Discussion:
Contest: Tell Me a Story
(too old to reply)
Patti Beadles
2005-01-05 08:25:09 UTC
Permalink
The tables were very good to me tonight, and now I'm in a mood to
be entertained. To that end, I'm sponsoring an RGP story contest
and giving away free money to get it going.

Tell me a good story about poker. I don't care if it's a funny
story, a sad story, an insightful story, or just a weird one--
just make it interesting and entertaining.

On or around January 10th, I'll pick my favorite story from among
the submissions, and the winner will receive $20 via PokerStars
transfer. Two runners-up will receive $10 via PokerStars transfer.
Since I'm putting up all of the prizes for this little event,
I will be the sole judge. My decisions are final.

n.b. I'm not your eighth-grade English teacher, but style counts.
I'm unlikely to be impressed by bad spelling, poor grammar,
or badly-formatted paragraphs.

The fine print: your story or stories must be posted in this thread
in order to be eligible-- emailed submissions do not count. If you
post your story as a separate thread you run the risk of my not
seeing it, though I will do my best to look for stray submissions.

There is a limit of one prize per person, though you may submit
multiple stories if you'd like. Your submission must contain
a working email address so that I can contact you in the event
that your story wins-- munged addresses are acceptable so long
as I can figure out how to unmunge them. Your stories must be
your own writing-- plagarism is evil.

I reserve the right to reprint any submissions on a website
dedicated to the contest. Authorship information will remain
intact, of course.

So tell me a story!

-Patti

P.S. No, this isn't a joke or a scam. There's no catch. If you
don't know who I am, Google me-- you'll find that I'm a longtime
RGPer, nine-year BARGE veteran, and I'm fairly well-known around
the community.
--
Patti Beadles, Oakland, CA |
pattib~pattib.org | Patti, your whole LIFE wouldn't
http://www.pattib.org/ | make it through airport security!
Check out www.tribe.net! | -- ADB Murray Logan
JMike
2005-01-05 15:03:56 UTC
Permalink
It took Patti's note here to remind me that, at about sixteen, I wrote
a poker story for English composition class. It was another in a
sequence of "push the boundaries of the assignment" experiments that
were a lot of fun and seemed to really go over well with the teachers.
Maybe a few of the teachers at my high school, who were collectively
the renegades that had split from the stuffier east side of town ten
years earlier when population pressure split the district into two, had
just read "Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance" and generally
encouraged such creativity. I'm not sure.

I think I still have the original sitting around in a drawer of
high-school salvage. Maybe I should wait until tomorrow and fetch it
to work here and just type it in unchanged. But, "ready, fire, aim"
being my motto, I'll sit down here and give you a
twenty-plus-years-later retelling of my adolescent poker story.

(Please excuse the Wild West setting, the excruciatingly dated
five-card-stud game, and the general odor of O. Henry hanging in the
air. This story is from 1982 and I was sixteen, for crying out loud.)


--------
"The Big Bluff"

The Old-Timer sat in his chair, a little sadly, looking over the table
at the twenty dollars the Stranger had just pushed toward the pot. The
bustle and activity of earlier in the evening had ended. The
bartender, leaning behind the bar quietly washing glasses, was the only
other person in the room.

This hand had developed slowly. Only a dollar had gone in before the
fourth card. With the fourth card the Stranger had paired his jack,
and the Old-Timer had caught another heart. The Stranger had bet two
more dollars and the Old-Timer had called. The Stranger's fifth and
last card was a third jack. The Old-Timer now showed the six, seven,
eight, and nine of hearts. The Old-Timer had about twenty dollars in
front of him. Whether to call was going to be his last decision of the
night.

The Old-Timer looked carefully at the Stranger. A younger man, clearly
a businessman rather than a card player. He had come in on the
stagecoach early in the afternoon, carrying two bags, and had asked for
a room for just one night.

"Well, young man, that was a good card for me, but you know as well as
I do that my straight or flush can't beat your full house," the
Old-Timer said, collecting his remaining money and standing up.
"You're a good player and I'm done for the night. Good night." The
Old-Timer carefully turned his cards down, stuck them into the deck,
and swung through the doors into the quiet street.

The Stranger watched silently until the Old-Timer was gone. Then a
smile broke out on his face as he swept the money into a pile. He
looked at the bartender. "I bluffed that old man right out of his
boots," he said, turning over his hole card. "I only had three of a
kind."

Then he looked at the sign over the bar. "POKER TOURNAMENT TOMORROW,"
it said. "$200 entry fee, winner take all."

"I was going to go to Austin tomorrow," said the Stranger. "But if
that old-timer is the kind of poker player you have around here, I'm
going to have to stay and win that tournament instead. Book my room
for another night. Good-night."

As the Stranger went up to his room, the bartender came out from behind
the bar to clean up. He put the Stranger's cards back on the deck and
turned to put the cards back behind the bar. But as he held the cards
at the table, a thought struck him.

He paused.

He flipped the deck face up onto the table and spread it out.

He smiled.

There, underneath the four other small hearts that had been showing,
was the five of hearts to complete the straight flush that the Hustler
indeed had held.
--------
Sure, it's cheesy. But I hope it's worth twenty bucks :)
--JMike
ContactGSW
2005-01-05 15:25:03 UTC
Permalink
Post by JMike
Sure, it's cheesy. But I hope it's worth twenty bucks :)
--JMike
Not bad for a 16 y/o, reminds me of all those great short stories I read
back in the school days.

'I feel strongly both ways'
ContactGSW

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Peg Smith
2005-01-05 15:26:09 UTC
Permalink
This happened in a small room about ten years ago. It was 4:00 a.m.
and our $2-$10 stud8 game was the only game going at the time. Judy
was in Seat #1, Tom was in seat #2, and I was in Seat #3. We'd been
laughing a lot, telling yarns and giving each other crap, having a
great time.

I don't remember why, but I said to Tom, "Yeah? Kiss my ass."

"Bare it, lady."

"You know I have more guts than brains, don't dare me."

Larry, the floor, said laughingly, "Don't even think about it, Peg."

Judy then double-dared me, and slid two red chips out in front of her
and told me they were mine if I did it. I laughed, "You foolish woman.
I would've done it for nothing." Then I stood up. Larry, who was
sitting on a stool near the table, stood up, too. "Peeeeggggg..." Too
late. I dropped 'em. Then I leaned toward Tom, who planted a loud
smooch on my right butt cheek.

Judy went nuts. The players and dealer went nuts. Larry almost had a
stroke. He was jumping up and down toward the ceiling trying to block
the camera with his hands, giving me holy hell, and laughing so hard
he could barely yell at me. I zipped up my jeans, sat down, put the
two red chips on my stacks and said, "Larry, just tell surveillance
I'm crazy."

