but I needed to change my game a little if I was going to have any real success at the table. So I did.
For the first time I really played position. I went for the blinds. I loosened up (for me) in late position. I bet middle pair when I felt that I was playing against nothing but overcards and draws. It was a new Ugarte and for a while things were going well. I started strong and was up early. I’m not a note-taker like Pauly, so I don’t know what my early evening high water mark was, but I do know that the table noticed that I was in more hands than usual.
The early profits quickly dissipated, though. since I spent most of the night in a cloud. Even my early success didn’t snap me back to earth, and my ethereal play became the subject of serious ribbing. As readers by now know, I am a stickler for poker etiquette. I consider the rules of the table a sign of respect to your opponents, and a repeated breaking of those rules a signal that you just don’t give a fuck about those around you. So when I bet out of turn, you know something is fucked up. I stared at the cards when it was my turn to deal. I fumed internally at how long it was taking Ferrari to bet only to find that he had mucked his cards preflop, and it was me that the table was waiting for. Even Ferrari was zinging shit off of me but I was too addled to fight back. (NB: While he’d kick my ass if I stepped to him with malice aforethought, I would strongly suggest that you bet on me if it comes to an insult battle.)
The cards weren’t coming ... unless I laid down my hand or they were accompanied by a board too scary to play. The strength that I showed early wasn’t carrying over, and either my chips were dwindling or the felt was rising; either way, it wasn’t good. If Ferrari’s buy in was the same $60 that seems de rigeur at the other home games I play in, I would have had to rebuy. Fortunately, an angel smiled upon me. Having actually found the felt in front of him, Coach decided to pack it in and just as he left, Marie arrived. Her arrival changed the vibe at the game dramatically and for the better. A pretty girl (um, woman) will do that.
Of course, pretty and dainty aren’t the same thing. Nothing says “treat me like one of the guys” like dropping a c-bomb on the table, but that is just what our fair Marie did. I can’t even remember the context. All I know is that “cunt” rolled off of her lips in an always-classy British accent and almost knocked me out of my chair. Still, I was on the button (for 2/4 HE, 6 handed), and since position-conscious was the rule of the day for me and there were no limpers in front of me, that includes throwing a steal raise at the blinds with Q9. And in her first hand on the table, Marie reraised me! Cussing like a sailor and reraising out of the chute. Not a woman to be fucked with. Well, I guess I have to see the flop… Q-K-x. She checks to me, so I bet my middle pair and ... god damnit she checkraised me! I shouldn’t have called, but I decided that since I had never seen her play before, I had to know if she was bluffing. Whatever came on the turn and the river, I was prepared to pay the likely $10 to see her cards. The turn was low, and as expected she bet and I called. But the river was a 9. I decided not to raise, since I didn’t want to see KQ. I didn’t. Marie flipped over QJo and I found myself with a pot I didn’t deserve after a lucky river.
Ferrari’s game changed also. He was a quiet killer all night. He won $186 but I can’t remember a single hand he pulled (except the four tens in Anaconda). But when Marie sat down, his game became an entirely different animal. He bet hard into Marie on what seemed like (but probably wasn’t) three hands in a row. Only once did he call Marie on the river to see her cards (and he mucked that hand also). Ferrari is obsessed with pot odds. Specifically, he is aware that once the pot reaches a certain level in a low-limit game, the call on the river is almost a no-brainer. It is hard to know exactly what he was trying to do. I thought that he was just dumping hands to Marie and I told him so after the game. He claims that he was trying to bully her with rags and dumped on the river when the bullying didn’t work. He implores me to believe him because he is “too honest for his own good.” But I just can’t. It isn’t because I think he is a liar; it is because I think he is a poker player. The least he can give me is that he went on tilt for a while. We’ll see what he says. (We always see what he says.)
My lucky river 9 and Ferrari’s “lost period” woke me up. I started playing real poker again. Omaha/8 was very kind to me and I won a lot off of Pauly in a game of 7card stack and roll when I was dealt a ♥ flush to the K. Pauly claimed to have a ♠ flush to the Q but ... he didn’t show it. You know what? Pauly’s a poker player too.
After my late night bounceback I cashed out +57 - a distant second to Ferrari, but a damn sight better than the night started.
Poker blog stuff
Felicia Lee set up a tournament for the blogger community at Planet Poker. At the time of this writing (1:15AM, well before I am setting this entry to go live) I know that Rick, Pauly and Mean Gene played and I expect to see writeups from all of them.
Update: You can start with Rick’s. Then you can read Felicia’s. And big ups to Genius of the Poker (who is not Boy Genius) who won the damn thing.
Mean Gene called some serious bullshit on Phil Hellmuth’s nonsense advice to business leaders. I admit that Hellmuth can play some poker. He wouldn’t be on TV at final table as much as he is if he couldn’t walk the walk. Still, it is good that he is being taken to the woodshed because he is a Grade A windbag.
Jeremy at Love and Casino War is giving away Poker Tracker software to someone willing to admit to fishitude. I have no pride, so I threw my hat into the ring.
Last, and certainly not least, Stephen Elliott, the writer whose home game write-ups inspired this ‘umble blog, is almost back. Back in SF after finishing numerous projects, including the promotional work for his book Happy Baby he promises to begin playing and reporting again. He started by posting a great tournament report by fellow writer Jamie Berger, so click the “home game write-ups” link. It is well worth it.
Read Less...
