*******************

"Live straddle," the dealer called out.

As the cards went around the table, I was telling the story of the last time I straddled and how badly it went.

"As long as I don't get pocket Kings again, I should be okay," I told them. It was a good table. The people liked to talk, and since I really liked to talk, I fit right in.

"I'll raise." The old man to my left made it $20. It was a strange raise considering my straddle already made it $10. Two other players called before it got back around to me. I looked down at pocket Kings.

*******************

"Changing up your luck?" the player on my right asked me after I put out my straddle.

"Yeah." I had run my $300 stack up to near a thousand in about two hours but I was in a rut. And I don't like ruts.

"Little something to change things up. I'm pretty superstitious. Hell," I told him, "I have a box with 'Luck' written on it."

The new UTG player bought in short and talked a good game, but he had folded almost every hand. This time, he raised my straddle to $30. It was folded around to me and I looked down at two black Kings.

"Raise," I said, putting $70 in the pot. He didn't have much more than that and I figured there was a good chance it was going into the pot.

"I'm all-in." He pushed in his remaining $65. I nearly beat him there.

The dealer laid down the flop and there was a K in the door. When she finished sliding it out, the flop was K42 rainbow.

"I just need a 3 and a 5," he said. It was obvious he had an ace, but I liked my spot. I went from a 71% favorite to a 97% favorite, although I've never been that good playing from ahead.

The turn was a 3. The river was a 5. The straddle did not change my luck.

*******************

Poker players need short memories. Mine's not nearly short enough. There was $77 on the table when it got back to me and three other players in the pot. With pocket Kings, the play here should have been a raise. I merely called. I still don't know why.

The flop came down 963 rainbow. I could hardly complain about that flop. I checked. I tell myself now that it was because I was going to check-raise. There couldn't have been any other reason for a check, right?

The tight old man fired out $100 into an $87 pot. If he was playing on Full Tilt, he'd be an animated rock. He had amassed a stack nearly equal to mine after two people bet into his nut flush. Everyone else at the table knew what he had.

As quickly as the old man bet, the next guy in the pot pushed all in for $285. I hadn't really taken the time to assess why the old man made his bet before the push happened. Now I was processing the second move. All the while, I was thinking about my pocket Kings.

I started to tell myself, "You're either laying down right here or you're playing this hand for all your chips. You can not call and fold. It's not an option."

I called.

It didn't take long for the old man to go all in. He had about $950 in front of him. I had him slightly covered. If I was following my own advice, I was calling. But I stopped. I started to think about the laydown. Sometimes making the right laydown is as important as making the right call.

*******************

I hadn't been there long and I was faced with my first test. Holding the six and three of hearts, I limped from late position and called a min-raise from the small blind. The flop came down 5h2h5c. I flopped a gutshot straight flush draw. I didn't plan on laying this hand down.

With $50 in the pot, the SB fired out a pot-sized bet. Frankly, I didn't think there was much chance this flop hit him. He played a lot of hands, but when he did, they were usually big cards or pocket pairs. If he had pocket 5s or pocket 2s, I doubt he would have bet $50.

I called. The turn was a 3. It didn't fill my straight or my flush, but it did give me another way to win the hand. In fact, I thought there was a good chance I was ahead right there. He checked and I checked behind him.

The river was another 3. The small blind bet $200.

I was concerned. I played the hand back over in my head and tried to put the puzzle together. Did he have a 5? Was he playing something like A5s? It just didn't fit. Not with the pre-flop raise and not with the check on the turn.

"If you have the five, I'm beat," I said, pushing $200 into the pot.

"I don't have a five," he said, flipping over QJo. It was a good start to the day.

"Great call," I heard from a couple players at the table.

"Thanks," I said, "too often I make the wrong laydown. And I almost did it there."

*******************

There was now about $1600 in the pot and needed to call another $675. There was a strong possibility that my Kings were good. It was logical to think the original raiser held TT-QQ. The short stack may have had A9 or been on some kind of straight draw. I was getting better than 2-to-1 on my money.

All I saw in my mind were Aces. Hell, I figured the short stack had probably flopped a set. In my mind, I was beat two ways. I was seeing monsters. Something I thought I was over. It was fear. And poker players shouldn't be guided by fear. They should be guided by information.

I folded. I couldn't believe I was doing it as I was doing it. But it was done. The turn and the river were rags. The old man flipped over pocket jacks and the short stack angrily folded.

I was crushed. I touched the stove and it was hot. I slept with the skank. I'll never do it again.

"Next time take a chance," Lady Luck later told me. "After all, isn't it called gambling? You shouldn't be worried about losing."

At least I know I'm marrying the right girl.

It was midnight at Harrah's outside of St. Louis. Danny was old and his fighter-face of the 1950s sat underneath a bald, liverspotted head. His muscles had atrophied and his skin hung like parchment paper from a deadwood frame.

Every time he folded, he said the same thing.

"I'm out."

It was like he'd been saying it in poker games for the past 60 years and couldn't help himself. He sat on my left and waited for my mucking motion. As soon as he saw it, he said, "I'm out."

He played tight. Too tight, even. If he was in a pot, I was out.

At one point, Danny stood up. Two minutes later, I smelled it coming half a second before I felt it. It was coffee with cream. It was hot. And it was all over me.

Danny stood--rickety--above me.

"I'm so sorry," he said. Fifty years ago, he would've said something else and maybe challenged me to a fight. Now, he was just hoping I didn't say something to embarass him.

"We need a towel," the dealer said.

I broke the tension. "And a shower!" I yelled.

We got everything cleaned up. I sort of liked Danny. Depsite being clumsy and scalding me with coffee, he was a nice guy.

Something happened after that. He couldn't fold draws. He had to see rivers.

I flopped my top pair on a board with two hearts and knew what he had before he called my first bet and my all-in on the turn. He showed it to me on the river and I took all Danny's chips when he missed the flush.

"I'm out," he said. This time, he really meant it. He stood up and walked out without saying anything more.

The stains came out of my shirt and pants. The smell is gone. I have Danny's money in my pocket right now.

For some reason, despite feeling like I came out on the winning side of that fight, I almost wish none of it had ever happened. I sort of wish Danny hadn't been there, hadn't been embarassed, and hadn't lost. I want to take most people's money. Even people who spill coffee on me. Danny, however, sort of made me sad.

When I'm 75 years old, I don't want to be Danny. What's worse is that sometimes I feel like I'm a lot closer than I think.

**************

"You want me to throw this away?" I asked, as incredulously as I could. We were cleaning out my junk storage room and things I've carried with me from L-town to G-Vegas to Knox-Vegas to Leezy-anna were being put into a trash pile.

In this particular case, I was holding a sleek Sporting News thermos that I had never used.

"But what if I need it?" I continued, "It's actually pretty nice."

Lady Luck took it out of my hands and looked at it, "What-ever," she said, with her trademark giggle and she threw it in the trash box.

I didn't want to keep it. I didn't need it. I was running a small stakes bluff just to see how she reacted. I got the information I needed.

***************

He seemed like a calling station. And he had been talking about how this was his last hand for the last 45 minutes. But since I'd been playing with him for the last couple hours, I knew both were an act. He was only a calling station until he sensed weakness, then he pounced.

I'm sitting in the big blind and the action is folded all the way around to him in the small blind. He reminded me of Ed McMahon, without the deep voice. I was about to suggest a chop, but he threw his $5 chip in the middle.

"Fine," I thought, and I rapped the table before peeking at my hand. Pocket 8s. My biggest pocket pair of the session.

The flop came down 753, two spades. I didn't have a spade, but there was no doubt my hand was best.

"I think that hit me good," he said, throwing $20 into the $10 pot. He was quite the talker.

"I think it hit me better," I said, raising to $40. I wasn't shocked when he called. He'd often called raises with a plan to move at the pot later in the hand.

The turn was a Jack. Obviously, I hated seeing an overcard, but I had to hope it missed him.

"Sixty," he said, confidently. He practically slammed the chips on the table. I think I saw a copy of Mike Caro's Book of Tells fall out of his sleeve.