"You ARE crazy, I CAN'T BELIEVE YOU DID THAT!" Then he passed a box of
kleenex around the table so we could wipe our eyes and blow out noses.

Peg
JT
2005-01-05 19:30:37 UTC
Permalink
Post by Peg Smith
"You ARE crazy, I CAN'T BELIEVE YOU DID THAT!" Then he passed a box of
kleenex around the table so we could wipe our eyes and blow out noses.
Did you have a cold? :)

JT
BNiizawa
2005-01-05 19:37:42 UTC
Permalink
Post by Peg Smith
This happened in a small room about ten years ago.
Jesus Christ...the only reason for more submissions is to see who gets the
runner-up prizes.

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GrouchySmurf1002
2005-01-05 19:41:00 UTC
Permalink
Post by BNiizawa
Post by Peg Smith
This happened in a small room about ten years ago.
Jesus Christ...the only reason for more submissions is to see who gets the
runner-up prizes.
Well, unless someone has a similar story where "Kiss my ass" is replaced
by a few other key phrases.

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Patti Beadles
2005-01-05 22:23:32 UTC
Permalink
A similar story from BARGE a few years ago:

It's the 4-8 must drink HORSE game, and it's somewhere around five
in the morning. We've all been drinking heavily, of course, since
the rules of the table require it. OK, and because we're all a
bunch of degenerate lushes.

A noted poker author is seated on my left-- I won't mention his
name, but it rhymes with Stolen Walla. Mr. Walla and I go way back,
matching each other drink-for-drink for several hours. We're also
old friends.

I can't remember if the game is holdem or omaha-- I think omaha, but
the hand would make more sense if it was holdem. In any case, it
was a flop game, and I may only think it was omaha because I was
seeing double at that point.

On the turn we're heads-up, and I decide I'm going to make a play at
Stolen with my total crap hand, so I check raise him. He calls, and
I bet the river to follow through with the bluff. Stolen looks at
me and says, "show me a big pair and I'll fold."

I swear that what comes next was the alcohol talking, not me. I
turn to him, lean over, and grab the neck of my already low-cut
shirt, and flash him the biggest (and only) pair I have at the
moment.

He was true to his word-- after he picked himself up off the floor,
his cards hit the muck.

-Patti
--
Patti Beadles, Oakland, CA |
pattib~pattib.org |
http://www.pattib.org/ | The deep end isn't a place
Check out www.tribe.net ! | for dipping a toe.
Peg Smith
2005-01-06 01:07:48 UTC
Permalink
Post by Patti Beadles
I swear that what comes next was the alcohol talking, not me. I
turn to him, lean over, and grab the neck of my already low-cut
shirt, and flash him the biggest (and only) pair I have at the
moment.
Keep the money, your story is waaaaay better. LOL.

Peg
Peg Smith
2005-01-06 01:14:42 UTC
Permalink
Post by Patti Beadles
On the turn we're heads-up, and I decide I'm going to make a play at
Stolen with my total crap hand, so I check raise him. He calls, and
I bet the river to follow through with the bluff. Stolen looks at
me and says, "show me a big pair and I'll fold."
That reminds me of an Omaha game of lo, these many years ago. Like you
and...uh..."Stolen", Joe and I were heads up and I'd bluffed at the
river when a scary card came. He thought for a few moments then asked
me, "How big's your pair?" I answered, "34B, how big's yours?" The
table roared.

Joe was fun to play cards with, he always kept the table laughing. One
night someone asked him, "Joe, can I buy you a drink?" Joe answered,
"No, son, I quit drinking quite a few years ago. I kept breaking out
in spots."

"Huh?"

"Spots like Denver, Seattle, Cleveland...."

Peg
Tony S
2005-01-05 15:50:57 UTC
Permalink
I once played a poker game.


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Punker
2005-01-05 16:51:39 UTC
Permalink
I was fairly new to casino poker and was playing 3-6 hold'em. Someone
straddled and I was dealt KK; the pot ended up being capped 8 ways
preflop. This was by far the biggest preflop pot I'd ever seen and I was
very nervous.

Flop: KT4

An early player bet out, and in my excitement, I raised and turned my hand
face up, saying "Just fold!". Person to my left pondered, and folded AA
face up (incorrectly given the pot!). One caller on the button and the
early player called.

Turn: A

The early player bet out again, I called, and the button called.

River: K

The table broke, with the early player showing QJ, and the button showing
T4 (obviously also a very new player!).

The kicker to the story was that the bad beat jackpot was capped at
$20,000, so my wise move of turning my hand face up cost me $5,000. I'm
not sure I've gotten $5,000 worth of EV out of telling this story since.

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da pickle
2005-01-05 17:02:16 UTC
Permalink
"Punker"

"Fairly new" must have been an understatement. :)
Dubbs
2005-01-05 18:15:59 UTC
Permalink
It seems that maybe most of you are missing the idea of the short story
contest. I'm assuming you mean an actual, developed story, not just an
account of a hand that happened, right? Or am I the one who's not
getting it?
Patti Beadles
2005-01-05 18:28:33 UTC
Permalink
Post by Dubbs
It seems that maybe most of you are missing the idea of the short story
contest. I'm assuming you mean an actual, developed story, not just an
account of a hand that happened, right?
I didn't necessarily mean a fully-developed short story-- just a
tale about poker. Peg's kiss-my-ass story was right on the money.

-Patti
--
Patti Beadles, Oakland, CA |
pattib~pattib.org | Patti, your whole LIFE wouldn't
http://www.pattib.org/ | make it through airport security!
Check out www.tribe.net! | -- ADB Murray Logan
Peg Smith
2005-01-05 18:39:18 UTC
Permalink
Post by Patti Beadles
Peg's kiss-my-ass story was right on the money.
Thank you, thank you. And my birthday just happens to be January 10th.
But don't let that influence you in any way. Really.

Peg
smellmuth
2005-01-05 18:33:35 UTC
Permalink
two stories: both 5-10 B+M:

first one is the second largest pot ever seen at this cardroom, at the
5-10 limit:

Our hero (me!) is dealt KK in mid position. i threebet preflop and get 5
callers. flop comes down KQ3, rainbow. uhh, thats pretty good for me, i
think, as i three bet it again. turn is a 8, completing the rainbow. now
it gets capped, with 4 still in. i tighten up on the river, with another
Q. I lead out this time, and it gets raised, reraised, and then capped.
now, i was pretty green at this time, so i called fairly timidly, as im
waiting for the rest of the action to unfold, i turn to the old man next
to me, flash my cards and say "ive got to call right?". he pats me on the
back and says "nice hand kid". Well, the showdown starts, and the first
guy shows 88, looking pretty smug. Now the guy left of me shows his cards
out of turn, laughing at the 88 with his Q3 boat. 33 then mucks his cards
open faced, complaining about bad beats, etc. The dealer is pushing the
pot to mr. Q3 when i point out that i still have cards. She doesnt seem to
care, but i flip my cowboys and the table erupts. now the dealer is pretty
confused, and starts dealing 6th street! um, no ill just take the pot now,
thanx. when all was said and done, i took it down for about 650$. not bad.
this was trumped by only one hand:

A good buddy was playing a few months later, same club, same stakes. He,
too, looks down to see those lovely cowboys, and is even more thrilled to
find himself capping a 7 way pot. the flop is straight off the internet,
showing AKQ rainbow. Capped once again, one folder. Turn is another Q
(sound familiar?). Capped. River the Case K. Capped. five players to
showdown. First guy: 88 (uhh wtf?). moron number 2: 10J for the straight
(yea, youre no good.) genius numero tres: AA for the nut tight. this is
gonna hurt. contestant # 4: QQ! well he thinks hes got it, starts ordering
drinks. Not so fast, buddy opens the absolute nut quads and rakes in a
750$ pot.

