“That’s Poker!”

When it comes to poker stories, whether it be a hand history or some other tale inspired by something that happened at the tables, there’s a fairly common sign-off, used frequently enough to have edged over into the ignominious status of cliché.

Usually it comes following the description of an unlikely sequence of events or improbable outcome to a hand such as often characterizes a bad beat story. It can appear at the conclusions of other types of poker stories as well, though, as a terse, trite termination.

It’s the verbal equivalent of a fate-accepting shrug, usually indicating having reached a kind of narrative threshold beyond which there are no further plot twists or salient details left to share. It also marks the speaker having exhausted his or her supply of insight, having no more commentary left to help explain what has been related to that point.

You’ve heard the phrase yourself many times, I’m sure. And if you’re like most of us, you’ve probably been guilty of occasionally using it, too, as a way to signal you’ve got nothing more to add to your poker parable.

“That’s poker!”

It’s so common, a few of my friends and I have started using the phrase ironically with each other, as a joking reference to the lack of imagination that sometimes possesses we flawed storytellers. Or as a parodic way of punctuating a hand report.

“So after four-betting pre he led both the flop and the turn, then check-called a river bet and, well... that’s poker.”

It reminds me a little of student compositions. Conclusions are often especially challenging for fledgling writers of academic essays, although in my experience many of my students were at least able to summarize everything that had already been said, which functioned as one kind of unexciting though appropriate enough way to fill out a word count requirement.

I’d often recommend all sorts of maneuvers to prevent the conclusion from being redundant, including “stepping back” from whatever point the paper had made and discussing it in a broader context, if possible. But for many that was easier said than done.

“That’s poker” actually makes me think more of those struggled-over introductions, where there wasn’t an option simply to repeat oneself in order to hide a lack of inspiration. I’m thinking of all those essays starting with either a quoted entry from Webster’s dictionary or a request of the reader to think back to the Garden of Eden -- basically the writing student’s version of “Once upon a time.”

I would always respond by suggesting that better openers existed -- in fact, that anything else would be better -- more or less prohibiting such generic starters that often had little to do with the actual subject at hand. But again, it was easier for me to point that out than for some to come up with anything better.

But “that’s poker” actually does say more than simply “I have nothing else to say.” It’s a statement of acceptance, perhaps even a kind of surrender, reaffirming the game’s ability to bewilder.

It’s an easy line to ridicule. But I guess at its root it’s pointing out (again) how ridiculous the game can make us.

Image: MemeCenter.

Life in the Land of the Blue Chips

In my previous post I referred to the “land of the blue chips,” i.e., the low limit tables where we’re mostly playing with the blue one-dollar chips. As anyone who spends any time down here knows, the quality of play varies tremendously. Ultimately (as is true of any limit, I'd venture to say), it all depends on who comes to the table. Some are crafty, clever players. Some seem unsure a full house beats a flush. Not too different from the rest of the world, basically. You got your smarties and your dumdums and then all the rest of us poor lugs in between . . . .

Had an odd run of hands yesterday while limping through a particularly vicious losing session of $1.00/$2.00 limit (full table). A higher than average dose of bizarro, it seemed. The hand of the day undoubtedly came when I called an early raiser with my threes in the cutoff and we ended up heads-up. Flop came 6-2-3 and we capped it. Turn was another 6 and we capped again. River was a third friggin’ 6 and he took it down with 99.

Neither of us played that hand that badly, I’d say (although he might’ve considered slowing down somewhere in there prior to the river). Had some other hands, though, where the play was just strange enough to be memorable. The losses having sapped my strength to write about other things, I thought I’d share three of my favorites. I’m not saying I played these hands perfectly by any means -- indeed, if anyone wants to point out moments where I went wrong (besides the one when I decided to sit down at the table in the first place), please do. Anyhow, here goes:

HAND 1
I’m in the BB with As Kh. Droopy calls from UTG+1. Underpants raises from UTG+2. The table folds back to me and I bump it up hoping to get rid of Droopy. Droopy’s going nowhere, though, and calls. Underpants calls as well, so there are 10 small bets in the pot when the flop comes a raggedy 2c 7s 8c. I make a continuation bet, Droopy calls, and Underpants (the original raiser) raises. I put him on an overpair and call, as does Droopy. The turn brings the 8d, pairing the board. I check to Droopy, thinking he could well have an eight here. Droopy checks, however, and Underpants again bets out. I decide to take the 9-to-1 odds and make the call. The river is the Js. I’m 90% sure I’m beat, but make a crying check-call nonetheless and show my crummy ace high. Underpants turns over his hand and, indeed, I am beat. But not by the hand I thought. What does he have? 2s 8s, of course.