"I call," I said, just as quickly. I considered raising there and winning the pot. I was fairly confident he didn't have a hand, but I could have been wrong. I also thought the quick call might allow me to feign a draw in case a scare card comes on the river.

The river was the deuce of spades. That opened up all kinds of craziness. Three spades and another straight possibility. If he bet, I was ready to bluff. I'm not sure I had effectively set it up, but the way my session was going, I wanted this pot.

Thankfully, he checked. Betting would have been stupid because I was likely only going to get called by a better hand. I tabled my snowmen and he mucked.

**************

"Wow," I said. "You really know how to rip a guy's heart out," I told her, acting as wounded as possible. She knew it was an act and laughed. But I filed this away. It would take a different tact to keep something I really wanted.

It didn't take long for her to come across a couple of old sports books of mine that were gathering dust in boxes. She started moving those toward the trash pile.

"Wait, wait, wait," I said, more seriousness in my tone this time. "I've been holding on to those until I had a place to show them off. They're actually great coffee table books for the right room."

That was my first bullet.

"So where is that?" She asked. She had a point, dammit.

"Well... you're decorating the guest room. What about our second living area? It certainly needs some character."

Bullet number two. That turn card didn't scare me.

"Hmmm..." she said, clearly considering it. I had my opening and I wasn't going to miss it.

"Besides, I've got my chess sets and my poker stuff. We could come up with a cool sports and game room," I thought I overplayed my hand. There was a moments hesitation from her. I held nothing and I thought she was calling for sure.

"Okay." She folded. Ship it!

**************

It was my last hand of the night. Lady Luck was on her way over to pick me up. I didn't mind, the session had been incredibly slow. I can hardly remember being so card dead. I was sitting a little up, but wanted more. When I looked down at A3s from early position, I figured the best I could hope for was a flush. I limped from the SB.

Three more players limped before a woman on the button raised to $25. She looked as though she likely played on the LPGA tour at one time (and I'm not talking about Natalie Gulbis here, think late 80s LPGA). She raised on the button almost every time and she followed up every one of her raises with a continuation bet. I immediately decided a bluff might be in order.

The BB and SB folded, but I called, as did the other three limpers. There was already $125 in the pot. The flop came down 963 rainbow. I was first to act.

I fired out $75. I frankly can't remember the last time I made a bet like that with bottom pair and 5 players in the pot. I wasn't sure I had the best hand, but I was willing to represent it. I'm not a skilled bluffer, so I knew there was a risk.

Everyone folded except for Nancy Lopez. She hesitated, practically staring me down, before calling. I immediately put her on over cards. I think she had a plan that included either catching her overcard on the turn or bluffing if I checked the turn.

The dealer pulled off a deuce. I looked at the board, looked up at her, looked down at my stack and said, "$165." To be honest, I didn't want a call. There was a chance, a good chance, that I was ahead. On the other hand, she could have easily been holding a 6 or a 9... or even pocket 7s or 8s. This may have been a case of bluffing with the best hand, but even then, I was out of my element.

She thought for what felt like an enternity. My phone buzzed in my pocket, but I ignored it. At the time, I though Lady Luck was calling to say she was waiting out front, but it was actually the alarm I had set to remind to get up. I wanted to seem calm, but not unnaturally sure of myself.

She threw her cards into the muck. The dealer pushed the chips my way and I talbed my bottom pair.

"I think that was good," I said. A couple players at my end of the table laughed. I'm not sure they thought it was. I don't normally show my hands, but I was leaving anyway. It felt good... even if it wasn't really a bluff. It helped me finish up a couple hundred bucks. I'll take it.

**************

My session in the junk storage room didn't finish nearly as well. I finished down. Waaaaaay down. I was left with my baseball card collection and one and a half small boxes. There was so much thrown away that we travelled to two different dumpsters to get rid of it.

Lady Luck 1, The Luckbox 0.

First hand of the night... the very first hand... I look down at Cowboys.

"Alright," I thought, "nice way to get rolling."

I'm in the cutoff and, after one limper, I raise it from $5 to $20. I was more than disappointed to see the SB, the BB and the limper all call. I suppose it was the first hand, so I couldn't exactly expect respect just yet.

The flop comes down QJ8, two clubs. Not the greatest flop imaginable, but I had position, so I'd get to see how they all acted first.

The SB checked and the BB stacked $60 in the pot. It was a solid bet and I didn't know where to put the guy. What I didn't notice was that he only left himself $20 behind. The limper folded to me and I called. The SB also called. There was $320 in the pot.

The turn was the 10 of clubs. Like an amatuer, I had to peek at my cards. One of the Kings was a club. That meant I was open ended with the second nut flush draw. The SB immediately pushed for his last $120 and the BB wasted no time in callign for his last $20. With $440 in the pot, I needed to call $120 with no future risk to see the river.

Your thoughts? I'll get back to this hand in a moment.

***

My last hand of the night, I'm sitting in the BB when I look down at pocket 9s. UTG and UTG+1 both limp. The SB raises it to $30. He's relatively short. I call and both limpers call as well.

The flop is 679 rainbow. I've flopped top set.

The SB fires out $30 leaving him just about $50 behind. I raise to $75, hoping to isolate him, knowing he's likely just playing overcards and firing out a continuation bet.

"One seventy-five," UTG says.

That surprised me. Suddenly I have to decide what to do. He's got another $375 behind him. I've got him well covered. It's folded back around to me.

Your thoughts? I'll get back to this hand in a moment.

***

So it's $120 into a $440 pot. I could hardly fold at this point. I didn't figure I was ahead, but I had outs. I had to hope that any club was a win. It was a pretty long shot that an Ace or and 9 was a winner, too, but it was hard to count on that. If I was gonna be realistic, I had 7 outs, at most, and I might already be drawing dead.

I called and found out the BB was holding T9o and had flopped the mortal nuts. The SB was holding 76c and had turned the flush. I had my 7 outs, but none of them hit and I was down $200 to start the session.

My biggest mistake was, once again, not paying attention. Had I seen the BB had just $20 left, I likely would have raised at least another $60 and that may have pushed out the flush draw. It may not have, but after the turn, he wasn't going anywhere. That move may have saved me $100.

***

So I'm sitting on top set and facing a $100 re-re-raise to my $45 re-raise. With the pre-flop action, I had to figure I had the best hand at this point. Frankly, I wasn't sure how I was supposed to be afraid of 58 or T8.

I thought for a bit and put him on a range that included: 66, 77, 67s, 88 or A8s. With that in mind, there was only one choice. I put him all in.

He went in the tank.

"That's great news," I thought. There's no way he flopped a straight.

"Runner-runner spade?" he asked, "Will that do it for me?"

Huh? What the hell does that mean? It certainly eliminates 66, 77 and 88 from the conversation. I suppose he could have 67s, but I didn't think it as likely. I suppose that left just A8s. If that was the case, I really, really, really liked my chances.

Finally, he decided to flip his cards without mucking.

---------------------------
Let me interject here for a moment that I detest this move. It's angle shooting. Period. It's designed not only to get a reaction from the other player left in the hand, but it gives a player a chance to get some help from the rest of the table merely by looking at them. I guess I could have called for the floor, but they wouldn't have done anything about it. The damage was done.

But I digress...
----------------------------

He showed 85s. He flopped the straight. What the hell was the difficulty in calling? Apparently he thought I held T8.

He thought awhile longer before finally calling the clock on himself. All I could think was what a jackass he was. Obviously, he called. And the dealer failed to pair the board for me. I was out $580 on the hand.

It was a rough way to start and a rough way to end. Thank goodness things went so well in the middle. I'd take a $120 profit over a loss any day of the week.

Looking back, I could have saved myself some money. Perhaps my instincts aren't as sharp as they should be. That will come with time. Reflecting on this moment, however, is not pleasant.

It had already been an up and down night. I was sitting on a stack of about $550, which was about $150 more than I had bought in for. I was feeling good about my game. I felted one surly old man twice in about 4 hands. That's what he gets for buying in short and gambling.