Moral of the story? that cardroom must be rigged. but our switch is "on"
:)

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veeRob
2005-01-26 03:06:16 UTC
Permalink
Unless the room doesn't have a bad beat jackpot, I'd be ordering a helluva
lot of drinks with my quad queens.
Post by smellmuth
gonna hurt. contestant # 4: QQ! well he thinks hes got it, starts ordering
drinks. Not so fast, buddy opens the absolute nut quads and rakes in a
750$ pot.
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Chris in Texas
2005-01-05 18:37:06 UTC
Permalink
Post by Patti Beadles
The tables were very good to me tonight, and now I'm in a mood to
be entertained.
Hunh, hunh, hunh....


To that end, I'm sponsoring an RGP story contest
Post by Patti Beadles
and giving away free money to get it going.
Fiction ok or does it have to be true?

If fiction I think I'll give it a shot tonight or Thursday.

Chris

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greatbrit
2005-01-06 03:50:03 UTC
Permalink
One of my favorite stories (in the non-exposed-body-parts category) is
from many years ago when I was sitting in a low-limit game. A middle
aged woman sat in the seat next to me and quietly placed her rack of
chips on the table. Half an hour went by, I couldn't get a read on her
at all, she seemed to be playing tight, rarely playing a hand, never
raising, didn't say a word the whole time. Finally we got chatting a
little, just general chitchat about the poker room, the food, the bad
beat jackpots, that kind of thing. A few more minutes went by when she
quietly asked me "Do they have Texas Hold'em here?" I stared at her,
speechless for a few seconds, not quite sure how to answer that, then
finally said, as nonchalantly as I could muster, "well actually, that's
what we are playing".

Paul
jugador
2005-01-06 05:32:16 UTC
Permalink
WHAT GOES AROUND, COMES AROUND

This is supposed to be a true story. A friend of mine that had
been around some of the "road gamblers" from Texas told it to
me. I know I don't have all the facts straight and will not
name names, but here goes.

A big time bookie and poker player from Texas was being driven
down the strip in Las Vegas in his limosine with some of his friends. He
was looking out the window when he saw a well
known Texas poker player with a less than sterling reputation
as far as paying off markers, bets, etc. The player was just
lumbering along the sidewalk, head held low, hands in his pockets and had
the sole of one his shoes just flopping when he walked. It was obvious to
the bookie that the poker player
was totally tapped out.

The bookie tells his driver to pull over and wait for the
player to catch up. As the player came along side of the limo
the bookie called him over and asked him what was going on.
The player gave the bookie
a run down of all his bad luck, even commenting about how he
didn't even have enough money to get his flopping shoe fixed.

The bookie, ever a generous man to all, but not a man that
would forgive or forget a past trangression against him,
pulled out of his pocket a bankroll that would choke a horse.
The bookie then told the man that the least he could do was
to help him enough to at least get his shoe fixed. It was
then that he pulled the rubberband holding his bankroll together off,
handed it to the poker player told him "fix
your shoe with this", rolled up the window and drove off.



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jugador
2005-01-06 05:37:09 UTC
Permalink
Post by Patti Beadles
The tables were very good to me tonight, and now I'm in a mood to
be entertained. To that end, I'm sponsoring an RGP story contest
and giving away free money to get it going.
Tell me a good story about poker. I don't care if it's a funny
story, a sad story, an insightful story, or just a weird one--
just make it interesting and entertaining.
On or around January 10th, I'll pick my favorite story from among
the submissions, and the winner will receive $20 via PokerStars
transfer. Two runners-up will receive $10 via PokerStars transfer.
Since I'm putting up all of the prizes for this little event,
I will be the sole judge. My decisions are final.
n.b. I'm not your eighth-grade English teacher, but style counts.
I'm unlikely to be impressed by bad spelling, poor grammar,
or badly-formatted paragraphs.
The fine print: your story or stories must be posted in this thread
in order to be eligible-- emailed submissions do not count. If you
post your story as a separate thread you run the risk of my not
seeing it, though I will do my best to look for stray submissions.
There is a limit of one prize per person, though you may submit
multiple stories if you'd like. Your submission must contain
a working email address so that I can contact you in the event
that your story wins-- munged addresses are acceptable so long
as I can figure out how to unmunge them. Your stories must be
your own writing-- plagarism is evil.
I reserve the right to reprint any submissions on a website
dedicated to the contest. Authorship information will remain
intact, of course.
So tell me a story!
-Patti
P.S. No, this isn't a joke or a scam. There's no catch. If you
don't know who I am, Google me-- you'll find that I'm a longtime
RGPer, nine-year BARGE veteran, and I'm fairly well-known around
the community.
--
Patti Beadles, Oakland, CA |
pattib~pattib.org | Patti, your whole LIFE wouldn't
http://www.pattib.org/ | make it through airport security!
Check out www.tribe.net! | -- ADB Murray Logan
_________________________________________________________________
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jugador
2005-01-06 06:22:21 UTC
Permalink
WHO'S YOUR DADDY??

This is a true story. It might be one of those types of stories where you
had to be there to appreciate it, but I
will try to include enough details to at least make it worth
your time reading, if not win a prize.

I was playing in an organized home type game in Texas.
The game was 10/20 Omaha Eight or Better w/1/2 Kill. For the first hour
or so the players were pretty much just the regular
weekly group of Omaha addicts. The game was fairly tame,
mostly pushing around chips when these two younger players
entered the game. They started off firing away at the pots
and as luck would have it were running over the game. Each
time either or both of them would win part of a pot, they
would jump up, give each other high fives and yell
"Who's your daddy???" "Who's your daddy???"

Pretty much all the hijinks were
taken by the other players as two guys winning some pots
and having a good time. In other words, no one was getting
upset by someone else having a good time at their expense.
That in itself was hard to believe.