HAND 2
I’m UTG with As Ks and open with a raise. All fold except the button (PourquoiPas) who cold calls and the BB (MoiAussi) who completes. There are six small bets in the pot. Flop comes Ah 8s Td. I bet and both of my opponents call. Turn is the 7c and we replay the same sequence (I bet, both call). River is the 6c and I bet again only to have PourquoiPas raise me and MoiAussi cold call the raise. With better than 13-to-1 I have to call and so I do. We show ’em down. I got my aces. PourquoiPas has 9h 4h for a straight. MoiAussi’s Kd 9s also makes him a straight. They chop the pot.

HAND 3
After watching the UTG (CrazyLarry) call, I call from the cutoff with Qs Jh. The button also calls, the SB folds, and the BB checks. So we’ve got four players seeing a flop that gives me top pair, okay kicker -- 4s Jc Ts. CrazyLarry checks, I bet, the other two players fold, and Larry calls. The pot is a modest six small bets when the turn brings the Ad. CrazyLarry again checks. I pause a beat and decide to bet out, and CrazyLarry once again calls. The river is the innocuous 2h. CrazyLarry checks, I bet, and he surprises me with the check-raise. The ace, maybe? I call. Are my jacks good? Heck no. CrazyLarry has 5h 3d, giving him a wheel.

Nothing funner than runner-runner. (Shamus exhales, shakes head.)

For Crying Out Loud

Is there a more formulaic, rigidly-defined category of storytelling than the bad beat story? The simplest sort of tragedy, that. The hero, a person of decent values and good standing with whom any feeling creature must readily sympathize, lives a life based on sound reasoning and prudence only to meet with undeserved misfortune perpetrated by some chaos-loving villain whose triumph can only be understood to confirm the absence of morality as a determining factor in the ordering of the universe.

In other words, the donkey sucked out.

I suppose one could argue there exist degrees of badness. The victor of the hand could have demonstrated extraordinarily poor judgment of the I’ll-just-use-this-cigarette-lighter-and-see-if-there-be- anything-in-this-here-gas-can variety. Or the stakes could be particularly vast, thereby intensifying the depth of the hero’s fall. Or the brutality could occur at a decisive juncture deep in a tournament, mere hands away from the money, or the big money, or the big big big money.

Still, the song remains the same. A loud, shrill whine to which no one particularly relishes listening.

I thought of this truth today after busting out of yet another WSOP freeroll. This one (on Party) offered 50 spots in a weekend satellite that itself yields a handsome 24 spots this summer (14 in the main event and 10 more in a $2K prelim). The freeroll was capped at 3500 entrants, and after nearly three hours I found myself clinging to life with my usual short-stack and only 150 of us remaining. I had just under 40,000 chips (about half the average stack), having battled a dozen orbits or more with no cards and one of the chip leaders playing very aggressively to my left. The blinds were up to 1500/3000 with 75 for the ante.

Finally from middle position I get dealt pocket rockets. The player to my right (UTG+2) limps in and I raise 3x to 9000. As I’d hoped, a fellow in late position decides to reraise me, strangely putting in 15000 which was about 80% of his entire stack. The table folds around to the limper who surprisingly goes all-in with his remaining 39000 (he has me covered by 5000 or so). I make an easy call, as does the late position reraiser.

What do I face with my aces? The late position reraiser has pocket nines, a reasonable holding here. The limper-raiser to my right? K5s.

Who do you think won?

The flop was a headachy 8c 9c 2s, giving the late position player a set. Still, I was way ahead of King Rag and stood to end the hand with 60k or so if things stayed where they were. But the turn brought the 7d and the river the 6d, giving the villain a straight and about 100,000 chips to donate to others somewhere down the road.

So the story (always) goes. I suppose by crying out loud this way I'm hopin’ to pick up and/or provide a crumb of that ol’ Aristotelian katharsis in the telling. In any event, all apologies.