Things got ugly when he changed seats, sitting suddenly on my right. It's not like he started giving me any trouble, it's just that the table dynamic changed. And The Luckbox wasn't feeling so lucky.

Upon reflection, he was my cooler.

I've actually purchased 8 mirrors now. Seven hang in my living room. Six of them are just 6 inches by 6 inches. The last mirror is for the bedroom. It's not for above the bed. At least, I don't think that's where she wants to hang it.

I peeled back my cards and saw two black Kings. I raised to $25 and got two callers before it got around to the white-haired man wearing the "Guinness" cap. If he were a little taller, I would have thought it was Iggy travelling back from the future to take my money.

Future Iggy immediately made it $60 out of the small blind. My instinct was to re-re-raise. For an instant, I thought about pushing. I glanced at the other two players in the hand, and it was obvious they were folding no matter what I did. One had already given an audible sigh at the re-raise and the other had his cards in his hand ready to toss them.

"I call," I said, adding $35 to the pot. I'll lay this down if an Ace comes, I thought to myself.

The dealer spread out the cards, Ace-rag-rag, two diamonds.

Future Iggy rapped the table. Why? Would he check Big Slick? Not likely. If he had a big Ace, he would have bet it. That either means I'm drawing practically dead or he's crushed. I suppose I should bet to find out.

"Seventy-five." I slid my chips across the line and watched my opponent. He waited a moment and then just called. Why? He could be on a diamond draw, but the Ace of diamonds was on the board and he wouldn't have re-raised me with just diamonds.

The turn was a blank. Future Iggy knocked the table again. Why? If his hand was that big, why not try to get more money out of me? He must have figured I would fire another bullet.

"I check."

The river was another blank. There was no flush. Future Iggy grabbed a stack of red chips and slid them forward. He bet $100 into a $325 pot. Let's reflect.

It was a preflop re-raise. A post-flop check-call. A turn check. And a river value bet. There was only one possibility. He had Aces. I could almost justify the $75 I bet after the flop. At least I could see where I stood.

Reflecting back on that moment, I'm not sure why I called.

Mirrors aren't the only thing we're buying for my home. The house I'm renting has an unfortunate tile floor. It was likely once white. It's now an unintended beige color with a strange intentional brown pattern. Lady Luck wants a couple of rugs, one for the kitchen area, one for the living room and one for the hallway. We have a lot to cover.

He had me covered now. I was down to about $300. After two limpers, I raised to $25 with AJs. Four of us saw a flop of Ace-Ten-Ace. All of us checked, ruining my plan to check-raise.

The turn was a deuce. Future Iggy lead out for $50. I raised to $150, about half my stack. I was sure I had the best hand. I doubted Future Iggy held an Ace, and even if he did, it wasn't bigger than mine.

The other two players in the hand folded. Future Iggy wasted little time in going all in.

Dammit.

I had about $150 left in front of me. I had already ruled out AK or AQ. He would have played it differently. Was he slow playing AT? Wow, what a cooler. The only other hands he could have that beat me are TT and 22 and A2. Was I that unlucky again?

He had me covered. I was going to go broke here. Do I really save $150 when I think I might have the best hand? Then again, why would he push if he wasn't sure. I wish I had folded. But I didn't. And he flipped pocket tens.

Hanging in front of the windows throughout my house are horizontal blinds. They're ugly and not always functional. Lady Luck wants to replace them and I can hardly disagree. We're going to have to buy curtains.

It should have been curtains for me after that hand. With luck like that, why keep playing? Instead, I bought back in and decided I'd win some of my money back.

And I did. From down $500 I made $300 of that back. I knew I could beat this game. And I knew I could beat this table. My mantra was win big pots and lose small ones. I had called off $250 in river bets on hands that I could have folded.

Shortly before my night was over, I was dealt pocket Kings again. With four limpers, I raised to $20 out of the SB. I got two callers.

The flop came down J97. It was time to check-raise. I had wanted to do it all night but hadn't had a chance. I knew the next guy to act was going to bet. He was aggressive and talkative. He was the one I talked about in the preview post.

"Check," I said.

"Let's just make it 100," he announced moving a stack of reds into the pot.

Perfect, I thought, ready to move all in behind him.

"I call."

I heard it, but I wasn't sure where it had come from. I knew I hadn't said it. The old guy in the 9 seat was moving chips into the middle. I was confused. Could I be that unlucky again?

It's back to me. There's no way I'm calling. The way my night was going I was probably facing T8 and JJ. And even if they both didn't have me beat, I know one of them did.

By the end of the hand, the loud one was all in and the 9 seat had called. The board never improved my hand and when the loud one flipped his Rockets, I couldn't believe how simultaneously unlucky and lucky I was. When the 9 seat disgustedly mucked, I couldn't believe how stupid he was. I guess I had him beat.

For the second time in the night, I was dealt KK while someone else was dealt AA. The first time, it cost me big. It could have cost me everything, but the Ace on the flop actually saved me money. The second time, it only cost me $20. It could have cost me everything, but the jackass in the 9 seat must have thought his top pair was good.

With the $400 left in front of me, I knew it was time to go. I kept telling myself I was unlucky, and I suppose I was. KK into AA twice and flopping trip Aces against a boat. That's not a good way to make money. But I got up knowing it could have been a lot worse.

Besides, I still had money left for curtains and rugs.

I stood there behind the 5 seat as the players gathered. I didn't have sunglasses or an iPod. I was dressed casually with only my 6'5" frame and my black walking-cast boot to draw any attention. And once I sat down, I was rather inconspicuous.

Anyone who sits down at a live table without sizing up their opponents is wasting their time. They may as well sit behind a computer. Live poker is as much about the people as it is the cards.

I wasn't familiar with anyone at my table. To my right was Bobby Brown. Not the I'm-too-broke-to-get-out-of-jail Bobby Brown. No, he was more like the first-reunion-of-New-Edition Bobby Brown. You could tell there was just enough craziness under the surface. To my left was a jovial old man who gave notice on the first two hands that he would move chips around.

When I found myself UTG, I decided to straddle. I'll often do that early in a session to give the impression that I like to gamble. Besides, Bobby Brown was in the SB and had bought in for just $100 instead of the $300 max. He was already down to just $35 and I thought I might get the rest of it this hand.

Two players called before Bobby moved all-in. I peeked down at J9s and figured that was good enough for me. After all, if I don't defend my straddle, it won't do me much good later. Surprisingly, two other players also called. Four of us saw the QTx flop.

I checked and the only woman at the table pushed for $70. The other player folded leaving me with a tough choice. She bet $70 into a $140 pot. I was getting 3-to-1 on my money and had an OESD. Do I make the call?

I've never been one to gamble.

The choices I've made in life have often fallen in the safe category. When it comes to my personal life, I don't take chances. Do you know how many people saw the inside of my apartment when I lived in G-Vegas? The total can be counted on one hand.

Lafayette hasn't been much different. And now, there was someone new in my life and she actually wanted to spend a weekend with me. In my house. I wasn't sure it was the right play. I didn't want to make the call.

But I called.

She flipped over JTo. She had just middle pair. Bobby Brown flipped over pocket K's. I guess he was legit after all. I was disappointed to see two of my outs were dead.

The dealer pulled off another Q on the turn. Great. There go two more of my outs. If I was going to win this hand, I'd have to get lucky.

"8," I said. And that's all I said.

And I got lucky.

She was laying there in my arms, and I could hardly believe how lucky I was. We were watching a movie. If it was one of hers, there's a good chance it was starring either Hugh Grant or Colin Firth or both. If it was one of mine, something was blowing up and she was only moderately interested.

Things just seem too perfect. Except for the fact that women are expensive. Well, maybe that's not the best way to put it. Relationships are expensive. Especially if Lady Luck is to one day become Mrs. Luckbox. I think BG is already laying odds on that.

With that in mind, she told me maybe I should start playing poker again. Of course, she was under the impression that I could stop at the casino for an hour and win a couple thousand dollars. It wasn't quite that easy.

Boy this was easy.

When I turned the flush, I had a good feeling my hand was good. Especially when Bobby Brown hit the table like Whitney had just talked back to him. My flush was only 10-high, but Bobby had obviously laid down two clubs.