One of the players in
the game was a middle aged Chinese lady, who has never had
a clue as to how to play poker and was, as always, losing her
ass. Even though this lady has lived in the US since her
teenage years, she is definitely English challenged, but is
very outgoing, talks a lot, etc. Since she is so hard to
understand she might talk for several minutes without anyone
having a clue as to what she has said. As a joke we are always
telling her "english only" at the table. If you have ever
seen the Chinese lady character on the comedy show Mad TV,
this is her to a tee. Hair, face, body, the way she talks,
everything.

The Chinese lady goes bust and orders up a rack of reds.
The whole table, especially the young studs, are thinking
"yum yum." The very next hand is a kill pot, seven way action,
capped on the flop and capped on the turn. River card comes
and there is no low. One of the young
studs bets on the river, the other raises, the Chinese lady
calls, and everyone else but the two young guys fold. Another
raise, call, call. A show horse couldn't jump over this pot. This
wouldn't be a good story unless our Chinese lady scooped the pot with a
miracle, which she did.

What makes it a great story is that after gathering in the tremendous
amount of chips, she calmly asked the floor for some racks. She gets all
of her chips racked up, never saying a word. Everyone at the table is
talking about the hand, how could she be in there, etc., etc. She
carefully picked up her racks, starts to walk towards the chip cabinet to
cash out, stops, turns around and with a real mischevious look on her face
says very loudly in her broken English, "Who you Mama????"
"Who you Mama???"
Talk about rotflmao. The whole table went nuts with laughter.




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Howard Beale
2005-01-06 07:14:34 UTC
Permalink
I posted this in another thread about bad beats. It's
something that is almost impossible to duplicate but it
happened to me.



At the old Mad Ave. club in NY. 10-20.��My habit is to
riffle my cards when I get them against the table top
without looking at them. When the action gets to me I
sometimes squeeze them up from the sides, which is
what I did this time. I find 2 red 8's in mid position and
call. At the end I'm up against one player and the board
has 4 diamonds. I tell my opponent that I have 2 red
8's, which would've been good, turn my wrist over,
spread 2 cards, and there is the 8h and the
8s!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!? What?????? I then drop the cards on
the table and out falls the 8d!!! I had been dealt 3
cards, didn't notice, they were 3 8's and I lost with an
illegal hand. Everybody got a laugh except me but it
was a lesson.

Howard Beale

"I'm mad as hell and I'm not going to take it anymore!"



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JT
2005-01-06 17:17:22 UTC
Permalink
Post by jugador
says very loudly in her broken English, "Who you Mama????"
"Who you Mama???"
NICE!!
SiNdeRpHYtiK
2005-01-06 06:52:13 UTC
Permalink
Well, I'll try my luck at this. Having written a "poker story" in high school, I'll take
my chances and just reprint it here...hoping its worth twenty green ones =D.
I never did improve the ending like I told myself I would, but let's see what you
all think of it anyways. Here goes... (FYI, the email you can reach me at is
***@sinderphytik.mailshell.com , and yes that email does indeed
work and will get to me)....and now, without further ado, the story....

(hope the line breaks come in ok...)

