Complaining

WARNING: This is a blog about complainers by a complainer with complaints

I have always hated complainers at the poker table and yet I now find that I have joined their ranks and I’m at my wits end about it. Usually the guys who complain the most are the weakest players, the guys who bemoan the fact that they spent $800 trying to hit a gutshot straight without success, or who spend a thousand bucks to chase and catch a nine high flush when the board is paired and another player shoves on the river with Kings full.

In my case I am convinced that I’m playing well and am simply the victim of continuing horrible luck, bad beats and cooler hands. And yet I stop and wonder whether I am fooling myself. Maybe it’s my fault. To thine own self be true and all that.

And when my loving and supportive wife (who knows nothing about poker) faithfully listens to me rant and then says “are you sure you aren’t playing differently or something?” I have to reflect and wonder whether she may be right.

This year I have played in a few different venues - home games and casinos, and I find that it has become impossible for me to win in my favorite casino where I aver that the laws of mathematics have taken a sabbatical. No matter how much one might love a particular poker venue, if it becomes impossible to win in that venue there has to come a point where you move on. I fear that I have reached that point.

Tonight I was at that casino and decided to take contemporaneous notes in the event that the roof caved in once again. Rather than complain, I am going to simply list the facts as follows:

Hand number 1 – I have pocket kings on the button. The last three times I had pocket kings in this casino someone else at the table had pocket aces. Another player raises to $50 and I reraise to $180. He flat calls and we play heads-up. The player bets out 300 to a flop of 9-5-2 with two clubs and I shove. He calls and turns up – guess what – pocket aces.

Hand number 2 – Seven way limp pot I play 3-4 of diamonds in the cutoff . Flop is 2-5-6 with two diamonds. One player bets out $80 and I make it $240. He shrugs and shoves all-in which of course I snap call. The turn is a queen of diamonds and the river a black jack. The player turns up the nut flush.

Hand number 3 – I play King of diamonds/Queen of hearts in a six way limp pot. The flop is A-J-!0 with two diamonds giving me Broadway. By the time the betting and raising is done there are three of us in the hand and just about all of our money in the pot. The turn is the Queen of diamonds putting three diamonds on board but giving me the nut flush (royal flush) redraw. We all check the turn. The river is a blank and when one player bets $1000 and the other snap-calls I muck my straight. Both other players reveal that they hit the flush.

Now before I get to the coup de grace I need to set the stage. I had been sitting in the one seat which was pretty much a dead seat and when Dave Limo showed up I moved to the five seat and he took the one seat. Dave and I play in the same home game, and we are competitive –AND WE DON’T EVEN CHOP WITH EACH OTHER! Dave had essentially played all the previous night and he kept dozing at the table. This brings us to


Hand number 4 - On the button I look down to see two red queens. Dave and the guy to his left limp in for $10 and I raise to $60. Everyone mucks around to Dave who now has his eyes closed as he dreams of cherry blossoms or whatever. The dealer pokes him and says “there’s a raise to $60” prompting Dave's eyes to pop wide open as he grabs an additional five peach chips, tosses them into the pot and then settles his chin back onto his hands allowing his eyes to close once more. The player to his left remarks “okay I guess you dragged me in,” and matches the bet.

The flop is 10-8-3 rainbow and when the dealer says "Dave it's on you," his eyes slowly open and he checks. The player to his left then bets $300 into the $180 pot. He has about $700 behind him so I shove my remaining $1500 in and to my utter surprise and dismay Dave looks at his hole cards and pushes his chips into the pot. The player to his left appears to be as surprised as I am, shows his Ace-10 and mucks. I stare with glazed-over eyes as Dave turns up 10-8 offsuit and sends me packing. He quickly pulls in the pot and settles back into dreamland as I contemplate throwing a chair so that they might forcibly remove me. Instead, dignity intact, baseball cap slanted in Bowery Boy fashion, I take a swig of my water, spilling some on the table - oops - and take the long escalator ride to oblivion once again..

Thank you for letting me get this of my chest and now I’m going to try some of that dreamland stuff, helped by some of this alcohol stuff.