There was a good sized bet and a call in front of me. I really wanted to raise, but one thing stopped me. The guy across the table, who loved to talk, had just said to Bobby, "Boy, I hope you had the Ace of clubs!" If that doesn't scream, "I have the Ace of clubs!!!!", nothing does. So instead, I just called, figuring I'd face a tough choice if a club fell on the river.

It didn't. It's checked to me and I pushed. The other player in the hand only had ten dollars left so he obviously called. The Ace of Clubs guy folded face up. He also had middle pair, but he wasn't going to pay me off. I showed my flush and the all-in guy mucked.

I'd been playing No Limit for about two and a half hours and I had turned $300 into $1000.

A half hour later, I turned the second nut flush and cagily checked to the same guy I busted earlier. He had rebought and decided to push $315 into an $80 pot.

"If you've got the nuts, I'm dead," I told him. "I call."

I flipped my cards and the river was a blank. He mucked, shaking his head.

"Even when I get a good hand, I can't beat you," he said.

I stacked up my chips, now sitting at $1300.

"I'm pretty lucky," I replied.

Soft.

NL cash games at the Coushatta.

Soft.

Her skin.

I am pretty lucky.

"You'll see it when we get over this hill," my father-in-law said. Before the hill's crest, I found it hard to believe what I'd been told about a Vegas-style casino in the middle of this Deep South state. I looked to my left and there was, quite literally, a half naked man on the front porch of his single-wide trailer. He was tossing out what very well coud've been the bathwater.

Mississippi is the joke-state of the nation. It's a symbol of backward attitudes, racism, and poor education. In some cases, it's an unfair representation. There are some very good and reasonable people who live there. However, there are places in the state where every one of the blue state jokes are 100% correct. I thought about all of this as we tore through the poverty on our way to play poker at a place called the Golden Moon.

The Golden Moon, I thought, sounded more like a massage parlor than a casino. I'd been to Philadephia ten years earlier during a 18-month sentence in the Magnolia State. Back then, the only Indian casino in town was the SilverStar and there was no poker room. Philadelphia was not a destination location. Back then, if you lived in the state capital, Jackson, it was preferable to go to Vicksburg to gamble. It was 45 minutes closer and the riverboat casinos were better. Now, I was told, the Golden Moon had the best poker room within a 90-minute drive from Jackson.

That morning, the day after Thanksgiving, my wife said, "My Dad and brother were thinking about going to play poker today. Do you want to go?" Inside, I laughed. She knew the answer to the question before she even thought it. I answered as clearly as I knew how: "I will never answer no to that question." Half an hour later, I was riding through the center of the state and wondering what could possibly be at the end of the ride.

We crested the hill and I started looking for the casino. It was still daylight, so looking for lights was no good. I tried to imagine what is was like in the early days of Las Vegas and trying to find the gambling outpost from a distance during the daytime. I scanned the horizon and saw nothing. I squinted just as the road started to smooth out and widen.

"The Choctaw paid for all of this," my father-in-law said, gesturing to the brand new section of highway. I looked up from the road and saw the strangest building I've seen in a very long time.

The Golden Moon casino sat across the highway from the old SilverStar Casino I remembered from the late 1990s. The SilverStar was still a dated, white, sprawling building that looked like what it was--a hastily put-up structure that required little thought in the race to build casinos in the mid-nineties. The Golden Moon--despite being connected by a catwalk to the SilverStar--was something entirely different. The main section of building looked like the remainder of the cloth after you cut out a Nike swoosh. The shimmering gold building climbed up in a dangerous parabola and licked at the Mississippi sky.

The reverse-arc was not what impressed me, though. It was the giant sphere that some casino god balanced precipitously on the top of the building. What looked to be some joke of engineering was apparently an actual functioning restaurant and nightclub. I would never see it, though, as I was there to play poker.

When the poker boom boomed, it appears the Golden Moon (part of the Choctaw Nation's Philadelphia, Neshoba County, Mississippi Pearl River Resort) did what most casinos failed to do. It actually put some thought into where it would locate its room. What was once the Sports Ticker Sports Bar is now the Sports Ticker Poker Room. (Full disclosure: I have no idea if the above is actually true. I'm just making an asusmption based on the fact that naming a poker room The Sports Ticker is pretty silly unless it was already a sports bar). The result is actually a pretty interesting room. One wall is filled with giant television screens and a room-length bar. The back corner of the room was host to a snack bar (that, oddly, didn't open until 4pm). The rest of the room was full of smaller TVs and poker tables.

The Golden Moon Sports Ticker poker room has 13 tables and spreads an impressive variety of games. On the day I was there, the room was spreading $3/$6 and $6/$12 limit hold'em, $2/$5 no-limit hold'em (with an interest list for $5/$10 no-limit), $2-$6 seven-card stud, and $10/$20/$30 Omaha.

The Golden Moon staff generally had its stuff together. Their wait lists were digital and the brush was efficient. Players who didn't want to sweat the tables could wander the casino while waiting for their table and listen for their open seat over their PA system announcements. Three floor people worked the room during a period when eleven tables were running. The wait staff was generally pleasant (if a little thick in the midddle).

The bad beat jackpots were huge. Quads beat opened the door to a $88,000 jackpot. The stud and Omaha games also had sizable jackpots. None of them were hit while I was there, despite a level of play that made it clear people were playing for the big one.

If you're the type of person who doesn't like playing against locals, the Golden Moon is not for you. While I was there, the dealers knew the first names of half the people playing in the $2/$5 NL game. That said, the play was not so localized that ABC poker doesn't earn you a profit. As I was with other folks, I only played for about five hours. I walked away with a profit after playing a fairly standard tight-aggressive game. Had I not laid down pocket aces on the flop on my last hand of the afternoon, I might have walked away with a huge payday (or, more likely, broke). Nonetheless, I'd happily play at the Golden Moon again.

I've now been to casinos in four different regions of Mississippi. The coast is still rebuilding from Hurricane Katrina. Vicksburg never really got going. Tunica is the place to be (in terms of southern poker, anyway). With all that in mind, the Golden Moon is still the best poker room in Mississippi right now. If it weren't in the middle of nowhere, it could teach Tunica a thing or two.

While I folded my way to a non-cash, I couldn't help but wonder if the rest of the U.S. is like this. I know the bigger cities have thriving communities--Dallas and New York are two that come to mind. However, I don't hear much about the medium-sized cities and if their poker community is as vibrant.

For instance, I don't make the rounds like most people around here. My head is not in the game and if I want to stay married, I need to stay home a lot more (the two not being mutually exclusive, by the way). However, if my wife were to run off with Derek Jeter and I didn't up and moving to some place where poker is legal, I could play just about every night of the week if I wanted to. There are at least five card room operators within driving distance. There are more games popping up every day. There are two or three tournaments a week in which you can spend as little as $30 and as much as $700 for a single event. And if all else fails, there are more home games than you'll ever want.

There was a time a few years ago in which home games were about our only choice. We played for small stakes and treated it as a social event, like going out to play golf or pick up women. Now, those of us who have been playing together for a while have gotten to the point to which it is undoubtedly -EV to be hosting or visiting each other's home games. We don't dial down the stakes and, recently, it's not been uncommon to see players win and lose six buy-ins in one night of poker. While I still enjoy the company, it's wild to play against people you know so well.

***

(The following section is really Inside G-Vegas Baseball and isn't really important to the discussion here. Read it if you want, but otherwise move on to the end)

For instance, I hadn't planned on playing Friday night, but it was G-Rob's birthday and The Mark put together a game that was half social and half bloodbath. And speaking of Blood, the guy ran over all of us. In one memorable hand, Blood came in for a raise from the cutoff. G-Rob called in the small blind and I called in the big blind with a weak jack. The flop game jack high with two clubs. I made a decision to win the pot before another card came, but I knew it wouldn't be as easy as just betting out. G-Rob was on tilt and calling all bets. Blood had killed off half the game and was sitting behind the amount of money that I spent on my laptop and big TV combined. G-Rob checked, I checked, and Blood bet out. I read the bet as a desire to win the pot right there. Blood didn't want action. G-Rob called. That night, calling was not uncommon for him and I figured him for clubs. My problem was, I was weak. I had top pair no kicker. I put in a fairly substantial raise. In retrospect, it committed me and I failed to realize it. Before I had time to think about it, Blood had re-raised enough to put me all in. G-Rob folded. Doing the math later, I think I had to call. Nonetheless, after a lot of thought, I re-evaluated the hand, put Blood on an overpair, and mucked.