High Society

“All in,” I announced as I pushed in the last of my stack of red chips. I could tell that Jay was trying to put one over me, and so I knew I had to punish him for it. Only problem was that you’re supposed to do that when you’ve actually got chips to work with. I could tell from his piercing stare into my shaded sunglasses that he suspected exactly what I had done. But I still thought that there was no way that he could tell that all I held in my hand was an Ace-high. That is, until he began to play with his chips. Then I knew it…he had the goods. Only a person who had hit his hand would’ve had the audacity to taunt me like that. By now, I had figured out that he had made his flush on his first draw. But all I could do was wait, sweating the time out, until he finally made me pay for trying to bluff him out. And then he did it…he threw his cards away. He didn’t call me, didn’t know what I had, didn’t think he had me beat. Of course if he was in the pot, he would’ve won it. But he had laid his cards down…not to anyone, but to me. That told me something. He respected me at the table. Maybe not on the basketball court, where I never really was that good. Not wanting to reveal what I had, I calmly mucked my cards into the gutter, no one the wiser.
After that tense hand yesterday, I managed to hold on to most of my chips for the rest of the night. When I got home, I had poured out my chips onto the bed. Fat Tony didn’t want to trade in my chips after every game, considering my frequent visits to the backdoor of his Laundromat. As I surveyed the scene I noted that I had lost a sizable amount, but nothing that I couldn’t win back sooner or later. I had always thought of myself as the best player ever. Ever since that first game in 6th grade where I won thirty-five cents, I’ve been addicted. Because of my tenacity to try and win at everything, I had easily embraced the game. That is to say, the future World Champion had easily embraced the game. That was how I had always regarded myself, the greatest player to ever play the game. Not just any game, but the greatest game in the world. Poker. It was a way of life for some people, but not me. At least, not quite yet. I still couldn’t make a decent living off of the deal of the card, hard as I tried. That’s why, this morning, I still had to get up at a quarter past six in the morning. My back was aching, and I realized it was because I hadn’t moved the chips off the bed last night. I had been so tired that I had collapsed right on top of them, neglecting to move them aside first. I stumbled out of the bed, slapping the snooze button that was piercing through the quiet morning with its siren-like noise. I knew I had to get to work on time today, or I risked being fired. Because of my poker addiction, I had been late to work so many times that my boss had placed me on probation. One more time, and that would’ve been the end of my job. Especially in this job market, I really had no choice but suffer through the pain and get ready. As I slowly approached the bathroom, I firmly rubbed my eyes, attempting to clear the blurred view that was impairing my vision. I could feel my feet stepping on the wooden floor with loud thumps, indicating my close proximity to the tiled floor of the bathroom. Just as I managed to clear the grogginess from my sight, I peered down and saw it. That which would be the end of me. It peered back at me, just daring me to step on it. A poker chip. Before I could realize it, I was slipping, falling down, unable to call for help. I saw my life flash before me as my descent grew ever faster, with my head rapidly approaching the foot of my bed. Before I could realize it, I actually fell onto the soft, lush bed itself. That was my true downfall, not slipping on the poker chip. Before I knew it, the smooth, tender touch of my tattered silk comforter buoyed me, like a child falling onto a moon bounce. Instantly, I reverted back to the dream-like with which I had woken that morning. Before I knew it, I was flying through another dimension, completely ignorant of my alarm clock’s repeatedly hideous shrieks, piercing through the calm air. I was sleeping like a baby…right past the time I should have been at work by. I was entranced by the flying pigs, the jumping sheep, the gliding penguins, you name it. The blissful dream which had come over me was too much for the little alarm clock to conquer. It was trying so hard to break my concentration as I attempted to soar to the sun, but I wouldn’t let it. As I streaked over the dusk sky, I felt calm, relaxed and tranquil. Not a thing in the world could impede my ecstasy. Nothing but the damned shrill of my irritable alarm clock.
When I woke, it was dark outside. I checked my clock quickly, only to confirm my suspicion. 7:14 PM. I’d slept through the day, missed work and probably lost my job. Pushing the remaining chips off my bed, I lurched up. As I went to check for any phone messages, I saw a note coming half-in through the mail slot in my disheveled door. Symbolic of the entire apartment, that door was. Because my financial condition was never stable, I couldn’t afford a more expensive apartment – I had to settle for this dump. It was cheap, but at least it was mine. I grabbed the note in the door as I walked towards my stain-covered desk. Fumbling with the note, I noticed that I had two new messages in my voicemail. I could already guess what one of them was, but realized I had to play it to confirm my inkling. Just as I thought…my boss’s soft, and yet commanding, voice rang out:
“Hello? This is Pamela…Ray, you know I had warned you about this last time. I tried my best, but this was out of my control. I’m sorry to tell you, but we won’t be needing you back. Try contacting Veronica, she said she may be able to help you out. Sorry, buddy.”
So it was true. I was out of a job, with no alternative means of getting by. The odds of me finding another job as good as this one in New York City? Hell, even I wouldn’t bet on it. As I deleted this first message, I thought of Veronica…the very seductive Veronica. We had dated for a while, but it hadn’t worked out because of our contrasting personalities. The ironic thing was that she had gotten me this job in the first place. I remember it as if it were yesterday, first meeting her in a casual game of Omaha Hi-Low.
I had been on a roll when I had gotten into that game, figuring I’d just blow off some steam and maybe a couple of bucks in order to have some fun. When I saw Veronica in that game, I figured it was a sure bet I’d be leaving that place happy. That was before I started playing against her. Manipulative, conniving, ruthless – only some of the adjectives I would use to describe her. Beautiful, stunning, and attractive are the other ones. And she used every trait to her advantage. From the way she collected her chips to her demeanor when checking, she used every attribute to her benefit. While I was playing to have fun, it was evident she was playing to win. Combined with my drinking that night, it didn’t turn out well. She managed to win every cent I had to my name that night. Merciless would be too weak in describing just how she took all of my money. I figured she had done this to other people too, using her beauty to win money from drunken players who didn’t consider what was happening to them, pitilessly parting their money from them. That is, until what she did for me after the game ended. Apparently feeling sorry for my situation, she told me she could get me a job, and a well-paying one at that. I was grateful for this, as it would mean a stable income.
Unfortunately, my poker addiction never meant that my income was stable. Ever since that game a year and a half ago, I had at least managed to scrape by, living on the income that job that Veronica had got me paid. It was pretty good pay, but it varied with the highs and lows of my poker games. As I reminisced about the events of my recent life, I heard the painful monotonous noise of a computer-produced voice asking, “Delete Message 1...Delete Message 1?” I had been daydreaming for so long, I had not realized this looped message asking me to delete the message from Pamela. Realizing that chapter of my life was over with no possible recourse, I continued to the second and final message:
“Hold on, I’m on the phone, Dave!…Hello? Ray, this is Veronica. I don’t know if Pamela told you yet or not, but umm…you’ve been let go. I’m really sorry about this Ray, but I can’t help you out on this one. Instead, maybe you want to join us for a game of poker? We’re going to play in the backroom of Luigi’s Pizza tomorrow night around 11. I hope I’ll see you there. I’ve got to go now, they need me on something. I’m really sorry about this Ray, and good luck.”
Veronica. This was her first call to me since we had broken up over a half-year ago. Her voice sounded reassuring, yet chilling considering I had just been thinking about her. We had worked together, but she had been moved to a different division soon after we ended our relationship. I think she may have asked for it, I never did ask…I just figured it would be for the best if we weren’t working side-by-side. Now there wouldn’t even be the possibility of seeing her at work, considering I had no job.
Realizing the gravity of my situation, I began to get ready. I would need to seek out a new means of living. It was still early in the evening, but I knew I could find myself a game somewhere. That’s just the way it was in New York City…always some poor sucker trying to win some money on the side when his other bets hadn’t paid off. Sometimes it was horseracing, sometimes it was a Yankees game…either way, they figured they could make it back on a game of skill. What they didn’t realize was that they were dead money in any game I played in, suckers for the taking. Quickly calling up some people I knew, I scavenged up a game with some lawyers looking for a little side action in order to relax them from their legal gambles of the day. Grabbing my coat, I left, hoping to figure out something to do while playing.
By the time I had gotten back, it was noon the next day. The game had been just as easy as I had thought, save for one experienced player. The whole night, the chips went between us, back and forth, one to another. When he finally made a mistake, I capitalized on it. What type of person would go all-in with a big slick before the flop? Either a player who thinks he’s going to be lucky, or a player with no chance left to save himself. Luckily for me, he ended up being both. I had the lead at the time, the other players having been tapped out of cash already. My read was perfect – the tremble in the left hand, the rapid blinking, and his tendency to smack his lips whenever he was going for the lucky draw. All of them let me know what he held in his hand. Those two cards that he attempted to cover up with his chips. It didn’t matter because I had called his number. What he didn’t realize was I had a pocket pair of sevens. Those two sevens would lead me all the way to his chip stack. What I didn’t account for was the luck of the draw. The flop came out Ace, King, Deuce – giving him 2 pairs, Aces and Kings, to my single pair of sevens. When the last two cards were blanks, I couldn’t comprehend what had happened. The tables had turned, from me having a small but sizable advantage to being left with almost nothing at all. Thirteen chips, that’s all I was left with. Barely anything, and this money was all the more crucial to me, considering I didn’t have a job anymore.
Luckily for myself, my skill persevered in the game. I managed to make back a good part of what I lost in that single hand, although I couldn’t regain my position of chip advantage. It was another sizable hit to my poker money, but I knew I could always find another game in which to make my money back. When I finally got inside my apartment after unlocking my door, the blinking light on my answering machine indicated I had a message. As I hesitantly approached the machine that had now annoyed me so much, I surmised that this would be another message from Pamela, maybe wanting me to come back and pack up my stuff. As I pressed the button, I wondered if maybe she wanted me to come back and work for her even.
“Hey Ray, this is Veronica again. Just wanted to remind you that the game will be tonight at Luigi’s Pizza. I reeaaally hope to see you there.”
As I wondered if I would go to the game or not, I pondered this latest message from Veronica. I could tell from her voice that she wanted, even expected, me to be at that game. And yet I didn’t know if I could go…it wasn’t that I didn’t want to, it was just that poker was starting to destroy me. Every game of late had me either suffering a bad beat, or just straight-up losing. As I pondered my situation, I realized the obvious: There was no way I could simply give up poker. For some people, its booze; others have an addiction to crack, heroin, some fatal drug. For me, it’s the flip of the cards. It just has an allure, an incredible natural high that goes with it…I simply can’t resist it. What I did realize, however, was that my poker habit was destroying me. I’d lost my job, most of my disposable income, hell, even my family had deserted me because of my love to Lady Luck. But I simply could not give up the love of my life. Even if poker was to be the end of me, I would spend every last breath gambling on the outcome of a pack of 52 cards. And so that night, I went to Luigi’s Pizza, knowing that I’d see a friendly face.
When Veronica did show up that night, it was already half past midnight. Considering she had said she’d be there an hour and a half earlier, I had been tense, fearing she would not come. I was already down on my luck, on a losing streak too long to remember. And now I had borrowed a marker from Luigi to pay for the game. Not just any amount either….I had gotten in for a pair of stacks of high society. I’d begun the game with $20,000 and now I was under 4 grand. As I sweated the next hand, I knew I’d have to make a move soon. In this game, Luigi was the man, seemingly invincible. By now, it seemed we were left to have a personal rivalry, as every one else folded to me, who was on the button. As I quickly peered down at the pair of plastic cards near me, I saw a lot of white space on them….too much white space. Inconspicuously, I checked again, more carefully. The best hand you could hope for shone back at me: American Airlines, Pocket Rockets, a pair of Aces. I knew that this was my chance to double up, stand a chance of raking in some serious cash that night. With two players behind me, I wasn’t sure if I’d even get a call. Then I noticed Luigi wiping his brow…something he had only done a couple times before and both previous times it had seemed out of place. As I yearned to remember back, I realized that both times before he had shown a high pocket pair, Queens once and Kings the other time. As the seconds ticked by, I reasoned that he was itching to play this hand, no matter the cost. And so I did it, pushing in all of my chips. A play I had done so many times before, and yet this time so much rode on it. The player after me quickly folded, and then it was just me and Luigi left. As his piercing stare attempted to break through my mirrored sunglasses, I knew he suspected a strong play on my part. If he had thought I was bluffing, he would’ve matched my money immediately. I sweated profusely as he waited, seeming to do nothing and yet everything at the same time. I couldn’t even see the second hand of the clock moving, time was moving so slowly. As I glanced at Veronica, I noticed she looked unusually nervous, almost fearing an unimaginable monster. Before I could turn back to look at the menacing Luigi, his hoarse voice rang out.
“I call.”
We each turned over our cards, noting our position relative to the other. If Luigi wanted to win, he would need a third King to go with the two he had flipped over. But now, it was up to the fall of the cards. As we both stood up, the dealer slowly burned a card, then flipped the next three over.
“Nooooo!”
A huge smile erupted over my face as I saw a third ace come out on the flop. For once, Lady Luck had come my way, almost completely ensuring me the win on this hand. Luigi grimaced, his teeth looking like they were going to snap. As the fourth card came down, I didn’t even see Luigi reach in his pocket.
Before I had seen another Ace come out, I was already falling back, my life flashing before me. My mother rearing me, my times with Veronica, the highs and low of my poker life…none of those memories could stop what came next. Before I realized it, I lay on the floor, bleeding to death. As I slowly died, my last vision was of Veronica, tenaciously laughing as I bled away.
-----------------------------------

