Merry F’in’ Christmas

I took that Donkey Test several months back. Although many have questioned the validity of the test, it pretty much pegged me: Consistent winner at home games; loser in raked games. How it makes such a determination, I haven’t a clue; and why a distinction is made between the two games leaves me even more baffled. Numbers guys, here’s your chance to enlighten this home game hero.

Hero: I heard a new definition tonight (grammatical anomaly about to happen, if it hasn’t already): “A sandwich full of baloney;” yet, I prefer “an over-used term.” (Maybe it’s gastrointestinal distress.) Okay, enough PoMo oblique play.

DW and I were chatting yesterday when my phone alerted me to a text message. Knowing the day and that nearly two weeks had passed, we said in unison, “R.” I called him to let him know I would come for the late cash game but avoid the tourney.

This evening, at 1945, just as I was settling in for a warm-up at PAO, R called.

“Where are you?”

“Home.”

“Why aren’t you here?”

“I said I would come for the late game.”

“Well, there’s only seven here and we’re playing cash.”

“’Well’ yourself. How the hell was I supposed to know? I’ll be there shortly.” Men…

I had $70 in my pocket, enough for a standard $60 buy-in to the .50/1.00 game. I told DW I would be home no later than 0100, or when my money ran out. Hopped in the rig and got to thinking. I could buy in for $60 and top off my stack with the $10, or I could stop at the ATM. If I dropped below, say $30, I would be cramping my game. Short stacks don’t stand a chance at R’s. Another hundo would be more than enough, and carry me through the week for groceries, etc. And the truck needed gas.

The new ‘do was a hit. Someone made a comment similar to Crash’s. R asked, “Did you get a job?” I sat to the task at hand.

R was to my right. “Fuck You” Frank was to my left.  Then R’s girlfriend, Mike, Ed, “Fuck You” Phil, and Santa.

Regular readers (which is the only kind I have, and I appreciate each and every one of you eleven) will recall that this is a pretty loose game. Q 8 is considered connectors. Any two suited are playable. No one except me knows more than three words in French. So, I typically play a TAG game, very patient, and when I’m in a hand, I look for unseen disaster at every turn, or river. Make them pay. And trap with monsters, because that’s what they’re doing with coolers. Everyone except R, his girlfriend and me love to play the coolers. Well, maybe Santa is more ABC too.

Santa is frustrated. He’s playing big hands pre and they go nowhere. Santa also likes “the speech.”

“I guess when I do hit, I’m going to have to bet the hell out of it to get rid of the draws.” He bets the pot. R 3-bets him and the table is in stitches. He has no choice but to fold.

Santa is a great guy, make no mistake. The kind of person who volunteers for hurricane disaster relief in the Gulf. So, when he has to rebuy, I feel for him. He reloads for a second hundo. I flop a set of fours and then trip fours, and I go easy on his top pairs. My bad. Yet I have $70 of that C-note.

Hey Matt and Grump (conduit), 2-4 was a monster for “Fuck You” Phil. A four on the flop and runner-runner twos against my nines (I smelled it and lost very little) and then suited for the babiest of flushes against the girlfriend’s pocket Jacks. I lost $10, about the same amount as the girlfriend.

That hand was early in the game for me. I was playing loose with 89off, and when “Fuck You” Frank folded what I knew to be a better 9, I was content to check/call the turn and check/check the river, for I knew he was waiting for me to bet. I have watched carefully these last two years.

I suppose the single best thing about playing these guys is that they don’t play top pair the same way I do. I was happy to do little but feel with those nines. Yet, I have no clue what Phil had when I flopped a set of eights. I limped pre in the SB, along with several others. The flop had two spades, and I checked. Phil bet the pot and I 3-bet. Phil called and I took the remainder of my chips, about $20 and shoved it dark. The board paired. Phil called and I doubled up. He said he had a pair bigger than the board. I didn’t ask to see. My bad.

Pockets eights again. Eight on the flop and R’s girlfriend and Phil are in the hand. Suffice it to say I milked it and did well with eights full of Kings. And there was tension. She didn’t know what hit her.

I more than tripled my buy-in, but sessions like this are rare. In fact, this is my best-ever. I usually walk out a winner, but only a half buy-in or less. I’ve been busted maybe twice in two years. Yet, two things nag at me: I don’t like when people I consider to be friends mope; and, I have to change my game. Santa knew he played poorly against me, for he said so. The gf I’m not too worried about. R will handle that. Yet, I began to hear for the first time at this game that an assessment has finally been made: don’t get involved in a pot with bastin when he comes out firing.

It took them long enough.