Blood said a few minuted later that he had pocket tens. That is, I had him beat. "I put you on putting me on missing the flop, so I represented the overpair," he said.

Now, given, we are no poker geniuses and this is the kind of play that takes place everywhere in America. Still, Blood put a Level 3 move on me that he would only put on me and a couple of other people. He knew how I had read him and he twisted my mind to believe what he wanted me to believe. Looking back, I think he was getting me back for making him lay down an overpair two nights earlier when I had ace-high. Regardless, when you're consistently playing with people who know you well enough to know what you're thinking most of the time, it's just not a recipe for making money. It's stimulating and it makes you a better player, but it doesn't make you a lot of money. Unless you're Blood, who is currently enjoying the heater we all pass around (I want it back).

With that kind of thing in mind, we're all sort of re-evaluating whether we want to keep playing with each other. One of us has explicitly said he won't do it ever again. Me, I'm torn. I know I can win more money in the underground games, but I also play to be able to see my buddies.

***

But, the reason I started this post in the first place was to ask...what is your city like? Do you have a vibrant underground scene full of characters, criminals, and geniuses? Because we in G-Vegas do.

So...what say you?

Don was having the worst luck I'd seen in a long time. I sometimes get the feeling I'm like a black hole of luck... so massive that I suck in the luck from everyone else. Don was sitting on my right, rather close to the event horizon.

I got the sense he owned a bait store. Maybe it was the worn jeans and the flannel shirt... or the old-man-and-the-sea beard... or the bait-store-owner-like demeanor. Of course, it could be his hat that said "Don's Bait Store."

Don had an uncanny ability to get dealt a deuce in the big blind. It happened just about every orbit and became a running joke. If you think the naked ace is a bad hand, imagine getting naked deuce after naked deuce.

I never got the other's guy name. Maybe it's for the best. Do you really want to get the name of the guy who's soul you're going to crush?

This guy was wearing a Houston Astros jersey, suggesting serious judgement issues, but I digress (if it had been a David Carr jersey, I'd have known he lacked basic common sense). Just 10 minutes earlier, I watched a donkey felt the Astros fan with a brutal two outer on the river. It was sick.

Which brings us back to where I started. My pocket 10s. I was raised and that raise was called. I had about $900 in front of me, which was more than double what I bought in for. To put them both all-in, it would cost me another $120.

But surely I was behind, right? Surely I had the worst hand, right? There is NO WAY this was a good play. And yet, I made it. And they both called. The pot was now about $600.

The Astros fan showed KQ. Of course he did. Don didn't want to show. I was so ashamed I didn't want to show either.

"Well, I laid down Queen-Ten," the 5 seat said. Yeah... thanks a lot, pal, that's exactly what I wanted to hear. There was no sense in hiding my cards any longer. Dejected, I flipped up my hand and dropped my head.

I guessed from the collective "Ohhhhhhhh!" from the table and other players who gathered exactly what had happened. The dealer pulled the only card in the deck that could win me the hand. I wanted to feel bad... Don was hemorrhaging money and Astros fan had just lost to a two-outer.

But I didn't. It was $600. I got lucky. It's what I do.

We were in what could only be described as a back room. A giant mural--full of sprites with naked breasts--covered one of the walls. Several hundred euros were stuffed in the dealers tray of this, the only poker table in the room. The floors were hard wood and the room echoed when we laughed. We were a motley and drinking six-handed poker game. Cigarette smoke hung above the table and the four Brits, the Irishman, and the American were defending their blinds with patritotic fervor.

"This," the Authur-esque character proclaimed, "is the only smoking poker room in the city!" He lit another cigarette and laughed.

As he was about Vivaldi, he was right about the legalities (or illegalities) of the game. The poker room was only 30 yards away. This room had been set up for overflow before it was realized that no overflow area would be needed. Now, the room was being used for storage and a 4am poker game, where six euro beers were being purchased six at a time, and--if only to keep the game going--rebuys were instituted after the first hand had been dealt and the older Brit had cracked pocket kings with QT offsuit. This game wasn't on the tournament schedule, but, for the moment anyway, it was The Big Deal.

***

I don't get much chance to play poker when I'm on the road in Europe. Many of the places where we hold tournaments aren't familiar with poker and hence don't spread cash games. More often than not, the only available games are single-table tournaments, usually starting at 100 euros (about $122).

My first night in Monte Carlo, after getting stuck on my hotel room's balcony, I had played two of these 100 euro games, busting out in fourth in the first one and chopping the second one two ways for an even split. In that game, I'd gotten heads-up with a Nordic player and felt lucky to walk away with any money. I had badly misplayed pocket queens three-handed and the Nordic's sweater (one of these guys), let me know about it. He wasn't mean about it. He just pointed out the painfully obvious. Still, I managed to overcome the chips I lost on that hand and, I must say, artfully played myself back into the money.

And so I had a little more than 400 euros in my pocket and set about a week of work. Over the course of the next week, I would curse myself several times for not exchanging more of my dollars for euros. By the penultimate night of the trip, I had $1500 in unspendable American currency and 270 euros in my pocket. And I had a poker jones like I can't explain.

The poker room was hopping. Every list, from the 100 to the 1000 Sit and Go tables, was ten deep. I had heard my colleagues were drinking in the bar with a well-known author, but I wanted to play. I found the floorman and before I thought about it too much said, "Put me on the list for the 100 and the 250 euro tables."

I stood waiting for five minutes when my name came through the PA system. I'd drawn a 250 seat.

Now, I've played just about every level of single-table tournament from $5 to $1000. What's more, I've won at just about every level of single-table tournament from $5-$1000. Finally, the $300+ buy-in to this table didn't mean a great deal in the grand scheme of my bankroll. However, there was one consideration that set me on my heels. I only had 270 euros in my pocket. That is, if I didn't cash, I would have 20 euros in my pocket and in need of an ATM (which, oddly, had been invisible since my arrival).

I took the three-seat (my second-favorite seat at any table) and waited. I felt good that the 250 game was one of the lowest games in the rooms. The pros, I told myself, would be in the 500 or 1000 games. I'd be with the journalists, the drunks, or the stuck pros.

"It's just a fucking SNG," I told myself.

Then, another one of these guys sat down. Then this guy sat down. Then this guy sat down.

"It's just a fucking SNG," I told myself...again.

And so I played it like any other SNG. Down to six handed, I picked up with worst hand in all of poker, AQ suited spades (see previous entries for my trouble with this hand). Folded to me on the button, I made a standard raise and a loose Frechman called in the small blind. Short-stacked, the Nord pushed from the big blind. Hoping we were racing, I pushed to isolate, but the small blind called.

Otis: AQs
Frenchman: A7o
Nord: AKo

In short, I got lucky. A queen flopped and I took both the main and side pots. The Nord walked away and before I knew it, I was three handed. First place paid 1700 euros. Second paid 600 euros. Third place paid nothing.

***

There's a rule most everybody knows. It's almost universal in major tournaments. English-only during a hand. My two French opponents knew and adhered to the rule. Thing was, after every hand, they would break into full French conversation. I'd been in a similiar situation at the WSOP, up against three French-Canadian friends. In that game, I'd finished fourth.

I sat, annoyed at my inability to call the guys on a rules violation. After a few hands, I took a different tack. I started listening. It became quite clear that they were telling each other what hands they had been holding. While irrelevant after the fact, I still found it annoying. And so, I did all I could. I listened. And then, when they did it again, I responded. In kind. And in French.