Not the greatest story in the world, but maybe its worth $20 bucks? Let me
know what you think =)

Sinder



--------------= Posted using GrabIt =----------------
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ContactGSW
2005-01-06 17:24:04 UTC
Permalink
Post by SiNdeRpHYtiK
could stop what came next. Before I realized it, I lay on the floor,
bleeding to death. As I
Post by SiNdeRpHYtiK
slowly died, my last vision was of Veronica, tenaciously laughing as I bled
away.
Post by SiNdeRpHYtiK
-----------------------------------
Sinder
tenaciously laughing? WTF does that mean man? Here, add this to the
story: as the pain of the bullet wound turned from a dull fire to
multiple crescent irritations I looked up to see Veronica tenaciously
laughing (whatever the fuck that means), her lilting titters slowing
transforming to the repetitive squeals of the alarm clock as my
consciousness transformed to the reality of another day at work and the
curious sight of 50 poker chips impressed into my chest.


'I feel strongly both ways'
ContactGSW

_______________________________________________________________________ 
RecGroups : the community-oriented newsreader : www.recgroups.com
North Shore Mike
2005-01-06 07:24:44 UTC
Permalink
Post by Patti Beadles
So tell me a story!
-Patti
P.S. No, this isn't a joke or a scam. There's no catch. If you
don't know who I am, Google me-- you'll find that I'm a longtime
RGPer, nine-year BARGE veteran, and I'm fairly well-known around
the community.
I hear she makes a hell of a sorbet, as well.



ADB North Shore Mike
A++ G++ PKR+ !PEG++ B++ TB ADB+ M--

to send email, take out the trash.
http://www3.telus.net/public/a5a60097
Photos, trip reports, quotes, and other lame crap. Updated within the last ten years.

Broken hearts and dirty windows
Make life difficult to see
That's why last night and this mornin'
Always look the same to me.

- Steve Goodman & John Prine, "Souvenirs"
Murray Logan
2005-01-07 11:40:48 UTC
Permalink
My entry would be tilting North Shore Mike to the point of violence, but,
hey, that happens every time we play, no?


Murray

how long till BARGE?
jugador
2005-01-07 02:33:56 UTC
Permalink
OMAHA

About twelve years ago I was teaching my two sons how to play
poker. I had purchased a computer version of Omaha and Omaha
Hi/Low. At that time you put the disk into the computer and
thru the DOS system type in the name of the program. No
automatic pop ups, no click the mouse over the icon, etc.
My two sons would have a good time playing and I felt like
they were getting the hang of it pretty well.

One evening as I was watching something on TV, my youngest son
asked me if I would let him play some Omaha on the computer.
I asked him to wait a few minutes until I could help him, but
he told me "Dad, I KNOW how to play Omaha, don't worry. A
few minutes later he came out of the room and said "Dad, can
you help me with the Omaha." I said to him, "Son, why do you
need help, you just told me that you KNOW how to play Omaha."
My son, who was 5 years old at the time, then said to me,
Dad, I KNOW how to play Omaha, but I don't know how to SPELL
Omaha. Priceless!!



