Ugarte's Poker Grovel #37, or Where Have I Been?I’m a bad, irresponsible blogger. I’ve been playing poker, I’ve been performing, I’ve been generally enjoying life, but I haven’t been writing about any of it. And when I have written, it hasn’t always been particularly interesting. Well, that is about to change. Temporarily. Except for the “not interesting” part; I expect that to hold up quite well.
So, as I said, I’ve been playing poker. The last eight days have seen two UCB tournaments at Above Malibu. Sure, you may have gotten your recap needs for the 8/18 tournament met by asphnxma, but I’ve got a story to tell anyway. Last week’s tournament was bracketed by the Churchwarden’s game and a touch of Pot Limit Omaha after the UCB tournament. Last night was a new tournament followed by a bit of baby no limit. In between I had the pleasure of sweating asphnxma at a local poker room and playing a little four handed NL with newbies for play money. Somehow, I haven’t played online at all, but there is a story there too.
As I read this, I can see that this post would be far too long, so I suspect I will break it up a bit. I know that you are all both relieved. We start on the evening of August 18.
The Abbey
It had been a bad week. My back, an orthopedic mess for over 15 years now - dating back to my sophomore year in college - had gone on the fritz again. In addition to the usual lower back soreness with considerable sciatic pain I had the pleasure of what appeared to be either (a) a strained muscle in my ribcage or (b) a new midback injury that was causing muscle spasms in my ribcage. The new injury had wonderful symptoms that included doubling over in pain and screwing my face up in a wince not seen since those Keystone Light commercials. I should have been worried that my back was going to explode when I flew to Portland in the morning. I was worried that it was a tell.
Everyone at the Churchwarden’s game knew that I could only play from 7:30 to 10:30. I specifically requested that people arrive on time so that we could get in as much poker as possible. The reaction was mixed. People weren’t clear if I was being a dick because I was now a prima donna artist or if I was being a dick because I wanted to maximize my take. Nobody guessed that I was being a dick so that I could get to another poker game. Somehow, they managed to make me pay.
I can’t say that I remember much about my play. It was a long day of suckouts and second-best hands. Mostly losing to Joel, who returned to the game to torture me. On back to back Omaha hands, my J♣ flush lost to his Q♣ when the K&clubs on the river improved my hand but counterfeited my nut straight. On the next hand he rivered me again. Most of my money was lost on good ol’ shitty play, however, so this shouldn’t be seen as anything but an attempt to salvage a bit of pride. I chased highs that didn’t come; I chased lows that didn’t come; I chased a low that ended up being split three ways - and then beaten - which was also a high that was split three ways - and then beaten. (The low and high were 23567 and 34567, respectively. They lost to A2567 and 45678.)
Helmut played his aggressive ass off early in the night, and would have been the big winner by a comfortable margin ... until he vomited off $20 in a game of .25-5 7-stud when he bet on what was clearly the best low hand. Only to remember as he was flipping his cards that the dealer declaration was “HIGH ONLY.” Instead, the Churchwarden swooped in with slow and steady play to finish slightly ahead.
Where was I in all of this? Slowly steaming away my $60 buy-in. The only thing that saved me was when I flopped the nuts both ways on the last hand of the night. I had withered down to $6, but a triple through plus the blinds allowed me to leave with a touch of dignity - and $40 less than I started with.
The cash out process brought on a muscle spasm in my ribs so severe that Helmut was worried that I was having a heart attack. This type of pain is rare, as anyone who looks at me would be shocked to find out that there are muscles on my ribcage. Nobody (including me) can tell if it was the back pain or the cashout that was making me wince, but whatever it was, I had to hightail it up to 23d street to jump into the A.M. tournament.
Above Malibu
As always, I arrived late. Wednesday evenings usually mean either a game at The Abbey or a performance at New York Comedy Club. Even after a bad performance on stage I usually don’t feel as despondent as I did after steaming off money at the Abbey, but a no limit tournament is, literally, a different game. This turned out to be the craziest game I have ever played in.