Looking a bit surprised, the two Frenchmen then seemed to focus more on winning and less on beating me. When a gorgeous Danish dealer sat down, one of the guy's attention turned more to flirting and before he knew what was happening, he had given all his chips away.

Based on our even chip-stacks (in fact, he had me outchipped by a a couple of blinds), I proposed an even chop. The loose Frenchman said, "I make you a deal."

I expected him to say he would take 1300 and give me 1000, which I had already decided I wasn't going to take. It would've been a decent chop for me, but I thought, despite my inability to play heads-up poker, I had a skill edge on the guy and deserved an even-chop.

"I take 1000," he said, "you take 1000, and we play for the rest."

I didn't think long before accepting the deal. We played two hands. I folded to his raise on the first hand. On the second hand, I found AJ suited in diamonds. He came over the top all-in and I called in a shot. He turned over A6o. He flopped a six, the Danish dame gave me my 1000 euros, I tipped her and walked away.

The poker room was on the verge of closing down. No more SNGs were opening. I went to the bar and bought a 6 euro Monaco-brand beer and looked around for anyone I knew. Nobody.

Funny thing about winning. It's a lot like losing. I want to keep playing. Suddenly, I was an action junkie where the action had dried up. I asked around about any off-the-books games.

One young lady did me the biggest favor of the trip. "Look down that hallway," she said.

***

The guy on my left had just won about $30,000 in the main event. He had a lucky rock that his dad had found on the beach. I worked with three of the guys at the table. They were all nice enough fellows. But the reason I was there, the reason I had dropped 100 euros into a tournament that had already started, the reason I refused to leave even if I busted out, was the older man in the three seat.

Later in the night, after we had laughed and joked for a couple of hours, before I had gotten heads up and the man had offered me his lucky opal to cap my cards, before I got in ahead and came out behind, we had this exchange.

"So, Tony," I said, "did you go out and look for someone to publish your new book or did the publisher come to you?"

"It was quite a funny story," he said. "The publisher called and suggested the new book. At first I laughed and said, 'What should we call it? The Bigger Deal?'"

Indeed, that is what they should call it.

***

It's funny, you know. I'm now a little more than a year into this new gig. I've met just about everybody who is anybody in the poker playing world. Oddly, I don't get star-struck very often. Except when it comes to poker narrative authors. There, I get sort school-girly.

In the past year, I've met Jim McManus. I've discussed writing with Jesse May. I played a drunken and rocking $2-$6 spread game with Michael Craig (who, it should be pointed out, didn't drink a drop). And now...well, now I can say I've drank and played poker with Anthony Holden.

If somebody could find me Al Alverez, I might be able to feel complete.

Meet the Luckbox

I played pretty solid poker, I thought, in the tourney, except for one or two bad plays. I was around average stack for most of the day before making a big late move.

It really started when I made a move with A3 from the SB after an Ace hit the flop. Unfortunately, UTG had A8. I wasn't too worried, though, because I figured at worse, I was getting a chop. The chop card never fell, but the 3 on the river doubled me up.

The very next hand, I got in cheap from the button with 78s. I flopped open ended and it was checked to the river where I caught my straight. I bet the minimum and the guy I just bad beated pushed all in. I called. He hit a pair on the river and was going home.

The table considered me pretty lucky at that point.

The Big Stack Arrives

Suddenly I had a really nice stack, until a bigger stack sat at my table. She was a 20-something woman who I would later learn had amassed that huge stack by playing almost every hand and catching. It didn't take me long to guess that on my own based on her play. She would be the one I played against from there on out.

The first time we tangled, I had A4s in LP and a short stack was in the SB. I raised enough to put him all in. He called and then the big stack woman also called. Okay, I guess she'd help me put him out. The flop was A4J. Bingo. She lead out. Wha?

It was a dry side pot and she lead out. Guess I needed to find out if she had AJ, so I raised her. She thought forever before saying, "Do you have an Ace?" What the f$%#? She bet into a dry side pot without an Ace? I immediately marked her as an idiot. She folded, my hand stood up.

Awhile later, I get K9s in late position and I raise it up. The big stack woman calls me again from the BB. She could literally have anything. The flop is Q22 and she checks. I pushed all in. She thought and thought and thought. I considered calling a clock and decided her best nickname was Tiffany Williamson.

She eventually folded 55 face up. I flipped up my K9s and the table reacted. The guy to my left (a nice guy named Cesaer) said, "Hey, the ladies game is down the street," an apparent tip of the cap to Mike Matusow and his kiddie games.

That was the last good play I made.

Tiffany min-raises from UTG and it's folded to me. I have her slightly outstacked and I looked down at 88. The blinds were 3000/6000 and I had 52000. Despite being the table's big stack, my M was just 6 (M=number of orbits you can survive the blinds).

I had a couple of choices: first, I could fold (although I didn't believe her), second, I could just call and see a flop (although I'm commiting a quarter of my stack to a call and leaving myself with an M of 4 and the blinds approaching) or third, I could re-raise all in.

I elected to re-raise all in. I knew no one else would get involved and I figured I was likely ahead. If her hand was marginal enough, she'd lay it down. This time, there was no Tiffany action, she insta-called with AKo. A king on the flop knocked me down to just T12000.

The next hand, I'm dealt Big Slick suited. Here's the irony. No matter what I had done on the previous hand, I would have been eliminated on this one. Here's why...

UTG pushed all in with his short stack. I would have re-raised all in to isolate with my AKs. There were another two shortstacks that called behind me and then Tiffany called us all. The hands (pre-flop odds):

UTG: 88 (15%)
Hero: AK spades (22%)
Shorty 1: KJ hearts (19%)
Shorty 2: A5 diamonds (13%)
Tiffany: TT (28%)

Guess who finished last? KJ flopped and turned Jacks and the A5 rivered the wheel. The board was 2J4J3, no spades. And I was out. Perhaps I should have played the 88 differently, but I'm not sure the outcome would have been any different. I figured I was ahead, and was willing to race. Chips were at a premium and you have to win races to win tournaments. I lost.

The Big Game

After the tourney, I figured I could win my buy-in back and then some at the soft NL games. But this time, I was intrigued by an interest list for a 5/10 NLHE/PLO $500 min buy in game. I had the bankroll to take a shot and wanted to see what my game was like.

When we finally got a full table, I bought in for $700 with $300 on the table behind it. No one bought in for more than a grand. The game would switch each time the button got back to the 10 seat.

I did pretty well early, chipping up to more than $900 in chips, mostly winning with PLO. I flopped Broadway once and rivered quads once. I guess it doesn't take much skill to win those kinds of hands.

Everything went down hill when I bet right into the immortal nuts. That's not good poker strategy. I'm sitting in the SB with QTs when there's one limper to me. I complete and the BB checks. The flop is Q66. Both blinds check and the limper bets half the pot. I call and the BB folds.

The turn is a 6. I figure that's a good card for me, right? It's gotta be, right? How many hands beat me at this point? I can eliminate AA, KK and QQ because he would have raised with that. Is he holding a 6? Could he really be holding a six? How bad is my luck that the case 6 would hit the turn?

I lead out this time and he cold calls me. The river is a T. That doesn't scare me at all. I suppose an Ace or a King would have saved me money. I'm guessing he's got a Q or maybe a small pair. I really didn't consider a 6.

I lead out for $75 again and this time he raises me $300. There's now $660 in the pot and it costs me $300 more to find out how unlucky I am.

"Wow, if I'm beat, that's really unlucky," I say. And decide to push my $300.

"That's really unlucky," he responds and flips 56s.

Dinner time!

I was pretty stunned at that point. I lost more than half my stack on that hand and I didn't like it. Should I have folded? The guy was pretty aggressive and had pushed a number of bad players off pots. I had also seen him show down some pretty bad hands. I think I made the right play.

I went to my favorite cafe there and ordered my regular: Open Faced Hot Roast Beef Sandwich on Texas Toast with Mashed Red Potatoes. Mmmmmmmmm...

I wondered if I should go home. I had made some chips while there were some small stack bad players at the table. Suddenly, I was one of the small stacks and starting to believe I might be one of the bad players. I took most of dinner convicing myself that wasn't the case. I was going to go back and beat this game.