_________________________________________________________________
Posted using RecPoker.com ver.2 - http://www.recpoker.com
w***@yahoo.com
2005-01-07 02:49:50 UTC
Permalink
Post by Patti Beadles
The tables were very good to me tonight, and now I'm in a mood to
be entertained. To that end, I'm sponsoring an RGP story contest
and giving away free money to get it going.
Tell me a good story about poker. I don't care if it's a funny
story, a sad story, an insightful story, or just a weird one--
just make it interesting and entertaining.
On or around January 10th, I'll pick my favorite story from among
the submissions, and the winner will receive $20 via PokerStars
transfer. Two runners-up will receive $10 via PokerStars transfer.
Since I'm putting up all of the prizes for this little event,
I will be the sole judge. My decisions are final.
n.b. I'm not your eighth-grade English teacher, but style counts.
I'm unlikely to be impressed by bad spelling, poor grammar,
or badly-formatted paragraphs.
The fine print: your story or stories must be posted in this thread
in order to be eligible-- emailed submissions do not count. If you
post your story as a separate thread you run the risk of my not
seeing it, though I will do my best to look for stray submissions.
There is a limit of one prize per person, though you may submit
multiple stories if you'd like. Your submission must contain
a working email address so that I can contact you in the event
that your story wins-- munged addresses are acceptable so long
as I can figure out how to unmunge them. Your stories must be
your own writing-- plagarism is evil.
I reserve the right to reprint any submissions on a website
dedicated to the contest. Authorship information will remain
intact, of course.
So tell me a story!
-Patti
P.S. No, this isn't a joke or a scam. There's no catch. If you
don't know who I am, Google me-- you'll find that I'm a longtime
RGPer, nine-year BARGE veteran, and I'm fairly well-known around
the community.
--
Patti Beadles, Oakland, CA |
pattib~pattib.org | Patti, your whole LIFE wouldn't
http://www.pattib.org/ | make it through airport security!
Check out www.tribe.net! | -- ADB Murray Logan
I was playing 5/10 stud at Foxwoods. There was a guy in the game who
usually played higher and made a big point of it. However, he was
having fun and not being obnoxious and nobody minded.

On one hand he had been betting and raising with unpaired, unsuited big
cards showing and three of us had been chasing draws apparently. No one
ever paired, so he was out of position the whole hand, just pounding
out bet after bet. I should not have been in the pot once he raised my
bringin but I hit a straight draw on fourth and I was in best position,
which did not change. I DID raise him on fourth street but he re-raised
and refused to give me a free card on fifth or sixth. When sixth street
came, I had four Hearts showing as well as my straight draw. On the
river, I missed, except for pairing a Seven. He bet and the other guys
folded.

I made a hopeless raise, trying to get him to fold when there was a
fairly large pot. He called and said:

"Flush is good, you lucky bastard" and I replied

"I don't have a flush, just a pair of Sevens" and he said

"Sevens are good, you lucky bastard"

Now, I KNOW it was totally illogical to call when he couldn't beat a
low pair but I have always wondered if he had Sevens beat and was
willing to give up the pot in order to say that.

Will in New Haven

--

"I didn't know that other guy was a cop
I guess I didn't care,
Sometimes you gotta act like you got a pair."
Slaid Cleaves - "Drinkin' Days" off Wishbones
Indiana Joe
2005-01-08 14:51:56 UTC
Permalink
Post by Patti Beadles
Tell me a good story about poker. I don't care if it's a funny
story, a sad story, an insightful story, or just a weird one--
just make it interesting and entertaining.
This would defintely fall under, "weird" because it was a dream.

TJ Cloutier and I were playing Texas Hold'Em, heads up. No cameras, no
lights, just a couple of gamblers playing cards. Neither one of us
really has an edge. I bet, he folds. He bets, I fold. Back and forth.

Finally, I get dealt pocket jacks. The flop comes J44, and I go all-in.
TJ calls, and turns over J4. The turn comes... and it's another jack. We
both look over, and the dealer is dealing from a blackjack shoe.

TJ turns to me and asks, "What the hell game are we playing?"

Then I wake up...
--
Joe Claffey | "Make no small plans."
***@comcast.net | -- Daniel Burnham
CincinnatiKid
2005-01-08 14:58:09 UTC
Permalink
Post by Indiana Joe
Post by Patti Beadles
Tell me a good story about poker. I don't care if it's a funny
story, a sad story, an insightful story, or just a weird one--
just make it interesting and entertaining.
This would defintely fall under, "weird" because it was a dream.
TJ Cloutier and I were playing Texas Hold'Em, heads up. No cameras, no
lights, just a couple of gamblers playing cards. Neither one of us
really has an edge. I bet, he folds. He bets, I fold. Back and forth.
Finally, I get dealt pocket jacks. The flop comes J44, and I go all-in.
TJ calls, and turns over J4. The turn comes... and it's another jack. We
both look over, and the dealer is dealing from a blackjack shoe.
TJ turns to me and asks, "What the hell game are we playing?"
Then I wake up...
--
Joe Claffey | "Make no small plans."
Admit it. You and TJ were naked.

-------- 
: the next generation of web-newsreaders : http://www.recgroups.com
Indiana Joe
2005-01-08 20:23:36 UTC
Permalink
Post by CincinnatiKid
Admit it. You and TJ were naked.
It was a dream, not a nightmare. :-)
--
Joe Claffey | "Make no small plans."
***@comcast.net | -- Daniel Burnham
iJustWannaRide
2005-01-08 15:03:35 UTC
Permalink
THE EDGAR ALLEN POKER GAME
By : Phil Cerasoli

'Twas past midnight, damp and dreary, I in bed awake but weary
Trying vainly to establish with sound slumber a rapport,
When I heard a sound so muffled, sounded like cards being shuffled
Coming from the other side of my sturdy bedroom door.

I tossed and turned and said, "It is the wind and nothing more".

But the sound it was remaining. With bravado in me draining
I donned my robe and tiptoed to my sturdy bedroom door.
I opened it a crack, peeked out and saw the back
Of a man who was just sitting, playing cards upon the floor.

"'Tis a nightmare of my mind," I said, "Just this and nothing
more".

'Twas a cloak draped 'cross his back and a Raven, shiny black,
Was facing him and pacing in a circle on the floor.
My jaw dropped when I heard the soft voice of that huge bird
Saying, "Deal me in this card game for a couple hands or more".

And the man tossed four chips to him; four blue chips and nothing more.

Then I must have made a sound, for he slowly turned around
And his face was pale as misty, eerie fog that hugs the shore.
Then he whispered to me low, "I'm the ghost of Allen Poe
Who has come here to play poker as I did in days of yore.

'Tis a poker game I'm craving. Only this and nothing more".

"Won't you sit in for a while?" he asked me with a smile,
"It will make a better card game than it was an hour before".
And, not wanting to incite him, I slowly walked beside him
Meekly asking what the stakes were as I sat down on the floor.

"Penny-ante," said the stranger. Quoth the Raven, "Nothing
more."
From the start I had a streak of luck that reached its peak
By my winning all the pennies that the two had owned before.
Then the man said, oh so slyly, (as the Raven grinned so wryly),
"This low stake game we're playing I'm beginning to abhor.

"Then by all means", said the Raven, 'we should surely play for
more".

Then the man, with gesture bold, from his cloak withdrew some gold
In a bag that was so heavy that to move it was a chore.
His sly look I failed to heed for my soul was filled with greed
As I saw the golden coins from the sack begin to pour.