I was essentially a folding machine. I was playing far too tight for the table and giving up opportunities. My game is generally to play very tight, and has been successful in the past, but the table is starting to get a read on me. The upshot of my tight play is that I don’t get any action from the good players when I bet. I have to take advantage of this in the future, but I’m finding it difficult to convince myself to loosen up. The only hand I played was an all-in reraise from the big blind when MattPack tried to steal-raise from the small blind. I had a high A and put him on a steal. He mucked his cards, unwilling to call off whatever he was holding. After another eternity of folding, I was dealt K♦Q♦ in the cutoff. David made a small raise under the gun and it was folded around to me. With a below average stack - which was slowly slipping away - I figured it was time to take a stand. My table image was solid enough that I was hoping for the blinds plus David’s raise. What I got instead was a call from a player holding KK. This was very briefly bad news, but a Q on the flop, her sister on the turn and a brick on the river meant that I had doubled through with a HUGE underdog. This was the theme of the night.
It was almost inconceivable. I can’t remember a hand where a smart call paid off or a stupid call paid the price. Asphnxma was on the receiving end of a horrible beat when a player called an all-in push with K7o. I doubled through as the short stack when I pushed with T4o before the blinds came through again - and spiked a 4 on the turn to take down AJ. My A♣5 beat AJ when I caught four clubs to make my flush. At least five hands (some I was involved in, some I wasn’t) had similar results during the final table. Each time the short stack doubled through and the final table just kept on playing as if we were in purgatory. I was happy with my play at the Final Table of the Damned, however. With the exception of the early KQs miracle, even when I sucked out, I at least was able to say I was the aggressor. Even when I started from behind it was generally agreed that the call of my push was always more surprising than the push itself. So it went on the hand that crippled me.
The blinds had climbed up to 400/2000/4000. Even though I was the big stack, I only had ~20000 and I didn’t have a very big lead. That meant that stealing blinds was more than worthwhile, and with only four players left KTo in the small blind looked like a great hand. The cutoff and the button both folded and I pushed. The BB contemplated his chances and then asked me how much I had in front of me, ignoring the big stack of green that clearly indicated that I had him covered. I told him that I had him chipped, and he called anyway. With K8o! No straight possibility, no flush possibility and he was outkicked. Once again, my emotions were short lived. He hit his three-outer 8 on the turn and took 18000 off of me. I survived one all-in, but not the second and I busted out in 4th.
I watched long enough to see the guy (who busted out the third place player on the same hand I went down) manage to blow the heads up, even though he started out with a 6:1 chip lead. The heads up was just as unpredictable as the rest of the game. Poker was a big loser in that tournament, but somehow I managed to come out OK. I was in the money, but 4th paid only $25. After a $10 buy-in and my losses from the Abbey I was still down $25 for the evening. Time to play a little ring!
Pot Limit Omaha
This entry will be bilssfully short, as I basically blew through my $20 buy in on one hand. The loser’s lounge PL game has blinds of .25/.25, so there is usually a lot of limping. People don’t raise much because raising hands in Omaha are few and far between and there are usually enough callers of the first pot-sized raise anyway that it is difficult to have confidence in anything but the stone nuts after the flop. After some decent play that added about $5 to my stack, I limped in this fateful hand with K2s-3-J. The flop was A-K-5, giving me a draw to the nut low and not much of a high. I am always suspicious of playing the low draw with A-2, since the probability of a chop is so high; I feel better about 2-3 with an A on the board because I expect that it is more likely to have counterfeited someone else’s low hand. So I called a pot-sized bet from DeCoster. I was playing for the low, which is foolish, but by no means the most foolish thing I did in this hand. The turn was another K, and DeCoster bet the pot again - probably another $5. I actually put him on AK. This would have given him Kings full, and the best possible Kings full at that. I still had my nut low draw though, and the third K looked so good… one more card can’t hurt, can it? The river was a 3. I missed my low draw, but I did improve to Kings full of threes. DeCoster bet the pot again, and - even though I really, really, really thought I was beat I raised him the rest of my stack hoping to get him to lay down his hand. Of course anyone with AA isn’t going to lay down, and DeCoster didn’t. AAAKK handily beat KKK33 and I finished the evening down $45.
And I had to fly to Portland the next morning. With a back that was screaming and a muscle spasm that was doubling me over like a bottle of Mezcal on an empty stomach.
At least it wasn’t raining.
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