I didn't.

I played for a few more hours and gave away the rest of my chips. Thankfully, I kept my cash out of it. I know why I lost. I was scared.

Every time I got into a pot with someone and they raised, I imagined the nuts in their hand. Every PLO hand, I imagined the turn gave them the nut flush or the nut straight or a full house. When I didn't have the nuts, I laid my hand down.

It was a combination of the limit (which I had little experience with), good players (the bad ones busted quickly) and the quad 6's that scared the hell out of me. I wish I had gone home after dinner, but I didn't. My live bankroll took a big hit, but now I must use what I learned, and build it back up.

I can play poker. And I can beat the Coushatta. Of that, I am sure.

I checked on the river, I think because I knew I was beat. This guy was tight and hadn't made a move on anyone in the 6 hours I sat beside him. I wanted, however, to think it through just in case.

But the clock? Really? This guy must have watched one too many episodes of the WSOP. I've played in a dozen casinos over the past three or four years and I have never once heard a player call for the clock in a cash game. Hell, I'd never it heard in a tourney either!

The floor came over and the dealer told him what just happened. I think he was as surprised as me.

"How much time do I have?"

"One minute and 10 seconds."

"Really? How'd you come up with that?"

"I don't know, but your time is counting."

"When do I get a verbal countdown, and since there's no clock in a casino, how are you timing it?"

"I've got a pretty good sense of time."

By now, I had already decided to fold. I suppose given more time I might have talked myself into a call, but I had to lay it down. Two pair couldn't be good. That didn't mean I wouldn't milk it.

"But it's such a tough decision," I said as dramatically as I could. I don't think Mr. Bald was amused.

The next hand I'm in the BB with 85o and it's limped around. The flop comes down 5-6-7, rainbow. I've got bottom pair and an OESD. It's checked around to Mr. Bald who $20. I call. We're heads up. The turn is a Q. I check. He bets $40. I call. Maybe I don't have odds, but I'm not sure he's got it either.

The river is a 5. I check, he bets $100. I really should have raised him here, but I just call. I flip my hand and say wryly, "I don't think my hand is good." He stops in midflip, clearly upset... and mucks, silently. He didn't last at the table much longer.

---------

I hadn't been to the Coushatta in months, since before the hurricanes hit. I had forgotten how much I missed slinging real chips with real people. And I didn't go to play in a ring game, I went to play in a tournament.

It was a $210 + 20 buy in for T8000. Blinds started at 25/50 and levels last 20 minutes. It was not an ideal set up, but not bad. Unfortunately, I played just two hands.

We lost 5 minutes of the first level when a Jackass at our table called for the floor. That's right, I met the floor twice in a day.

Jackass raised from T50 to T300. A player behind him raised to T550. Jackass blew up.

"He can't do that, he has to double the bet. He has to raise to T600."

"No he doesn't, we've been over this before."

"Yes he does, dammit. This isn't limit. Get the floor!"

"FLOOR!"

As we all know, the floor came over and confirmed that the dealer was right. You don't have to double the bet, you only have to double the raise. Of course, that didn't stop Jackass from talking about it for the next 20 minutes. And dammit if he didn't double through Pocket Rockets the next hand when his Cowboys caught a K on the flop.

My first hand didn't come until the second level. I'm in the BB when I look down at my first realy hand, AKo. It was raised to 600 from a guy in LP who played almost every hand. Amazingly, he still had chips.

I re-raised to T1500 and, to my dismay, it was called by the BB. The original raiser called as well, but he didn't worry me. I really wanted to hit this flop.

K-x-x. Jackpot! I bet T5000. And BB immediately went all lin for T375 more. The other guy got out of the way mumbling about needing one more card. I certainly couldn't lay down my hand to just 375 more. I called and he flipped KK. My Big Slick in the SB ran into Cowboys in the BB and the flop came down with the case K.

Someone tell me how I should play that better next time. I keep telling myself it was just bad luck, but maybe I could have done it differently. I guess I had to put him on a big hand when he called my raise, but should I have put him on the that? Ugh.

I was crippled and down to T900. I was out a few hands later.

---------

I almost left right there. I had only been there an hour. And, for some reason, I thought Pauly's tourney started at 2pm and I could just about get home in time to play it. I was wrong about that, so I'm glad I decided to stay and play a little No Limit.

I bought in for $300 and sat right down. It's a good game. Blinds are $2/$5 and buy in is $100/$300.

It's always nice to win the first hand you play (foreshadowing). You start up and maybe, just maybe, you never have to drop below your starting stack (not foreshadowing).

I limp with K8s from MP. There's a few callers and the BB min-raises to 10. I have to call, as do 5 others. Six of us see a flop of A-8-2, two clubs. I've got the nut flush draw and middle pair. The BB leads out with 20 and I'm the only caller. The turn is a blank. The BB bets 20 again and I call. The river is another blank. The BB bets 20 once again and I think for a bit before calling. He flips KQo and I begin the day up. I guess he thought I could be pushed around by $20.

---------

I got knocked back down after my pocket T's ran into a nut flush on the flop. I didn't lose too much, but I also wasn't seeing much in the way of cards.

When I finally got my first HAMMER, I raised it up to 25 preflop and got two callers. When the flop came 2-3-5, I bet 50 and they all folded.

"HAMMER!" I said, flipping my hand. I'm not sure they were impressed.

Things got better from there. Pocket 4's tripped up, I'm up 100. AQs caught a Q high flop, I'm up 170. Snowmen catch a straight on the turn, I'm up 275.

Then I see my nemesis hand. Big Slick.

I raise to 25 UTG and get two callers. The flop is K-T-x. I bet 50 and get one caller. The turn is a 9. The SB checks, I bet 100 and he goes all in for 65 more. Ugh. I call and, of course, he has QJ for the nut straight. I'm back down to just +25. Did I play it wrong again? Should I have recognized the straight?

---------

AQo wins on another Q high flop for me and I'm back up 140. K9s rivers a flush and I'm now up 370. Then I donked off a bunch of chips playing 62o out of the BB. The flop was 9-6-x and I never gave the guy credit for the 9. Which, of course, he had. I know what I did wrong on that one.

Then it's Big Slick again. I think I should have just floded it pre-flop.

Instead I rasie to 20 and get two callers. The flop is 4-2-2, two clubs. I have the nut flush draw. I bet 40 and it's raised another 100. Is this where I'm supposed to lay it down? Someone tell me. I call. The turn is another 4. We both check. The river is a Q. I check and he pushes for 200. I fold and I'm up just 50 now.

Thinking back, I think he was trying to make me believe he had a 2 on the flop when he really didn't. He didn't think I would call. That may mean my AK was good at the river. Maybe good enough for at least a chop. I suppose discretion was the better part of valor?

A few hands later I played AA out of the SB and ran into a set of 3's. I'm now down 45 for the day. Boy, that was fast.

---------

But here's the beatuy of NL. I limp with Q8s and the flop is 9-T-J. Nice. It's checked to me and I bet 15 and get one caller. The turn is a 7. He checks, I bet 20 and he calls. The river is an A. He bets 100, I raise to 200 (no way he has QK), he calls, and my straight takes it down. I'm back up 220.

Of course, I donk half of that away playing T9 out of the SB when I flop middle pair and an OESD. Two pair took me down. I'm up just 110.

---------

My first look at the Hiltons wins me a nice pot despite the A on the flop. And on the next hand, AQo wins me a big pot when the flop comes down A-high and I get a Q on the river. I'm back up 350.

Later, Rockets hold up for me and I'm up 405. By 10pm, I'm up 500, my high water mark at that point.

I actually played for a few more hours after that, but didn't take any notes. I doubt many of you made it this far anyway, so I figured I wouldn't bore you with much more. Eventually, I was up to about $875 in front of me, but I gave 75 back and walked away with 800 in my racks.

With the $40 I won at blackjack waiting for the tourney to start that meant I finished up $300 for the day. Not bad at all considering my tournament performance was so pathetic.

It's a NL game I love, and I'll definitely be back.