"Yes," I whispered weakly, "We should surely play for more".

Then he said in voice so solemn as he stacked coins in a column,
"The hour grows late; I'm weary, so we'll play but one hand more.
If you win, my gold you'll own. If I win then it's your home
That will be mine to have and keep...to keep forevermore".

Quoth the Raven: "Evermore".

I said, "That's fair, I feel." Then the man began to deal
And the cards I had were aces and the aces numbered four.
I said, "My hand is pat and I'm only sorry that
The pot has been established and that we can bet no more."

Quoth the Raven: "Bet some more!"

"He speaks true," I then was told, and the man pulled out more gold
And tossed it with the other coins that were strewn across the floor.
"But I cannot match your bet," I sadly said, "but, yet,
I must have something left; something you two would adore".

Said the Raven, "You in bondage. Only this and nothing more".

"He speaks wisely", said the man. "If you want to bet, you can.
But lose and you're our slave and servant now and evermore".
I stared at my four aces, smiled and looked at my guest's faces,
Sealed the bet and spread my aces down and out across the floor.

Said the Raven in a whisper, "I see aces numb'ring four!"

The face of Poe just glowered as his poker hand he lowered
'Til it covered my four aces that were resting on the floor.
Then amid a quiet hush, I saw his small straight flush
And knew that I was beaten and was doomed forevermore.

Said the Raven, "You in bondage here and now and evermore".

Now on dark nights, cold and dreary, my sore body grows so weary
As I dust and wash and clean and sweep the droppings on the floor.
While my master and his Raven live in comfort in their haven
With their slave who's held in bondage, held in bondage

Evermore.
da pickle
2005-01-08 15:38:44 UTC
Permalink
"iJustWannaRide"

I presume it is not yours. Where did you get it? Very nice.
iJustWannaRide
2005-01-08 17:31:42 UTC
Permalink
Hell, I can barely write my name! I found it on the web a while ago,
written by Phil Cerasoli. Great stuff Phil!
Morphy
2005-01-08 17:01:03 UTC
Permalink
Post by Indiana Joe
This would defintely fall under, "weird" because it was a dream.
My weird dream story...I posted this a while back (back when it was
warm out, brrr!), but this is a good thread for a re-post.

For some background, a while back I played a few times in a home game
hosted by a friend of a friend. Nothing fancy, .50/$1 limit, having
to explain who goes first, hearing things like "call my hand, I have
to go take a leak" before the cards are dealt, etc.

One guy seemed pretty good, but I caught onto the fact that he loved
pocket pairs and 2nd pairs and rarely let them go. This was very
profitable for me.

So my dream...I get AK (although one was a spade and the other a
circle), and raise from the button. He's on the BB and raises me, we
cap. Flop comes AKK. We cap betting again, turn is a K, river is a
K...I'm sitting here going "cool, I have 5 kings!", meanwhile everyone
else wants to know just wtf I have. I flip the hand over, he says
something stupid like "wow, I thought my 9's were good", and I win a
huge pot.

Fast forward 3 weeks to the next live game. I tell everyone,
including this guy, about the dream and we have a good laugh about it,
although I sort of gave away the fact that I know he loves middle
pairs.

So up comes Q9s on the BB. He raises, I call for fun (I went through
about an hour of folding and just wanted to see a flop here). Flop
comes 6QQ. I bet, he raises, I call. Turn, a 9. I bet, he raises,
we cap. River a blank, we cap again. He says "what do you have?", I
say "well, it isn't 5 kings, but it is the nuts" and show Q9. Poor
bastard actually hand somewhat of a hand, showing Q8 and losing a good
pot.

Still, I wonder where the circle K came from :)

Morphy
Patti Beadles
2005-01-10 08:52:28 UTC
Permalink
If you haven't already done so, tell me a story about poker. It
can be true or not, though right now I'm sort of leaning toward
tales of interesting or funny things that happened at the table.

If I like your story best, I'll send you twenty bucks. Second and
third best will each get ten bucks. See the original message for
more details.

-Patti
--
Patti Beadles, Oakland, CA |
pattib~pattib.org |
http://www.pattib.org/ | Dammit! I've got a date tonight
Check out www.tribe.net! | and I can't find my rope.
Murray Logan
2005-01-10 09:09:28 UTC
Permalink
Does tilting North Shore Mike to the point of physical violence count?

Nah, too easy.


Murray
Patti Beadles
2005-01-10 10:29:54 UTC
Permalink
Post by Murray Logan
Does tilting North Shore Mike to the point of physical violence count?
Sure! But I've read your book, so I expect high-quality
storytelling from you.

-P
--
Patti Beadles, Oakland, CA |
pattib~pattib.org |
http://www.pattib.org/ | Dammit! I've got a date tonight
Check out www.tribe.net! | and I can't find my rope.
North Shore Mike
2005-01-10 11:53:15 UTC
Permalink
On Mon, 10 Jan 2005 09:09:28 GMT, "Murray Logan"
Post by Murray Logan
Does tilting North Shore Mike to the point of physical violence count?
Nah, too easy.
Murray
You're right, it's too easy.

Tell them how you tilted me by calling me to the river with open
kings.

In Razz.

But I'm not bitter.


ADB North Shore Mike
A++ G++ PKR+ !PEG++ B++ TB ADB+ M--

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http://www3.telus.net/public/a5a60097
Photos, trip reports, quotes, and other lame crap. Updated within the last ten years.

Broken hearts and dirty windows
Make life difficult to see
That's why last night and this mornin'
Always look the same to me.

- Steve Goodman & John Prine, "Souvenirs"
Murray Logan
2005-01-10 12:14:59 UTC
Permalink
Post by North Shore Mike
Post by Patti Beadles
Murray
You're right, it's too easy.
Tell them how you tilted me by calling me to the river with open
kings.
In Razz.
But I'm not bitter.
ADB North Shore Mike
Well, open Kings can be a tricky hand to play in Pot Limit Razz. You really
have to know what you're doing to call someone's pot-sized bets. But the
rewards can be substantial.


Murray

(told you it was too easy)
Tim Showalter
2005-01-13 10:45:37 UTC
Permalink
[T]ell me a story about poker.
I'm playing in a 3-6 game. A couple folks at the table start bragging
about how good their hands are before the flop. "I've got aces," one
says. "I've got trips", says the other. Not to be outdone, I say,
"I've got a full house--no, quads. I've got quads." Then I look at my
cards.

By the river, I'm heads up with one of my fellow pre-flop braggarts.
I've been the aggressor the whole way. After all, I've got quads. He
asks, "What do you have?"

"I've got quads," I stammer.

He calls my bet. I have all the tens--a pocket pair to start, then one
on the flop, and finally one on the turn that made me an honest man.
"He told you he had quads," the dealer volunteered.

I've never gotten that trick to work since.

Tim
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