1. Pocket Aces, don't they always lose (when played poorly)?
I'm in late position when I look down at Rockets. Up until this point, I'd seen pocket T's, J's and Q's. The premium pairs were coming my way, and the first three were big winners. I had turned $200 into more than $400, and it was early. I figured the A's would just keep me rolling.

I raised to $10 out of early position. Looking back, this was mistake #1. It's that fine line between getting some money in the pot while not scaring everyone away. I got three callers.

The first card I see off the flop is the Ace of spades. Fireworks are going off in my head. that's until I see the ten of spades and the two of spades to follow. It's checked to me and I bet $20. I get one caller.

I think his name was Terry. He's in the 9 seat, wearing a terrible toupee. He's also got 9 gaudy rings on his 8 fingers (no thumb rings). He's wearing an 80's style windbreaker with a "shirt" of a similar material underneath. Both the jacket and "shirt" are zipped halfway down.

The previous hand, Terry had American Airlines himself. He was so excited by his cards that his hand shook like a washing machine as he moved his chips into the pot. I guess you could say he had a tell.

The turn is the 7 of diamonds. In my mind, I'm just begging for the board to pair, but I wasn't going to assume I was beat. I've often felt that's a problem I have, assuming everyone else has the nuts. He checks and I bet $30 this time, and he called again.

What should that have told me? Was he on a four-card flush draw? Did he already have it, and was slow playing me? Did he have a piece of the flop, but not enough to raise?

The river is another blank. Dammit. I'd like to think my trip A's are good, but I'm not sure. Terry checks again. I pause. I should check here, right? If I'm beat, that means I won't lose any more money. If he's beat, he'll fold to a big bet anyway, right? Or I could be just enough to get him to call, right??? Right???

Wrong. I throw $50 out this time. He immediately check-raises me for another $100, his hand frantically shaking the whole time. He's got the flush. There is absolutely no doubt in my mind. If I had just check, I'd have saved myself $50. Of course, I shouldn't compound my mistake by calling, right? Right???

There was $230 in the pot, and Terry's $100 made it $330. That means I was calling another $100 to win that $330. It was a stupid call. But I made it anyway. He flipped over K5 of spades.

It was an extra $150 I just threw away on the river. I spent the next 10 minutes beating myself up over my stupidity.

2. The Stone-Cold Bluff
I'm dealt AJo, and I raise to $10. A couple of people call me. The flop is A-6-3, two clubs. I'm in early position and I bet $20 with two callers. I'm not sure why I bet so little. The pot was about $40 and I had top pair with a good kicker. I'm pretty sure I was ahead at this point.

The turn was another A. Great! Now I know I'm holding a winner. I bet another $40. A young heavy-set guy at the other end of the table smooth calls. He hadn't played many hands, so I didn't have any kind of read on him.

The river is the third club. It's exactly what I didn't want to see. Suddenly, visions of that spade flush from earlier flashed through my head. And that's when I made my big mistake.

I checked.

Could there have been a greater invitation to buy the pot? The heavyset kid quickly grabs a stack of twenty $5 chips and pushes it past the line. He was telling me he had a flush. I had to decide if he was telling the truth.

Had I bet into the pot, I think he still might have thrown out a significant raise. I should have bet bigger before the river, but I didn't. He bet $100 into a $180 pot and I had to decide whether it was worth another $100. Last time I made this choice, it was the wrong one. But I knew I was beat in that case.

This time, I wasn't sure, but I laid it down anyway. He flipped over 45o. It was a stone-cold bluff. And his flip wasn't apologetic or jovial, it was cocky. He was saying, "Ha, I outplayed you, you fish." I guess he was right.

Intermission: The Rush

At that point, I was getting close to about $50 and I bought another $50 in chips. For the day, that put me in for $290. I was kicking myself for those two hands, but I vowed to put them behind me.

It's Cowboys and I win a pot. Then it's J9o from the BB and I win some more. My AQo outflops AKs and it's another nice pot. I get pocket A's again and this time it never makes it to the showdown. I'm up to $340.

I get my first Big Slick, in clubs and I raise to $15 with a couple of callers. The flop is Jc-Tc-x. I bet $25 and another guy pushes all in for $111. It's gonna cost me $86 on a complete draw. I know I have some outs, but I'm not sure how many.

Best case, he's got top pair or an overpair of Q's. If that's the case, I could have as many as 9 clubs, three K's, three A's and two or four Q's. That's 17 or 19 outs twice. That means I'm actually a favorite. I call and he flips pocket Q's, including one club. That makes me a 55% favorite. Without doing the actual math in my head, I make the call. The A on the turn puts my stack at $501.

AQo, K6o and KQo all also win me pots and I'm now at $750. It's probably time to leave, right?

3. It's Ace-rag, and I hate Ace-rag
I'm in the SB when I see A6o. There are 5 pre-flop callers so I toss in two more bucks and the BB checks. The flop is A-J-7. I suspect I may have the only Ace, since no one raised pre-flop, but I check, and so does everyone else.

The turn is another Ace. I think I've been here before, but this time there's no flush draw on the board. I bet $25 and the BB is the only one who calls me. The river is a 9. I bet $50 and he pushes for about $150 more.

Ugh. What have I gotten myself into? Am I being played again?

If I look back over the betting, it doesn't make sense. I lose to AK, AQ, AJ, AT, A9 or A7, or pocket 7's, 9's, or J's. As I look at that list of hands, I just couldn't imagine the BB checking. He had generally raised preflop with those holdings. I guess pocket 7's or A7 or A9 might have been checking hands. If he's got an A with a bad kicker, we'd split. Was he trying to buy my half of the pot?

I called.

He flipped AJ. Once again, I called someone holding the nuts. I'm a genius.

4. Snowmen, now I remember why I hate snow
It's the very next hand. That means about 10 minutes ago, I had about $700. Soon, it would all be gone.

I look down at pocket 8's and I raise to 15 pre-flop. I get a couple of callers. The flop is T-7-3. It's not great, but it could be a lot worse. I bet out $20 and get one caller. The turn is another T. Okay, maybe my 8's are good.

I check and it's bet $50. Does he really have a ten? I elect to call. Maybe I was steaming. I thought my hand might be good, but maybe I was just fooling myself.

The river is an 8!!!!! Jackpot!!!! That's great! Even if I made the bad call against the T, my hand is now good. Well, I suppose he could be holding pocket T's (very unlikely) or T8, T7 or T3 (but who would call a $15 raise with that?).

I bet $100. My opponent immediately pushes all in for about another $140 and I beat him into the pot with my call. I had him outchipped by $81. I proudly flip my 8's and he shows me the T7.

It wasn't the nuts, but it was damn near close, and for the third time, I got my money into the pot when I was dead or way, way behind. How did it happen? What did I do wrong?

And it was all gone
It was only a few hands later when I officially busted out. I was dealt AJo and I raised to $15 from early position. I got two callers.

The flop wa K-Q-T, two spades. I flopped the nut straight, but don't be fooled by that description.

I pushed for $30 and the next guy raised to isolate me. I showed my hand, but the other guy held onto his cards. Slow-rolling is a serious problem at this casino. No one seems to want to show their cards, but I digress...

The turn is a J, meaning any A split my pot, dammit. And the river was a Q. He flipped over KQ, meaning the river filled him and my day was done.

In retrospect
For the almost 7 hour session, I felt I played pretty well. If I check with my Aces, that's $150 I would have saved. If I call with my trip aces, I would have taken in another $280. If I lay down my A6, that's another at least $150. And if I lay down my pocket 8's, that's another about $300. The KQ on the last hand was the only suckout but that was a $105 pot. In all, we're talking $985.

In fact, if I somehow win those pots instead of losing, we're talking a total of about $1650 instead of walking out of the casino down $290.

But it all happened, and that's poker. In NL, your sessions are often predicated on just a few big hands, and my biggest hands were all losers. In all four cases, I completely mis-read my opponents. Three times they were holding monsters and I couldn't see them. The fourth time, it was a stone-cold bluff and I imagined the nuts.

So someone tell me how else I went wrong...